An insider bids a fond farewell to Danier
Like a worn leather jacket, the store job holds memories, Lynette Wilson writes.
When the liquidation was first announced, we, as staff, didn’t get any more notice or information than the general public.
We found out via email as the news releases ran. I remember listening to CBC on my drive home that day: the hosts were trading the stories of their own first leather jackets — all from Danier Leather. The brand had become more than just another Canadian company, it had become a rite of passage, because the magic of a leather jacket isn’t in its utility value (it’s a “want,” not a “need”); it’s all about how it makes you feel. Some people feel like Fonzie, not a hair out of place, with all the swagger in the world; some feel powerful, channelling their inner Thelma and Louise; a few feel untouchable, like Johnny Cash.
“That’s a wrap,” the liquidation supervisor assigned to the Ottawa-Quebec region said as we stood outside the empty store. “Good luck,” he told Zoe and me, shaking our hands. “I hope to never meet you under these circumstances, again.” Then, with a nod, he turned and walked toward the parkade, while Zoe and I headed to the stairs.
Back on April 28, we closed the doors of Danier Leather at the Ottawa Tanger Outlets for the last time, after spending the day watching people come and collect everything from rolling racks to the ceiling-height, LED-lit window-display shelving unit. Buyers were responsible for getting the fixtures out themselves. One gentleman, who had purchased two eight-foot mirrors, brought in a glass specialist and still managed to crack one of the two purchases, shatter the floor tile under its base, and leave a hole almost as big as my head in the drywall where the top of the mirror had been mounted. He was “supposed” to send somebody to have the damage repaired, but I think we all knew how likely that was to happen.
Truth be told, by the end we were ready for it to be over. Liquidation is messy and tension-filled, while everybody tries to piece together what life will look like in the aftermath.
We all came out with a story or two to tell over a cold drink. My personal favourite was the gentleman who looked me dead in the eye as I packed up his newly purchased jacket, and, with a desperately squeezed-out smile, told me I was “awful perky for somebody about to be out of a job.” When I recounted this story to Zoe, she asked if I had stapled his receipt to his hand. I hadn’t, for the record, but the thought made me laugh.
That’s what I’ll miss the most about my staff at Danier: the laughter. Despite any shortcomings, the place was packed to the brim with talent. The grace, patience and understanding my girls carried themselves with made me one proud co-manager on more than one occasion.
Ultimately, the liquidation could be the best thing that ever happens to most of us. After all, how many times in life does anybody get a clean break to switch gears? At least, that’s how I have to think about it to keep the bitter from eclipsing the sweet in bittersweet.
We lost more than just a brand that day, we lost the broken-in jackets that we wore falling in love, sneaking out after curfew and driving too fast with the windows down; it sort of feels like we lost an old friend.