Tingling the Spines

When Amazon began opening bookstores a couple years back, I wondered why an uber-successful online enterprise would turn to brick-and-mortar, especially after sales of more than fifty million Kindle e-readers through its website. Turns out Amazon’s walk-in shopping experience is worth the walls. It’s retail at its most relaxing – and it has a place in the equation.  As CEO Miriam Sontz (Powell’s Books in Portland, OR) puts it, “something special occurs in a physical bookstore that is not replicable online”.

I’ve been to an Amazon Books just once (fewer than twenty locations in the U.S.), but vividly remember what made my shopping experience so compelling.  First, the manager greeted me with, “Welcome to Amazon, and what was the last book you read?”  When I told him (Kristin Hannah’s “The Nightingale”), he replied, “Oh, that’s a wonderful book.  Wasn’t it so interesting to read an account of the war in France instead of in Germany?  Have a look on Aisle 3 – you’ll find some other great WWII fiction.”

As I indeed had a look on Aisle 3, the manager moved on to other customers, prompting similar conversations.  Suddenly I realized the whole interaction was intentional.  Personalize/focus my shopping experience by discovering what I’m reading.  Pique my curiosity by allowing me to overhear what other people are reading.  A + B = Increase the odds I’ll make a purchase.

What really sets Amazon Books apart from the others is the displays.  The books are laid flat and on angled shelves, so you’re looking right at the cover as you’re standing in the aisle.  Below each book, an easy-to-read card delivers a crisp synopsis of the book, as well as a smattering of the ratings and reviews you’d find online.  Think about that tactic.  You peruse the entire colorful cover.  You take in the book title and author without cocking your head ninety degrees to the left or right.  And you know a little about the book (and whether it’s a recommended read) without turning a single page.  It’s almost like those moments in front of paintings in an art gallery.  “Displayed flat” sounds counter-intuitive in the per-square-foot world of retail, but damned if it isn’t a great way to shop.

Photo by Natasha Meininger

Amazon isn’t the only spine-tingler these days.  In a truly baffling trend, interior decorators and collectors are shelving books with the spines… facing the walls.  That’s right: take a book off the shelf, turn it all the way around, and place it back on the shelf.  Why?  Because “eggshell” – the typical color of the pages themselves – is aesthetically pleasing, instead of that rainbow of bright, colorful book jackets.  The linen texture is uniform, blending more confidently with whatever else is going on in the room.  Really?  Is this Feng shui on steroids?

Alas, as the Wall Street Journal reports, backward-bookshelving is no fad, .  You can purchase books on the cheap specifically for this approach.  Check out the goods at booksbythefoot.com.  BBTF sells you reclaimed books, covers removed, of various shapes and sizes, and yes; purchased “by the foot”.  You can even purchase your tomes in a color scheme (i.e. “burgundy wine” or “earth tones”).  Arrange them any way you want: facing in or out, flat or standing up, in piles or as standalones.  Any way you stack ’em they’ll look fully nondescript, suggesting you’d never go so far as to – gasp! – read them.  As Chuck Roberts (BBTF President) puts it, “Some people don’t want to have the literature as a distraction… they want books as objects on a shelf.”  You mean, like lobotomizing the intellectual meaning from the aesthetic?  Weird, just weird.

Or maybe not.  Now that I think about it, I own the complete works of Charles Dickens, painstakingly acquired years ago, one book at a time through the Franklin Press or some other mail-order rag.  My Dickens collection (above photo) sits neatly on the shelf gathering dust, just waiting for me to crack the first spine or read the first page.  But no matter; don’t they look pretty?

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

 

 

 

certitude

Several posts ago I told the woe-is-me story of leaving my Kindle e-reader in an airplane seat pocket.  Much to my chagrin I wrote, this was the second time in two years; exiting a plane without my prized portable technological wonder.  In the post I made two predictions about the eventual destination of my e-reader.  The first was into the hands of the Delta employee who cleans the plane.  The second was into the hands of the next traveler who reached into my seat pocket (“Congratulations!  You’ve just won an Amazon Kindle!”)  So one or the other of these scenarios was the end of the line for my e-reader.  I drew those conclusions as if they were fact.  I wrote with certitude.

Here then, “the rest of the story”.  On the eventual destination of my e-reader I was wrong – way wrong.  In what I would label a small miracle, my Kindle ended up… in my own hands.  The perseverance of DALLIRT (Delta Air Lines Lost Item Recovery Team) won the day.  Perhaps my Kindle was found immediately or perhaps it traveled on to one or more exotic destinations.  Either way, a human took pity on me and made things right.  Imagine my disbelief (and chagrin) when I received an email from DALLFC (Delta Air Lines Lost & Found Central) that began “Dear David Wilson:  We are happy to tell you that we have located an item that closely matches the description of your reported lost item”.  Twelve dollars and seventy-seven cents of postage and three days later, my Kindle was dropped on my doorstep.  No damage.  No note.  Everything intact.

I must own up to one other aspect of this story.  A day or two after I filed the lost item report with Delta, I promptly logged onto Amazon and bought another Kindle.  That’s right; before I gave Delta’s process a chance, I purchased a new e-reader.  I even upgraded to a newer version (“Voyage” – oooo).  That’s certitude in a nutshell.  Zero faith in the alternative.

14 - certitude

I suppose the lost dollars to Amazon represents my penance (another good word for my blog) for not trusting a process designed to correct my mistakes.  But to further cleanse my guilt, I sent DALCC (Delta Air Lines Customer Care) a glowing email, complimenting them on their lost item recovery process.  And they wrote right back, beginning with the following line: “It’s so easy to leave something important behind while flying”.  Gee, thanks for making me feel better.  Except I did it twice.

My son will probably inherit my recovered Kindle.  Yes I should probably keep it because things happen in threes but I’ll take my chances.  I’ll trust the process.  And I’ll certainly consider Delta Airlines the next time I fly.

chagrin

A year or so ago I left my Kindle e-reader in an airplane seat pocket when I deplaned.  Those seat pockets contain just a few things – an in-flight magazine, a plastic card that describes safety features, and the timeless airsickness bag.  So there’s plenty of room to lose an e-reader in there.  Does that sound like an excuse?  Well imagine my utter frustration and disappointment – my chagrin – when I did it AGAIN this past weekend.  Same drill.  I stowed my Kindle in the seat pocket along with some magazines before takeoff.  I did all of my reading in-flight.  And then in my haste to deplane, I took the magazines and left the Kindle.

photo - chagrin

There’s an interesting dance you do when you realize you’ve left something on an airplane.  It typically begins when you’re unpacking your bags.  You take out the clothes and bathroom stuff and then you get down to the little things.  About that time you start to wonder when a particular item will surface.  Laptop – check.  iPod – check.  Kindle – oh no, not again.  You double-check (okay, you triple-check) your suitcase and your carry-on.  You tear your car apart to make sure it didn’t slip between the seats on the way home.  And then after you’ve bounced around the bedroom cursing at the walls, you resign yourself to the fact that your Kindle is now in the hands of Delta Airlines.  Or one of its enterprising employees.

Delta has a promising process to claim “lost articles”.  You go on-line and fill out an official-looking form.  You describe the lost article to prove it’s yours.  And then you wait.  And wait.  After three days I got an email reply.  It started positively enough. “Dear Mr. Wilson:  The search continues… “.  But the paragraphs that followed are collectively referred to as “form letter”.   It was painfully obvious Delta was not going to drop everything to unearth my Kindle.

My theory on the current whereabouts of my Kindle has two endings.  In one, a Delta “cleaner” finds my Kindle and pockets it; or gifts it to his/her child; or stocks the nice little black market he/she has going on the side.  In the other, Delta doesn’t have enough employees to clean the seat pockets after every trip so my Kindle just continues on to the next destination.  To the person who got my seat after me, I say “you’re welcome”.

Here’s a great invention inspired by my Kindle-down experience.  It’s a wireless “leash”: a band that goes around your wrist with a removable Velcro button that can be attached to small personal items (i.e. Kindles).  When the wrist band and the Velcro button are far enough apart, the band beeps and you realize something is not right.  Not bad, huh?

In my defense for having abandoned my Kindle twice, a laptop is too big for the seat pocket so at least a portion would be visible.  iPods and mobile phones are too small to risk putting in the seat pocket and forgetting about.  But a Kindle?  The perfect size.  Small enough and flat enough to disappear into seat pocket oblivion.

This story will have an ending, happy or not.  Remember, according to Delta, “the search continues”…