Call you “Old Fashioned.”  You can take it. 

“Folksie?” “Provincial?”  Maybe.
 
You know who you are, and don’t need some Metropolitan Marketing Guru to slap some label on you.  But, one thing’s for sure.  They can’t call you Cookie Cutter.  And no one dare to call you CORPORATE. 

What happened to Tom’s Farms?  They upgraded to Tasteless Glossy from Rustic Charm.  

I’m feeling lost.  My neighborhood Shade-Tree mechanic got so busy that he burned out and sold out to some guy who picked up his list of clients, and then (likely) promptly lost all but the few fleets of vehicles already under contract.  I guess if you’re responsible for a fleet of cars and trucks, you’re not looking for the personal touch.  You’re looking at “the bottom line” because you’re dealing in bulk.  But, few of the local homesteaders were eager to suffer the transition.  The reason is obvious, of course.  Trust.  Can’t sell that.

And a Vibe can’t be reproduced…or maintained by slight of hand.  

Have you visited our favorite local coffee shop lately?  No…not that one.  Not the ubiquitous one.  Maybe you don’t even have a local coffee shop.  We did.  Every morning that place was packed.  I tell you, it was like the local saloon in the Old Western Boomtown.  The one where the player piano was jangling out O Suzannah! and you couldn’t hear yourself above the din and everyone that worked there knew your name and was just all smiles because they loved what they were doing…which is to say, not what they were doing, per se…but, rather, they loved who they were working with and working for.  There just is no faking that.  And it was Local.  And it was Alive.  It was Alive because it was Local.  It’s like, everyone had a stake in it, even if they were just in there to buy a cup of Joe.

And then it happened.  

Business was so good…the buyers came a knockin’…and the boss, who had long since handed off day to day operations to his sister and the glad girls behind the counter, started thinking of loftier things, I suppose.  So…he sold the business.  And that was it.   The new boss came in and brought with her a new and cutthroat, bottom-line attitude.  Not only was the wind sucked out of the sails of that business, a swirling whirlpool appeared beneath the ship, and the gigantic hydro-vortex sucked the Pequod to the bottom of the sea.  Kept the same coffee…lost all the customers.  

It’s like those parasites and lawyers that bought Walt Disney’s name, and then thought we’d all think it was still the same.  Granted, the kids didn’t know the real Walt, so you can’t hold them accountable, though they’re the ones that really pay the price.  But the impact has been undeniable.  In with the Cosmo-Corpo-Cash Machine…out with American Innocence, Uncle Remus, and the Coonskin Cap. 

Wait…what am I thinking?  What we really need are more Cut-and-Paste Suburban Strip Malls and more Super-Sized French Fry Franchise!  DEATH!  Death to the Mom-n-Pop!  Full Speed Ahead towards the Plastic Precipice!  Plunge we all into the Abyss!  If we can gain enough momentum, by the time we reach the bottom, we can break through and straight into Hell.

Tags: Customer Service, Local Business, Mom-n-Pop, Personal Service, Rustic Charm

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