James

James is the manager of the wine store across the street from where I live. I had been thinking that I might want to work as a “Wine Tasting Host” at a local resort that has its own vineyards, so I decided I should drink more wine (work, work, work) and try to learn more about wines. So I went over to the wine store and tried to get some information.

I told James what I was up to. I asked him to describe to me the differences in two wines that were on sale – both quite reasonable at about $8 – and then picked one to buy. I would not say that James was unfriendly – just that he was not friendly. (The contrast with Kawla, in the previous post, was extremely striking.) He stayed very aloof, answering my questions, briefly, but making no attempt to really engage with me.

I walked out of the store feeling almost like I had dirt on me – I not only did not feel valued in that store, it felt that I had been disrespected, really kind of devalued. This whole thing felt so yucchy, especially in Asheville, a town where people do generally tend to be informal, friendly and engaging (the orthopedic surgeon who operated on my shoulder calls me, “Man” – I love that). The whole experience felt kind of strange – I was actually a bit blindsided by it.

So I found myself trying to make sense of what had just gone on – partly so as to not take it personally, even when it did feel kind of personal. Here were my hypotheses:

1) James knows lots about wines. He was offended by the very idea that a store could hire someone, teach them some minimal amount about a limited stock, then turn that person loose like he really knows about wines. This is actually my favorite hypothesis. I can kind of understand it and it mostly does not feel personal. But I keep finding myself thinking that this was not all that was going on.

2) James’ customers tend mostly to be pretty affluent. They come down from their mountaintop retirement homes – or second homes – and stock up on wine. I see lots of folks coming out of there carrying cases of wine or followed by one of the staff carrying one or more cases. Not only was I clearly not going to be buying cases of wine, I actually walked out with one of the cheapest bottles in the store. I didn’t tell James that I could maybe afford one such bottle per week, if I pinch my pennies, but he may have guessed that. So he smelled that I was not going to be much of a customer. Thinking about it this way feels more offensive than #1. But #3 feels the worst.

3) This whole encounter reminded me that wine, in our culture, is interwoven with class. Wealthy people buy good wines. Students, blue-collar workers, etc. either drink beer or inexpensive wines – cheaper than anything in that store. I’ll bet that even lower-middle class folks, if they do go in this store (or the resort winery I referred to), tend to feel a little awkward, a little out of their element – a little outclassed.

As I walked away from the wine store, I couldn’t shake the idea that James’ cool response to me probably had some of all three motivations. 1) He believed that “wine tasting hosts” should know a lot more about wine than I could possibly learn in some little training program. 2) He was not motivated to invest much energy in someone who was never going to be a particularly high-dollar customer. And 3) he likes to spend time with affluent, higher-class customers – and did not, actually, value me as much as them.

These hypotheses – made up in my head as they were, without good solid data – left me feeling soiled about the whole wine business. I no longer want to work as a “Wine Tasting Host”. Once in a while I may buy a bottle of wine, especially – let’s face it – on a date. But I think I’ll mostly just go back to beer.