Man vs. Self-Service Checkout Station

There’s a new Lowe’s home improvement store in town, and its arrival has been celebrated with the kind of fanfare reserved for small Midwestern towns who toast national retail names with zeal.

Lowe’s opened in Lincoln, Nebraska, just a few weeks ago, and as soon as my husband and I could find a spare weekend that wasn’t filled with kids’ end-of-school activities, we drove over to check out the retailer’s new digs.

And check it out we did. Our selections in hand, we were faced with the choice of traditional checkout or a new-to-Lincoln self-checkout kiosk. My husband, who like most Lincolnites hasn’t gotten much of a chance to try his hand at self-checkout, opted against human interface and steeled himself to do battle with a machine. But it was a breeze. He easily followed the instructions, punched all the right buttons, bagged the goods, paid with a Visa debit card, handed me the receipt, and marched out, looking quite smug. Mission accomplished.

Self-checkout sets Lowe’s apart in Lincoln. Not only from its nearest competitor Home Depot—which is just a stone’s throw away—but from supermarkets, drug stores and the various retail categories that have begun to do more than dabble in self-checkout in markets other than Lincoln.

Chain Store Age talks about self-checkout in the soon-to-be-out July issue, on page 58, with an interview with Fujitsu Transaction Solutions’ director of self-checkout strategic marketing Paul Burel. According to Burel, whether or not a customer will recommend one retail operation over another is heavily dependent on the wait times at checkout. And self-checkout is going a long way toward reducing those wait times.

Something else Burel said? Statistically in both North America and Europe, more men than women are opting for self-checkout. I witnessed that statistic myself at Lowe’s in Lincoln. And I suspect my husband can’t wait to try his hand at that kiosk again.

— Katherine Field

A Few Things Worth Mentioning

1. Have you seen this yet? An amusing take on advertiser to consumer relationships:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=D3qltEtl7H8

2. Would you pay a retailer $99 a year to learn how to use their products? When I first heard Apple was doing its “One to One” personal training for an annual subscription cost, I couldn’t believe people would actually enroll in such a program. But while I was sitting at the Internet Retailer 2007 show last week, I struck up a conversation with someone holding on to one of the Apple Store training pamphlets.

First, here’s how it works: For $99 a year, you can go into any Apple store and receive personal training sessions on anything Apple related, whether you’re new to using an iPod or ready to master the latest pro software.

But honestly, I thought it was ridiculous at first (who would pay $99 a year to ask questions at an Apple store when you could probably just go in and ask for free?) But then, my new pamphlet-holding friend told me over 4 million people were already enrolled in the program, raking in $400 million for Apple on this new venture.

So wow, I guess people ARE using it. I looked into the service a little more. Face-to-face appointment-only Apple sessions could teach you how to start your own Web sites, blogs and podcasts, as well as learn editing through iMovie. So I guess it’s not as basic as it sounds. And, you have to admit, it’s most certainly a brilliant strategy for Apple.

3. Have you seen the new InMotion Entertainment stores at various airports nationwide? I’ve passed them several times before, but finally stopped to get the scoop last week on my way home from Internet Retailer in San Jose, Calif. You rent a movie for $5 at an airport store and return it at another after you land. Or you can return it at the same store after your round trip home. No DVD player? Rent one too. It’s a nice option if you travel often and are sick of the in-flight movies. Anyway, it’s definitely a creative retail effort. I just wonder if it’s actually working. If you’re as intrigued as I am, visit: http://www.inmotionpictures.com/

— Samantha Murphy

Teens Speak Out: What’s Hot; What’s Not

Urban Outfitter’s Free People is hot, Juicy Couture and Coach are not, at least according to a panel of 17 affluent teens from Franklin Lakes, NJ.

Appearing at Piper Jaffray’s 27th Annual Consumer Conference earlier this week, a group of 17- and 18-year-old high-school seniors from New Jersey enlightened curious investors on the ins and outs of teen fashion and the state of contemporary ‘coolness.’

On the 20th-floor rooftop of the opulent St. Regis Hotel, investors were assured that Birkenstocks are hot. Every guy at Ramapo High owns a pair, according to one student. The teens also downgraded Crocs from hot to not.

And while Billboard Chart-topping rapper Mims would explain “Birkenstocks are hot cause they’re fly, Crocs ain’t cause they’re not,” the students revealed that the rubber, hole-ridden shoes are just ugly.

The scholars from the Garden State declared that Henleys long-sleeved shirts are a product pushing the figurative mercury upward.

Hoodies were another a big winner amongst the panel, not any particular brand or style, merely any zippered sweatshirt with a hood. Seven Jeans proved to be a hit as well, appearing on the majority of the panel’s back-to-school shopping list.

The students confirmed investors’ instincts that Apple’s effervescent iPod is still hot, while radio is not. One student disclosed that she has not listened to her car radio since purchasing the vehicle.

Apparently TV does not possess the reach it once had as the proliferation of broadband Internet access has siphoned teens’ attentions.

— Mike Zahler

Forty Years Ago Today...

I know I’m dating myself, but it was 40 years ago today the Beatles released their signature album, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

I remember waking up that morning and turning on the transistor radio next to my bed. The DJs were already all abuzz about the album, saying how it would change the course of music. I bought into the hype 100% (the fact that I was a huge Beatles fan didn’t hurt).

There was no question that I had to have the album that day.

My mother didn’t quite understand the urgency—driving me to a record store wasn’t the number one item on her agenda. The truth is it wasn’t on her agenda at all. But I finally wore her down, and in the early evening she agreed to take me to Vogel’s Records, in Elizabeth, N.J.

By that time, I was a nervous wreck. It was late, so I wondered if there would be any copies left. What would I do if it was sold out—would she drive to Two Guys from Harrison on Rt. 22 (or “the highway” as we called it) to see if it was in stock there? If they were out too, I added, we could always try National, further down the road. Right?

My mother said I would have an ulcer by the time I was 15.

As soon as I saw the display when we walked in, I felt like crying. Yes, there were copies left! I grabbed one.

The store was full of people, and everyone seemed to be talking about the Beatles. I felt like I belonged to a special club. It was exciting just to be there.

A local newspaper about the album was interviewing the solemn-looking man who always sat behind the cash register. He had, of course, ordered extra copies in anticipation of the rush. There were even people lined up outside the store when it opened, he said.

My mother bought the album and we left. I held onto it like gold. And when we got home, I ran right upstairs and put on my less-than-excellent turntable. I was in heaven. What a day!

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with my 13-year-old godson about buying records (or, to be more accurate, CDs). He is a big music fan and always seems to have the latest generation iPod. Nearly all of the music he listens to has been downloaded from the Internet.

“Why would I want to go to a store and buy music,” he said to me, “when I can just download it?”

It’s hard to argue with him. But looking back, I’m glad I didn’t have the option 40 years ago of downloading “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

It wouldn’t have been as exciting—or as fun.

— Marianne Wilson