The closing of B. Dalton
Jan. 9th, 2010 03:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bobcatmoranUsing the icon for the bookworm element, not for Schiezka's expression, which is the opposite of how I feel.
I realize that B. Dalton was long ago bought by Barnes and Noble, the Bookstore Chain That Ate America (trufax: publishers nowadays try to make sure their covers don't stick important stuff in the corner where B&N puts their discount stickers, since they sell so many books). And when I asked the gal who checked me out at the local mall's closing-in-one-week B. Dalton if it was true that all the B. Daltons were closing, she said, "No, it's Barnes and Noble. They're just closing the mall ones." So I guess the chain doesn't mean as much out here as it did back in Minnesota.
But when I was growing up, B. Dalton was the bookstore. If you didn't want to drive all the way into Minneapolis or St. Paul or try your luck at a garage sale, it was the only place to buy books. The Minneapolis Star Tribune has a good story here on what B. Dalton meant.
When I got back from South Dakota, I got a job at B. Dalton Store #001, the original store (okay, it was actually a few doors down from the original location - the Apple Store is there now). And although my paycheck might've said "Barnes and Noble," there was a sort of feeling that we were better than Barnes & Noble, better able to serve our customers individually, able to find any book anywhere in the store with ease. It was a good enough place to work that some had been working for the company for twenty-plus years, and still looked forward to coming to work. Not that B&N made it easy. It was obvious that most of the policies had been written for the giant-sized Barnes & Noble stores (IIRC, the cash register training book was written for a different system entirely), and that they didn't give a fig about B. Dalton. Heck, they even went and built a two-floor B&N just across the street, as if to say, "The sooner we can drown out all the dinky little stores - even the ones we own ourselves - the better."
There was an elderly gentleman who would come to our store once a week, like clockwork. He had worked for B. Dalton for his entire working life, and once he retired, he would spend one day a week visiting all the local stores in the chain, just for nostalgia's sake. Originally, it took a whole day to make the rounds. By the time I left to go to Wyoming, there was only one store left for him to visit. I wonder what he'll do with his Wednesday afternoons now.
I realize that B. Dalton was long ago bought by Barnes and Noble, the Bookstore Chain That Ate America (trufax: publishers nowadays try to make sure their covers don't stick important stuff in the corner where B&N puts their discount stickers, since they sell so many books). And when I asked the gal who checked me out at the local mall's closing-in-one-week B. Dalton if it was true that all the B. Daltons were closing, she said, "No, it's Barnes and Noble. They're just closing the mall ones." So I guess the chain doesn't mean as much out here as it did back in Minnesota.
But when I was growing up, B. Dalton was the bookstore. If you didn't want to drive all the way into Minneapolis or St. Paul or try your luck at a garage sale, it was the only place to buy books. The Minneapolis Star Tribune has a good story here on what B. Dalton meant.
When I got back from South Dakota, I got a job at B. Dalton Store #001, the original store (okay, it was actually a few doors down from the original location - the Apple Store is there now). And although my paycheck might've said "Barnes and Noble," there was a sort of feeling that we were better than Barnes & Noble, better able to serve our customers individually, able to find any book anywhere in the store with ease. It was a good enough place to work that some had been working for the company for twenty-plus years, and still looked forward to coming to work. Not that B&N made it easy. It was obvious that most of the policies had been written for the giant-sized Barnes & Noble stores (IIRC, the cash register training book was written for a different system entirely), and that they didn't give a fig about B. Dalton. Heck, they even went and built a two-floor B&N just across the street, as if to say, "The sooner we can drown out all the dinky little stores - even the ones we own ourselves - the better."
There was an elderly gentleman who would come to our store once a week, like clockwork. He had worked for B. Dalton for his entire working life, and once he retired, he would spend one day a week visiting all the local stores in the chain, just for nostalgia's sake. Originally, it took a whole day to make the rounds. By the time I left to go to Wyoming, there was only one store left for him to visit. I wonder what he'll do with his Wednesday afternoons now.
