Fabric of Time

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I’m not a sewer.  I mean, a person who sews.  I know people who are, though, who are quite distressed that JoAnn Fabrics is going out of business.  In an effort to console such folk, I indulged in an online search for fabric shops that led to a couple of conclusions.  One is that the internet is lousy at clean-up, and the second is that big box stores have ruined the ability to find things, funneling all purchasing to Amazon.  Let’s take these one at a time. 

If you’ve ever searched for a physical store (fabric or otherwise) online, you know that sites like Yelp are full of artifacts.  Stores that closed a long time ago and have never been removed.  In fact, when I commuted to New York City I sometimes walked several blocks on my lunchtime, looking for a store only to learn that it had closed five or ten years ago.  It still beamed happily on the web, though.  I have driven to bookstores that no longer exist, based on their location being proclaimed loudly online.  Regarding fabric, I located directories for Enright’s Fabric Warehouse, in nearby Bethlehem.  Nothing online indicated that they were long out of business.  I street-leveled the address on Google Maps and found a building I’d driven past many times; I’d actually driven by it the day before.  It obviously was a large factory-like building, but it hadn’t been a fabric store in the seven years I’ve lived in the Lehigh Valley.  This isn’t the only time I’ve searched specifically for a company/store with the query word “bankrupt” or “out of business” to find Hal-9000 saying, “I can’t let you do that, Steve.”

The second point.  Big box stories come to town, drive smaller stores out of business, then fold themselves, leaving us all poorer for it.  As big boxes go, I liked JoAnn’s.  Probably because they were failing, they had lots of things besides fabrics that I could look at on family outings.  But the fact is smaller fabric stores (which still appear online as existing) went out of business when JoAnn came to town.  There were two JoAnn stores in the Lehigh Valley.  Smaller places closed, and now we’ll be running around naked before we can find a fabric store willing to sell.  I’ve seen this happen with other industries as well.  There was a fine office supply store in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin when I was at Nashotah House.  Staples came to town and closed them down.  If you’ve been in a Staples lately, you know the writing’s on the wall.  I know we’re stuck with big boxes.  More often we turn to Amazon where a few keystrokes will get you what you need.  Check and mate.

Big Boxification

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When was the last time I purchased an actual book at Barnes and Noble? In a vain hope that they might have something intellectual and edgy, I stop in once in a while. If I were a faster learner I might have known that I’d leave disappointed. You see, it’s been rainy a lot around here and rainy Saturdays are perfect for book stores. But where are the good books? I’m not just picking on B&N. I stopped in Bed, Bath, and Beyond (they don’t really use the Oxford comma, but then, who had time for commas?). This is not a frequent occurrence since we rent and it’s hard to gentrify bohemian decor, but we needed a practical household item. After wandering enough aisles that I thought it was time to hire a jungle guide, I found that the choices were actually rather limited. If I don’t like what they tell me to like, well, I’m out of luck. The local stores were driven out of business, you see, and you have to like what we have to offer because we are the BIG GUYS.

It’s not just housewares. It’s everywares. We’re a big box society. Costco and Sam’s Club and SUVs to haul it all home. Once, back when paper was still a thing, I had to find some file folders. I tend to like color coding—my non-Harvard-educated mind just rolls that way. So I went to the local stationary store and found a virtual reading rainbow of options. A year or so later, strangely, more papers had accumulated. I went back and the store was out of business. A Staples had opened nearby. Everyone was going there. They offered a superfluous loyalty card—where else would you go? They had four colors of folders. Just four. In industrial cardboard boxes that mean business. I mean BUSINESS. You want choices? There’s a clinic down the road. Unless you’re female, of course.

Photo credit: Ben Schumin, Wikimedia Commons

Photo credit: Ben Schumin, Wikimedia Commons

I’m not a genius, but I can recognize repeating patterns. Big box settles outside your town then limits your choices. I consume, therefore I am. To buy, or not to buy? I am not a number, I am a—what? What am I if I’m not a consumer? A communist, I guess. And everyone knows the Bible says communism is evil. And if you need a Bible you can purchase one from Sam’s Club. To be part of the resistance, you need to buy from Amazon. What a radical I’ve become! At least at Amazon they still have books.