So I'm re-reading The Great Gatsby. The book opens with narrator Nick Carraway sharing some advice from his father about not being too quick to criticize others. "Just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages you've had," father tells son. So Nick makes a habit of reserving judgment by reminding himself of this:
"A sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth."I laughed out loud when I read this. Lord knows I've had some experiences at the shop that have tested my own expectations of decency.
First, it's important to say that on the whole, my customers are exceedingly wonderful, generous, kind people. I love our conversations. In fact, it is one of my very favorite things about my job. I've had some of the best chats of my life sitting behind that counter. Wouldn't trade those moments for the world.
But there are some (none of you who are reading this, of course), who have really pushed the limits of my openness and friendliness. Unfortunately it seems that F. Scott Fitzgerald was right: basic good manners elude an awful lot of people. And more often, I have found, it's the folks who should know better.
There are several different brands of RUDE, but the one I'll rant about here is a particular condescension about the city masked in concern -- or worse, charity.
Mind you, it's often the tone as much as the words. And, I hate to say it, the appearance and address of the messenger contribute to the overall effect, as well. Perhaps it's my own prejudice that throws me off -- I expect a certain decorum from older white suburban ladies. Sorry to stereotype (especially my own people), but they are the worst offenders. Not all. Not even most. Just a very special few.
(Not these lovely people. They just kinda sorta look like this sometimes.)
"It's a shame no one knows you're here."
This from a very progressive peace activist lady from whom you might expect a little extra sensitivity and political correctness. I still regret not inviting her to flip through our guest book to peruse the thousands of customer names. Instead, I bit my tongue to prevent an equally indecent retort.
"Who shops here?"
Asked with doubt or disbelief, not curiosity. As if there weren't hundreds of thousands of human souls still living in this god forsaken city. Listen, I am happy to share market demographics and trends with folks who are genuinely interested. But use that tone with me, and I close up like a clam.
"I like the city. I used to live down here and might return someday. But right now, Detroit is completely unlivable."
Mind you, this was after I told her I lived in the neighborhood. And you know, I was still very much "alive" right there before her eyes. "Unlivable" is a pretty strong word, isn't it? But I'm no dummy, I understand Detroit's got challenges in this department. In fact, I usually cop to them when serious prospects inquire about moving to the city. But a statement like this makes me defensive, so what do I do? I look at her like she's crazy. And then, suddenly, I'm just as rude as she is. I hate when this happens.
"I'm so glad to see good things finally happening here."
Again, this is all in the tone, because I agree with the basic premise. But the way this statement is phrased, it sounds like nothing good has happened in Detroit for decades. So I bristle. Just like I do when people use the words "pioneer" or "save" or "fix." I've come to really hate the nomenclature of revitalization. Once in awhile, one of these words slips into my own vocabulary, and I regret it instantaneously. I also cringe when these words are used to describe me in the media, but I've learned there's not much I can do about that.
"How are you doing here? I mean really, how is business? Really?"
I appreciate the interest and concern, I really do. So I can handle just one of these questions. Like you ask how we're doing, I say great, thanks for asking, and then we move on to other topics. But if you stall there, trying to dig deeper or fish for more info, as if you really expect me to offer up my sales figures, we have a problem. You don't ask your friends how much money they make, do you? (Well, you shouldn't.) I realize sometimes my fragile but hopeful little shop is held up as some bellweather of Detroit progress or something, and people are concerned about our sustainability. Guess what? Me, too. But I'm not gonna share that with strangers. How am I doing? Better if you buy something! Please and thank you. {Smile.}
"I've lived in metro-Detroit my whole life, but I've never heard of you. How was I supposed to know you were here?"
I hear this a lot. As if some folks expect a personal invitation. Unfortunately, my budget isn't big enough to send a mailer to the 5 million people in SE Michigan. So I patiently explain that I don't have a lot of money to advertise, but perhaps they have seen our ads in Metro Times or Detroit Home or on Facebook? Or on days I'm feeling particularly ornery, I simply ask: "Do you read? I mean, newspapers or magazines? Because we've been written up a few times. Detroit News, Free Press, HOUR, Model D, New York Times?" (Thanks to Joe Posch for reminding me a little bit of sarcasm is okay when used appropriately.)
"Someone should really write an article about this place."
See above. And below. One of my proudest media moments, chins 'n all. Almost better than the New York Times. I mean, The Chronicle? With Coleman Young? It raised my street cred by like twenty points. I'll always be grateful to Bankole Thompson for that. For misquoting me, too. He made me sound so much better.
Some other favorite customer comments, slightly less innocent:
- "You really should reach out to other businesses. Not just the hip new places. Like the guy who owns the Church's Chicken on 7 Mile."
- "You really should think about going out to the neighborhoods. Like setting up a mobile shop in underserved areas to introduce new audiences to design."
- "I'm not sure about this location. You really should think about moving somewhere with more visibility."
Basically anything that begins with "You really should" gets my back up now. I realize being open to unsolicited advice is part of my job. And actually, I really appreciate suggestions -- especially from regular, loyal customers. If you spend your money there, I am genuinely interested in your feedback. I do my best to listen, especially when it comes to merchandise. (You should have more everyday basics / You should have more special one-of-a-kind stuff. You should bring in more new stuff / You should bring back that stuff you used to sell.)
I take this all into consideration, even when the input is completely contradictory. And I try not to take it too personally. You can't please everyone.
But if you tell me I should move to a "better" location (like that time Mr. Taubman suggested, in one of my very favorite back-handed compliments of all time, that my shop was good enough for his Twelve Oaks Mall and would do better there), that's when I start to squirm. Right, "Bureau of Urban Living" in a suburban mall. That would be too sublimely ironic even for me.
Or if you suggest I'm not doing enough to bring design and retail to the masses, I'll have to gently remind you that this is a business. I donate to local organizations, I do what I can. But if you think I'm going to load up a bunch of stemless martini glasses and peddle them in a more "underserved" neighborhood than my own, you're dreaming.
(Please don't make me do this. I love people and a little adventure, but not this much.)
And yes, absolutely, while it would be nice to see all the small business owners of the region (franchises included) come together and hold hands in solidarity and harmony, making this happen is not my responsibility. I offer advice when aspiring entrepreneurs ask, I collaborate with my neighboring businesses. I stay connected as best I can, but there are limits. In fact, if I spent half the energy I dedicate to "extra-curricular" civic activities on building the shop's financial success, it would probably be in better shape.
Moreover (and I know this sounds harsh), but if the Grosse Pointe lady who made this remark had spent even a dollar in my shop before or after offering these bons mots, I might have taken her more seriously. In her defense, I think she might have had a distorted sense of my prosperity. Like my "hip" business was making more money than the Church's Chicken guy. I don't have to look at his receipts to confidently say this isn't the case.
(Note to self: Selling fried chicken might have been a smarter business move. There's always next time.)
Sigh. I share these anecdotes mostly just to kvetch. I know I'm not the only Detroiter who gets frustrated with this stuff, especially the ever-popular grocery store question. It's part of what binds us together, our common annoyance with ignorance. And we love to wear our defiance like a badge of honor, don't we?
But it's also good to remind ourselves of how our words might be received by others. Like everyone else, I can be a know-it-all who often thinks my insights are oh-so-helpful. I can also, obviously, be very sensitive and defensive -- certainly too much so. Offering and accepting criticism is life, and handling it gracefully is what separates men from children.
(A quick wit and a bit of humility also help. I am working on this. Maybe a cute bonnet would inspire customers to do a little bit of self-editing, too?)
(You wouldn't tell this nice lady to peddle her wares at the mall or in the ghetto, would you?)
That said, there's something unique about Detroit, I think, that lends itself to a level of unintentional indecency that I somehow suspect is less acceptable in other places. People say things they would never dare utter in a friend's home or business because, well, that would be rude.
I think there's a prevailing perception throughout Michigan that we don't know what the hell we're doing in Detroit. And God knows, there is evidence of this everywhere. A lot of us, myself included, are improvising and learning as we go, making plenty of mistakes along the way. I'm not an expert at this -- but wait, are you? Then by all means, bring it. Come join us and give it a go. Open another shop right next door to me, in fact. I will love you, even if you put me out of business. Really. I'm serious.
But until you hang out your shingle, a little decency goes a long way in fostering dignity and confidence, respect and trust. If you haven't noticed, we have a little regional cooperation problem going on, and stuff like this doesn't help. We city folk need to be more welcoming, for sure. Help us by giving us more opportunities to say "you're welcome."
Which brings us to the moral of the story: Let us ALL be kind and compassionate and decent to each other. Let us think about what we say, and how we sound when we say it. And when we can't resist sharing our infinite wisdom with others, let us offer productive solutions instead of calling out obvious problems. We all have eyes and brains -- even us po' folk in Detroit. Believe me, it's not usually a lack of good ideas or intentions. It's probably a lack of resources. And more people who give a damn. People with high standards and super-sized social consciousness. People like...well, YOU.
Yes, we NEED you! (There, we said it.) You too can help "save" Detroit! The best way is not to tell us how to make things better, or to wait for an invitation to get engaged. Advice is okay, but action is better. Just dive in and do your thing. One purchase, one tree planting, one hour of DPS Reading Corps at a time.
In return, we promise not to judge if you ask where to buy groceries. (I'm told we downtown residents can sometimes be a little bit intimidating to outsiders and newcomers.) So here's a tip: "Where do you shop?" is a perfectly legitimate question for someone new to a city. "Where on earth do you shop?" is different. (But you get that, right?)
Oh, and here's the very best part: Once you truly take ownership of the city (no matter where you lay your head), something TOTALLY MAGICAL and TRANSFORMATIONAL will happen. You won't say "you should really do this" or "they should really do that" quite as much anymore.
I'm not a native Detroiter, but I can spot a "real" Detroiter when I see one. Real Detroiters use possessive pronouns. Real Detroiters say I and we.
Indeed, all the people in this world haven't had the advantages I've had. I can't tell you how fortunate I am to be doing something I love. The best part is being surrounded by amazing comrades who say every day -- not just through words, but through action -- "We can do it!" You are good, decent humans and I'm so grateful to you all. Even the folks who trip over their tongues sometimes. If you're coming to the shop -- let's be honest, if you're coming to Detroit at all, really -- I know you're good people. I know you care. Just showing up is half the battle. Thank you for showing up.
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