Even Dime Stores Have to Change
Standing at the entrance, his “Customers First” badge identifying him as store manager, Brian Kanbara is fair game.
“I gotta be somewhere in 10 minutes,” an agitated young man complains. Could Kanbara expedite his merchandise return? He could. The young man was in the wrong line.
A senior citizen, clutching her receipt, demands her 10% discount for an item she’d bought Tuesday, the day on which seniors get a discount on everything but tobacco and lottery tickets.
“Where is the Lysol spray?”
“Can you cut me a key like this one?”
“Where do you have sweat pants?”
We’re at Woolworth’s in Santa Monica, which for 46 years has been luring customers with everything from A (apple juice) to Z (zippers)--and better mousetraps too.
Santa Monica’s once-tacky row of storefronts along 3rd Street has been reborn as the 3rd Street Promenade, a lively street scene with upscale shops, movie theaters and cafes.
And Woolworth’s, the “dime store,” not only endures, but thrives. There’s the familiar gold-on-red sign--F.W. WOOLWORTH CO.--right behind a pair of topiary dinosaurs, a favorite spot for the mall’s street performers.
Today, acknowledges Kanbara, a genial 44-year-old, “I cannot honestly think of anything that’s five or 10 cents.” Even the giant gum balls are a quarter.
“Excuse me. Do you have carrot peelers?” He does.
We’re standing by a bin that holds magnetic dusters ($5, on special), purple pompon affairs with extensible handles. The dusters, together with almost every item in Kanbara’s eclectic inventory, came from Woolworth’s central in New York, where buyers decide what’s going to be hot and what’s not.
Only beverages, some sports team gear and souvenirs are purchased locally. “We get a lot of tourists,” Kanbara says, and they go home with coffee mugs, spoon rests, and salt and pepper shakers fancied up with waves and palm trees.
Old man Woolworth--Frank Winfield, who died in 1919--would surely shake his head in disbelief to see the price tag on a mountain bike, the Santa Monica store’s top ticket item at $239.99.
And what’s this, a mini-grocery in Woolworth’s, right up front with other high-volume items--candy, drugs and beauty aids and film? Haagen-Dazs and macaroni and cheese under this roof?
Well, Kanbara explains, after the big quake, his customers--many of whom are elderly and do not drive--asked for soups and other foods, as well as bottled water. Sales have been brisk.
“Hi, Brian. Do you sell aspirin tablets?”
He patiently helps the customer decide between Brand X and Brand Y.
It’s Wednesday afternoon and, as always on Wednesdays and Saturdays, when there’s an open-air produce market nearby, business is good.
The manager, who’s given to working from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., could seclude himself in his upstairs office, but that is neither Woolworth’s policy nor his natural inclination. Besides, he says with a laugh, if he tried to avoid patrons, “They’d come looking for me.”
Kanbara is a hands-on kind of guy, chatting up customers, clearing away shopping carts, tidying up displays left askew by looky-loos. He’s also a company man who began his career 21 years ago as a management trainee in Fountain Valley. Since, he’s worked five Woolworth’s, this one since 1992.
“I’m looking for hydrogen peroxide.”
Kanbara leads the way, but is unable to assure the customer that it’s suitable for soaking his toothbrush.
Stuffed bunnies, Easter eggs and baskets claim the seasonal display area on the north wall, where once a lunch counter stood (that space is now Johnny Rockets next door). Soon, the bunnies will give way to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day displays, patio furniture promos and, come September, back-to-school merchandise.
Woolworth’s offers an eclectic mix--trunks, tablecloths and trash cans, plates and potting soil, sewing machines, step stools and skates, Barbies, basketballs and bedspreads, false eyelashes and floor mats.
Once, girls went to the dime store to buy “Evening in Paris” for their mothers--and maybe to sample a forbidden tube of Pink Lightning lipstick. At today’s Woolworth’s, they can indulge in shades such as Moonbeam Mauve, Passion Plum and Raspberry Rage and knockoffs of famous fragrances such as Obsession (The Woolworth version: Possession).
The P.A. is serving up a mix of music and handy household hints. One hint: Freeze your pantyhose before wearing them to make them last longer.
“Do you have boxes of matches?”
Kanbara has to say no, but he does have lighters.
A screaming match has erupted between two customers in line. Kanbara’s policy: Hands off, and hope for the best. (He still cringes to recall the time a man slung a bag of popcorn at a woman).
The yuppification of 3rd Street has not chased away all of the street people, but Kanbara has learned that looks may deceive. “One lady comes in here, a regular customer, pushing all her possessions in big trash bags in a shopping cart. But she always has rolls of money.”
The passing parade continues.
“You used to have little bags of salted peanuts out of the shell . . . “
Yes, they have those.
“Do you know if you have Dial antibacterial soap?”
Yes.
In a corner displaying sports gear, ESPN is playing. Kanbara, not much of a baseball fan himself, is happy the strike’s over. It’s hard to push baseball caps while ESPN is showing golf and tennis.
It’s late afternoon. A man approaches Kanbara, who’s standing by the bin offering pantyhose 25% off.
The man holds up a shortwave radio he’s just bought.
“Are you the manager? I want to get Egypt. . . .”
How to Get the Poop on Drawing Celebrities
So you threw a celebrity event but snagged no celebrities?
Maybe it was the perks (not enough). Or maybe you were courting an A celebrity for a B event.
And why should you care?
Well, says public relations woman Flo Selfman, for better or for worse, the fact is that, here in the celebrity capital of the world, celebrities can make or break an event.
Selfman shared tips for luring the famous, the almost-famous and the famous for being famous at a Learning Annex class. Among her students: A woman on the board of a teen services clinic and a man planning a sports consumer show.
Discreetly declining to name names, Selfman divided celebrities into the dignified who’ll sneer at anything tacky (read, wet T-shirt contest) and the others “who court tabloid publicity, the more the better.”
Best bets: soap opera stars and country music people, who often show up “just to be with the fans.” But nighttime TV people and film people “rarefy themselves.”
Possible lures for A celebs: A trip for two to an exotic locale or a golf tourney at a favorite course. And “they’ll fight each other to go” to a major ski event. Even the highly paid can’t resist a good freebie.
The “one best perk” you can dangle? A limo.
For a hefty fee, celeb agencies will share their databases with such info as which stars come out only for money, which charities appeal to whom.
These folks know whether you’re apt to land an A or a B celeb--or if you’re fishing in the AKY celebrity pond. That’s AKY, as in “Are you kidding?”
On the big day, no-shows are not the norm but, Selfman warns, be prepared. “One reason celebrities have all these intermediate people is to get them out of stuff.”
* This weekly column chronicles the people and small moments that define life in Southern California. Reader suggestions are welcome.
