I’m closing Tuesday whatever the government decide to do.
I BELIEVE that retail is important. That games are important. That saying goodbye to our friends is important. I stayed open in order for people to do that, obeyed slightly more than the letter the government set out for me, hoping that they would take the scientific approach and seize the initiative.
People. Need. Normality.
And anxious people need it more.
I am anxious. I know what that feels like, to suddenly find your options closing off faster than you can make decisions. It’s paralyzing.
My staff and I made a choice.
An orderly shutdown.
A week ago we implemented social distancing by reducing our capacity. We cancelled bookings and cleared the decks of events. On Friday we closed our Organised Play space. At each point we signposted what we were doing, so it gave folks time to adjust. So people do not feel trapped.
They are going to feel trapped enough, when they are locked down for twelve weeks.
This Friday, whether mandated to or not by government, we close our retail operation and mothball the store. This week we are cashless, running a home delivery service and doing curbside pickup.
Before I opened a game store, I used to work in a bar. There’s a reason bars call last orders, and it’s because the bar has to shut. As a drinker, you know when it is. That it is coming.
Inescapable.
Last Orders is the orderly farewell, the chance to say goodbye. It won’t be forever – for most of us, hopefully.
My government has put in a generous furlough so I can retain all my staff on their salary.
When the lockdown happens, having read the Imperial College research? I don’t expect to reopen for the forseeable future. Three months? Six months? Twelve? Nobody really knows and it’s become economics poison to be HONEST.
Honesty is the purview of science now. And the science is saying last orders.
I don’t know whether our industry can handle six months of lockdown. Despite what I think about games and hobbies being essential to our mental wellbeing, and third spaces being vital to our mental wellbeing, and our primal need for human companionship. Existing in a shared physical space with others? Our industry is not food or medicine. We aren’t frontline care workers.
Some people think that they will lose out to sales from publishers and deep distributors. From competitors. But none of these folk are essential either. An Italian or Swiss style lockdown closes us all down, prince and pauper alike.
Your store? You may fight it. Game Stop and Barnes and Noble. Waterstones. I get their point, and I suspect, like me, they aren’t entirely motivated by greed. Or desperation. Six months is a long time to go without computer games or books.
Last Orders is always the busiest time for any bar. But when you call it, you have to stop. And if your government is too afraid to call it, you have to be the responsible publican and call it for yourself. Even if you think you can somehow get another round in.
Especially if you think you can somehow get another round in.
My government dithers, fearful of backlash. Fearful of a loss of popularity. They actively want folks to curtail their own freedoms, and react petulantly when they don’t. Boris Johnson just wants to be loved.
Don’t we all.
Nobody wants to call last orders. There’s always somebody in the loo who misses a drink, who wants a cheeky pint. The publican wants to serve it, the punter wants to drink it, the brewery wants to sell more barrels, the government wants more tax revenue. But secretly, everyone is glad to get home. To leave the warmth and walk back in the cold, full of good cheer. There’s always tomorrow, even if it is six months away.
One of my favourite movies growing up was Masque of the Red Death with Vincent Price. Don’t be Prince Prospero. Make the hard call your government won’t.
The Quantum Retailer 