BMV Books is located in an area of town is a bit funky, a bit downtown and a whole lot sassier than the innocuous bulk of the Toronto city scene. I was on vacation with three of my friends all the way from Boston. On a whim (and with some luck), we found this little district and generally had a fantastic time looking it on the art stores, music outlets and Japanese restaurants. What was not enjoyable or anything close to fantastic was the shopping experience at BMV Books.
Their selection, from the outside in, looks absolutely phenomenal. There are three floors of merchandise ranging from the standard paperback to some CDs and DVDs to some hardcovers. It's a used-resale store with the set-up of a larger chain like the now defunct Borders. The store's complicated layout, which divides multiple types of fiction without much clear thought, adds to a less than easy browse. There weren't any signs that gave you a running list of the different genres you could have on any given floor, rather the patrons would have to just run up and the down the aisles and hope to find something. Canadian fiction was separated from other fiction, neither of which were well-labelled.
But it's not just the store itself or its confusing layout-- it's also the staff. I'm fine with not wearing uniforms, but a name tag would certainly help customers figure out who's actually on the payroll. When I asked if an employee could look up a certain book for me, I was told, by a very rude Moby-hipster-wannabe of a man, that they did not have a database. He then carelessly threw some more books onto his counter as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders. At that exact moment, I decided that even if I manage to find what it was that I was looking for, I wouldn't be giving these people my money. A co-worker, who had heard him, tried to salvage the situation by smiling and asking which genre the book was. It was a nice attempt at picking up the ball, but my mind was already made up, never mind the fact that two people who had earlier stood around watching me confusing out of my gourde had turned out to be staff-- and ignored me. I'd have approached them if I had known they were working, but they just couldn't be bothered to engage me as the customers, and I wasn't even sure thanks to a lack of identification. Rude service is an instant loss of sale for me. I collected my friends shortly after, and we all left without spending a penny. When then walked two stops down into a rival store where two of us ended up purchasing new books.
Maybe if they fire their staff, get a databasing system and then restructure the store to actually make sense this store would be a fun place to be. Until then, it's an unimpressive outlet that serves no purpose. read more