Moving day, power outages, floods, inventory counts, fires, break-ins, severe & unexpected staffing shortages*, epic snow! I can’t imagine how many reasons for a temporary store closure, during regular business hours, that I haven’t experienced. But, in my years working in the bicycle industry I’ve endured a myriad of them.
*{Too often involving the interfacing of automobiles and bicycles.}
Every time, every damn time, it happens I find myself sitting at home later, with a cup of coffee and/or whisky, questioning my life choices. No, not because I hate bailing buckets, or pushing a mop, or counting brake pads, or shoveling, or listening to thousands of dollars of loosely-packed high-end bicycle components bounce around in the back of a Honda Odyssey mini-van. And I actually enjoy shoveling snow.
What kills me is that no matter how shut-and-shuttered the business, no matter how many signs are up explaining the closures (“Dear, customer. It’s Christmas Eve so we’re closing at 4pm, sorry for the inconvenience.“), and no matter what staff are engaged in doing as part of managing the happenings, whether they be planned or unexpected, there are always multiple people pushing to come through those doors. And they don’t give a f*ck. Not safe to be in the shop? Not a concern. Simply not welcome in the chaos? That’s okay, they’ll just look around.
Oh, that’s not okay? Closed means closed? [Threat] “Tell [Andrew] I’ll remember this!” [/Threat]. You’re not the only one, buddy*.
*{Yep, it’s always a dude.}
“Oh, there’s water up to your ankles? I’m just looking for a helmet, I assume they’re kept off the floor?“
“Oh, computers are all down? Well you can just take notes on paper and figure it out later.“
“That means there’s no point of sale system? I’ll grab my stuff now and come back and pay you another time.“
“Can you open back up? I just need to buy a really thoughtful gift for my wife! Tonight!“
“Oh, that’s already on the moving truck? I can wait while you unpack it.”
“I need a minor bicycle repair that I was already entitled enough to assume you would do for free while I waited, so of course I ignored multiple closed signs and two gates. Guess you should have barred the door?“
(Okay, okay, so the last one is just paraphrased.)
I’m sure it’s no surprise, but I’ll tell you dispassionately that there really is no end to the entitlement. I would boldly claim that it’s been getting worse but then any number of my friends would riposte that it’s simply, severely, much more concentrated on the North Shore. Or in Vancouver generally. Which would only make the solution self-evident. As manifest as my favourite Zolas’ song.
And maybe I’m just an asshole who can’t see the other side of counter? How ungrateful to discount their fervent patronage! On the one hand, I’m okay with it. Reason number 42 that I don’t own a shop. On the other hand, it’s not like I’ve never shown up at a business that was closed for whatever sh*t show or situation and decisively not tried the door anyway.
So, anywho. Thought food. The mass extinction of the North Shore Bicycle Mechanic isn’t always down to the cost of living, low wages, or, to quote my friend Dave, “Going out of business one friend at a time.” Actually, often it’s down to people. You know, the difference between patron and patronize. The difference between earnest and expectant. Articulate vs. arrogant. For every solid bicycle mechanic I know who’s moved away there’s at least one more who’s around but doing something else. Usually despite a love for turning wrenches on bikes.
Tomorrow’s another day. Hopefully one with electricity. But in the moment it’s hard not to tabulate the day’s tantrums and tribulations and wonder if one couldn’t earn just as many pennies with a less petulant patronage.
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