Not-So-Sweet Shopping

Sugar is my new love. At just five months old, the miniature Goldendoodle with shaggy blonde hair and big brown eyes has stolen my heart. (Not a “designer dog” aficionado? A Goldendoodle is a combination of a poodle and golden retriever.)

Sugar has also chewed a hole in my wallet.

New-puppy expense goes far beyond the inevitable veterinarian bills. There’s the succession of collars, each bigger than the one bought two weeks before. And the expensive dog food, the training treats, the training class, and of course the accessories. I have bought Sugar a bandana for fall, one for Christmas, her very own blanket, and a toy box full of dog playthings.

While most of my shopping has been at my favorite PETCO store, a few items have come from online sources. The most recent Internet shopping experience, though, left me wanting. I got an e-mail from “In the Company of Dogs,” which advertised special holiday savings. When I checked out the merchandise, I saw a collar I simply had to have. (It was a pink-and-orange tropical design, perfect for my buff little blond with the surfer curls.) Reduced from $18.99 to $12.99, with free shipping to boot, the collar sailed into my cart and off to checkout I went. Everything went without a hitch, until I clicked “confirm purchase.”

At that moment, a receipt appeared on my screen—for $18.99, plus shipping, rather than the reduced price of $12.99, sans shipping. I sat there, not knowing what to do. The purchase was made, the company had my credit-card information, and the price was wrong.

I had no choice but to call the company, wait through interminable recorded messages and offers, hold while the customer-service staff served what the taped voice described as an “overload of calls,” and gradually become more frustrated as the minutes ticked by. Finally, I got my live person, explained the situation, and he looked up the purchase. He said, “But that collar is $18.99.” And I had to point him to the Web site where the collar was clearly under the sale items and reduced to $12.99. His response was, “Hmm.”

We finally got the mess straightened out, I was charged the correct price, and I have since confirmed that the reduced amount was what ultimately appeared on my credit-card statement. But I was left feeling very dissatisfied that the retailer couldn’t do a better job of integrating information. In this day and age, when sales are few and far between, retailers can’t afford to make these kinds of pedestrian mistakes.

Don’t get me wrong; Sugar loves her new collar. But her next one will come from someone else.

—Katherine Field

Holiday Zen = lululemon

While Christmas shopping at Roosevelt Field Mall in Garden City, N.Y., bright and early Saturday morning, I passed lululemon Athletica and received my first holiday gift—an invitation to a free open yoga class.

A yoga enthusiast for 10 years, I look forward to taking “formal” classes led by knowledgeable teachers. With two kids and a full-time job, however, I don’t get to take advantage as often as I would like. lululemon may be just what I need to change that.

The first time I heard about lululemon was at the Technology and Operations Store Summit (TOPSS), sponsored by Chain Store Age and Retail Technology Quarterly in June. This Canadian company opened one store in 1998, with the intention of becoming a “community” where yoga enthusiasts could meet and discuss the benefits of yoga, as well as other aspects of living a healthy lifestyle.

Then a funny thing happened—consumers began flooding the store looking for apparel and accessories to help them pursue their passion for yoga. The chain began expanding, and today it is a 100-plus-store chain with locations in Canada, Australia and the United States.

The chain keeps its passion for yoga at the core of its business model. It offers free yoga classes to employees during their breaks and off-hours. They also give them the opportunity to try out lululemon merchandise, from apparel to accessories, such as mats and blocks.

Keeping true to this spirit, the open yoga classes are helping this lululemon location recreate that feeling of “community” among its shoppers. The Roosevelt Field store features a “Community Board,” which displays local yoga schools, class schedules and discounts. It also features a “Studio of the Month,” and invites teachers from the “honored” studio to lead these weekly classes.

The class I attended attracted 20 students. By moving merchandise displays to the back of the store, the selling floor was transformed into a yoga studio. The store provided the yoga mats, props and even filtered water, available from a water fountain displayed against a floor-to-ceiling sea-foam green tile back splash. Dimly lit track lighting, inspirational music, and statues of Buddhist frogs (which symbolize prosperity) and elephants (strength of the mind) added to the pleasant Zen-like atmosphere—something much-needed this time of year.

While the classes are a nice feature, I’m willing to bet they are helping to increase the store’s holiday traffic. Once the class was over, for example, I saw at least three people stay behind and browse the store.

I had to leave before enjoying everything the store had to offer—I only get so much free time without children these days! But I will definitely go back—for another class as well as to shop. And who knows. If my loved ones read my holiday wish list, I might even find a holiday treat from lululemon in my Christmas stocking.

—Deena M. Amato-McCoy

Black, and Blue, Friday

I avoid Black Friday like the plague. As far as I am concerned, you have to be two things I’m not in order to survive the biggest shopping day of the year: You need to be comfortable in crowds, and you must be naturally confrontational. I am neither.

A small-town, spring-season version of Black Friday taught me early on that I have no stomach for the big-sale mentality. An exclusive boutique named Ida’s, in my childhood home of Mansfield, La., hosted an annual President’s Day sales event—called Ida’s 2.22 Sale. Everything—and I mean everything—in the store was marked down to $2.22 for one day only.

This was the one sale that could get my mother, my two sisters and me into a chilly February lineup at 7:00 a.m. (In the ‘60s and ‘70s, 4 a.m. would have been unheard of.) We would wait with the other townspeople in front of Ida’s door, which, by the way, opened into a remodeled garage at the back of Ida Wiggin’s home. When she threw the door open, we rushed in with everyone else to fight for the bargains.

When I say fight, I mean it. I can remember spying a pair of expensive pants in just my size and reaching for them at precisely the same time as another lady. With her holding onto the pant legs, and the waist band firmly gripped by me, we began to pull. Because I was a teenager and was growing increasingly upset, my mother intervened. (I ended up with the pants; you don’t cross my mother, especially when shopping.)

Feb. 22, 1974 was my last big sales shopping event. I realized that day I simply am not willing to wait in line while it’s still dark outside. And I don’t have the stomach to fight over merchandise.

This past Saturday, I read both national and local accounts of Black Friday tragedies and mishaps. The tragedy, of course, occurred at Wal-Mart—and if a death doesn’t tell us that we’ve gone out of control as a shopping nation, nothing will. Locally, we had incidents of a knife being brandished and several unarmed assault charges filed, but fortunately no injuries or deaths resulted.

My family was safe at home on Friday, snug in our beds while others tussled over televisions and waved weapons over laptops. Later that morning, I checked in with my mother, who still lives in Louisiana, and she reported that she stayed home as well. Seems that, at age 83, she no longer has the stamina, or the stomach, for the fight.

—Katherine Field