Modern life is rubbish - Shawn's Sense with Shawn Loughlin

Dedicated readers of this space know me as a card-carrying former member of the video store workforce. For over seven years, I scanned the DVDs, restocked the shelves, uncovered the buried classics and, yes, rewound tapes at the Rogers Video at the intersection of Kingston and Valley Farm Roads in Pickering. (The store no longer exists, nor does any Rogers Video, though the building does and, according to the most recent Google Street View evidence, it appears to be a Mucho Burrito and a cheque-cashing place.)

 

I have tremendous reverence for the shops of the arts which are, one by one, falling by the wayside. Video stores, music shops and book stores were all staples of my formative years. I loved music and books growing up, so I spent a lot of time in those stores, but, because I was part of the tribe, the video store will always hold a very special place in my heart. It wasn’t always perfect (other dedicated readers will know that I survived a robbery-at-gunpoint there once - New Year’s Day is the anniversary for those keeping track at home) but it was a place in which you could talk to your fellow movie-lovers, browse around, find something you didn’t even know you were looking for and learn about films you didn’t know existed.

 

Younger generations will shout me down on this, pointing to everything from online blogs to social media communities to extensive and comprehensive lists of movies, filmmakers, actors, studios and “if-you-like-this...” articles as better alternatives to a conversation with a video store nerd but by God there was something special about the shared experience of a video store on a Friday or Saturday night.

 

It is with all that being said that I was so very happy to see a CBC article over the break on the return of the video store in Canada, not as a for-profit enterprise, but as a community centre hub. The article (whose deck includes the word “enshittified” - this ain’t your mom’s CBC ladies and gentlemen) tells of a church in Saskatoon and then details a number of other not-for-profit examples of the video store around North America bringing us together. Furthermore, by focusing on the community hub aspect of the video store, these purists are hitting the core of the video store experience. It’s not about watching a movie or saving some money, though it is also about those things; it’s about community, being together and sharing an experience - all wrapped up in movies, one of the greatest shared loves humanity has.

 

I can’t tell you how many nights I walked the floor of my beloved Rogers and witnessed one patron holding a box and reading it, unsure, only for another to, unsolicited, come up and assure the undecided patron that what they were holding was worth their time, or, perhaps, that it was skippable. Sometimes I was that person and then, when they returned the movie, they’d make a point to come back in and tell me if I was right or wrong as far as they were concerned. Then, we had established a relationship and they knew they could trust me (or not trust me - and either was fine, as we had a large enough staff with diverse enough tastes that there was something/someone for everyone) with further recommendations.

 

To rehash a conversation being had by so many people in so many ways, connection through community is being lost online. We are so connected with one another in a way that is so very hollow and unsatisfying. Being part of that video store family for those years back in the day was so rewarding. There I spent so much time with my fellow movie-lovers and created a true community that could never be replicated online.