The traffic circle, typically home to the Stag Bus and a few straggling turkeys, has been overtaken by a new flock. The roundabout has become the landing point for a horde of cardboard boxes, stamped with a logo reminiscent of a smile. Daily, the horde seems to multiply. The boxes spill out of the massive gray trucks and into the street. Amazon employees, clad in navy blue vests, haul the packages into carts. As they wheel the delivery vessels into the Barone Campus center, I am often impressed by the Jenga-esque stacks that protrude from each bin.
Recently, I decided to engage in a bit of investigative journalism. I chose to sit in a perch adjacent to the glass doors where the deliveries enter. I settled in with my container from Taste of Grill, prepared to spend my lunch hour calculating just how many boxes would enter the BCC. The stream of deliveries was seemingly endless, rendering my attempt at a casual count nearly impossible.
I was situated amongst the mailroom lockers, allowing me to observe yet another phenomenon. As quickly as the deliveries were rolled in, they left once again. I witnessed countless students approaching the lockers to claim their goods. With a simple scan and signature, the lockers swung open to reveal stacks of those oh-so-recognizable packages. Often, students left with their hands full and noticeably struggled to balance their acquired belongings.
In one instance, a mailroom employee called out to the students. “Tell your friends to stop online shopping,” he remarked. His plea was met with a series of giggles, as his wish seemed entirely unfathomable in a society infatuated with e-commerce.
As I finished up my Mediterranean meal and abandoned my post, I recounted my observations. In doing so, I was struck with a distinct feeling of unsettlement that stuck with me as I headed into class. It was only amplified by my heightened awareness of how many of my fellow students’ screens were not open to take notes. Instead, students perused online shopping sites. In a setting where they should be adding to their bank of knowledge, they were “adding to cart.”
I’ll admit that I too have fallen victim to an online shopping tendency. Although, I strive to divulge in this form of retail therapy outside of the classroom. Still, it can be challenging with the influx of pop-up advertisements offering links to the latest deals. Moreover, campus culture creates pressure to don the hottest new styles. In a more practical sense, online shopping offers a level of convenience unmatched by a trip to a brick-and-mortar store.
As an underclassman, I recall the difficulty of finding time in my schedule to board the Stag Bus when I was in need of essential items. A few keyboard clicks were far easier than an entire trek downtown. Still, those trips are far more memorable than any mindless spree on Amazon. Thus, I have a proposition.
As we enter the season of gift-giving, I encourage you to seek remission from your online shopping addictions and shop locally.
As a student residing in Barnyard Manor, my walk to the Barone Campus Center is approximately three-fifths of a mile. The distance to Fairfield Center is only two-fifths more. Within a mile of campus, we have access to a plethora of incredible small businesses. To me, the rich offerings and ability to support our community justify the slight extension of my commute.
Before I depart for winter break, I have a list of shops I plan to visit to pick up presents for my loved ones. I look forward to the wares I’ll collect. But, I am more excited for the experience as a whole and the engagement with each vendor – an experience that could never be replicated in the digital realm. As an Amazon Prime Member, my shipping may be free. But, genuine human interaction is priceless.
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