By Charissa Graves
From the Graves
Thankfully, this column will be much less dramatic than my last one.
There have been several readers that have checked in on me since my last column was published, and let me just say thank you for that now. It’s very nice to know I can work somewhere that cares that much.
I’ve always tried to support small businesses, whether I was living somewhere or just visiting. There are many reasons for this, and I could go on a tangent for as long as one would allow me to do so.
Anyone could probably come up with a few reasons off the top of their head why it’s a good idea, especially if they’ve lived in a small town for any length of time. There’s the economic benefits, the personal connection and often the quality of products or services to consider.
If you read my last column, you know that I was hit by a car a few weeks ago. That’s not what this is about, but it is relevant to this issue and why I wanted to write about it now. I promise you I do not want to relive the event any more than necessary. There’s been enough of that already; it’s been thoroughly discussed throughout the time it took me to process everything.
When I was hit, I was waiting on a call back from a source and had decided to take a short break. The Wool Market & DIY School is just down the street from the Tribune’s office, so my plan was to walk down, put in a pre-order for their specialty kit of the month, and then walk back to the office and repeat this general formula a couple of weeks later to pick up the kit. The whole sequence should’ve taken no longer than 20 minutes; instead, it took three days.
It would’ve taken longer, I think, if I hadn’t had help from my family in not only getting me around, but in crossing that intersection again. Crossing it with help the first time was manageable, the second time—about a week later, when I was alone—induced a panic attack. I try to make myself do it every so often, in the hopes that it’ll eventually get easier. So far, though, it hasn’t.
Without knowing this, Andrea Springer, the owner of the Wool Market, paid a completely unexpected visit to the office last week. She brought the kit that I’d ordered so that I wouldn’t have to cross that street again.
I hadn’t even had a conversation directly with her about what happened, my mom and I had talked about it when we went to put in the order and someone else was running the store. I would say that I almost cried at my desk, but that would ruin the image I’m trying to create for myself, so I won’t.
Corporations don’t care about what you’ve been through. To them, in most cases at least, you’re a number on a spreadsheet at most. They don’t have to care or even worry about keeping one person’s business because there will always be another source of revenue out there.
To a small, independent business though, you’re one of the people who helps them buy groceries, keep their kid in sports, or any other number of mundane financial obligations a family may have. You’re also a neighbor, and ideally both of you have a shared goal of making your community a better place to live.
Before I was a working journalist, I did some freelance photography for a while. One of my most consistent clients was the owner of a coffee shop near my college campus. I visited once in my first year, and over the next few years I found myself visiting almost every day.
He became not only the owner of my favorite coffee shop, but a friend, and someone who supported and believed in me when I was a struggling student dealing with creative burnout. If you ever find yourself in Riverside, Calif., visit Twee Coffee and tell Noel I sent you; the coffee is great, and the conversation is better.
I could also talk about the multiple businesses in the town where I grew up, and how many of them became like second homes to me, but I think I’ve made my point. The more you pour into your community, the more it can pour back into you.