19 Dec 2022: What if shops didnât sell things?
[Image: a collage of Kuka/Ruscha/Burtynsky]
Hail and farewell
This is the last Co-op Digital newsletter. It has had an excellent and enjoyable run, thank you to everyone who helped get it going with decisions, everyone who kept it going with content, and everyone who read it. Weâve been wrapping up with 3 questions. Previously: more radical membership and more than a shop?Â
Thank you all for reading and sending ideas. The Co-op story continues on the magnificent Co-op Digital blog. Rod will still be writing about climate change and carbon transformation at Holdfast and about money at Checksies. See you there?
What if shops didnât sell things?
Supermarkets and many other types of retail businesses are often high volume/tight margin machines, looking to increase volume and find small gains and complementary products and services with higher margins. Will this always be the case?Â
As climate change bites into the world, making it less predictable, will the cost and availability of materials change the dynamic for retail? Do supply chains fracture? Will managing the entire lifecycle of products and packaging add cost that makes retail unviable, or will it unlock new business? Can shopping fit into circular economies if recycling and reuse becomes central? What if shops bought things from you, instead of selling them to you?
2040
Aya looks the length of the warehouse. Thereâs a haze in the distance where the unfactory starts and above the superstructure is barely visible behind the ambient dayglow. A city inside a building.
She pulls the door shut on her housing unit and walks to the bus stop. Thereâs only a couple of minutes to wait before a driverless bus pulls up. These carbon grey boxes crawl the building, patiently looping between the different work, housing and leisure zones.
Aya gets on the bus and sits. Her glasses immediately pop up an interactive about hitting this monthâs KPIs. With a glance she flicks it away, and looks the other way to access shopping. A carousel of plaid shirts flickering across the field of view, partly obscuring the view out of the window of apartment blocks, terraced 2-up 2-downs, community centres, and behind her in the distance parkland and the executive mcmansions. Aya considers buying a shirt that says 2005 and has all the confidence of that era. The checkout dances and says: âHey you know you could put that 229.50 into something more long term? Say Pension to put it to work for you.â Aya sighs, shuts her eyes and whispers âCancelâ, the UI an afterimage in reversed colours.
Aya steps off the bus at the warehousing zone and passes through two layers of perimeter security: ID badge and then a tongue print which performs ID verification and a recreational drugs test. Now she is matter-side. She steps through the air wall into a cavernous space: kilometres of racking, ducting, assembly areas, disassembly areas, recycling, storage, cabling, transport, uncountable shelves of racking and gigantic bays of raw material.
10 years ago, at peak shopping, this building was Amazonâs largest fulfilment centre, the entire building performing inventory, pick and pack - all of it heading into cardboard boxes, out the loading bays and to everyoneâs home via the Amazon-only lanes on the motorways.Â
Since then, the building has grown and evolved in response to 15 years of carbon budgets and circular economy targets. The shadow of the smile logo is still faintly visible on the wall. The work is now two-way: theyâre doing as much inbound for recycling as they do outbound retail: the increasing value of material feedstocks made disassembly and recycling higher margin businesses. Across the way, building crews are pulling out the pick and pack racking, and hauling in more recyc stations.
Conveyor belts of toys, consumer goods, electronics, plastic items, everything. Some things are automatically sorted, separated by size or material type into smaller flows on smaller conveyors, a river delta. The metal goes off along a conveyor to be remelted in a distant area. The plastic is ripped apart into uncountable white-edged grains of feed stock.Â
Further away, and behind more layers of security, are the goop vats where the synthetic bio voodoo happens. Thereâs a smell of ammonia and long chain polymers everywhere, which the air ducting cannot ever remove entirely.
Here though, the river belt meanders through rows of stations, where human-robot pairs work next to each other, pulling objects off the main belt and moving them to several smaller tributary belts for onward sorting.
Aya walks up to the only unstaffed station. A fixed robot is at the wide conveyor belt. Its body is a 7-axis spine of rotatable stainless steel segments that look more like muscles than components. Its arm ends in an array of cameras, lidar sensors and rubber tipped and suction manipulators. Around the robot is a 2 metre no-go zone hashed out in hazard orange. It has placed several objects in that space around its base. A Casio watch. A christmas tree toy. A clown painting on black velvet. Lego pieces.
The supervisor approaches and shrugs at Aya: âYou make it work, if you can. I inât going near it thoughâŠâ Aya swipes her badge into the work station. The robotâs arm monitors everything that passes on the belt under it, occasionally twitching as if indecisive. But it is not moving and not sorting items.
Aya watches the belt for a while and reaches out to pick up an old lunch box in blue and red plastic. She shows it to the robot, and then with great care Aya places it on the floor, inside the no-go zone, and steps back. The robotâs arm bends, the array inspecting the lunchbox for several seconds.Â
Then it straightens, moves back over the belt, and starts grabbing objects and sorting them.
Thank you for reading
Thank you friends, readers and contributors. If you want to find out more about Co-op Digital, follow @CoopDigital on Twitter and read the Co-op Digital Blog. Previous newsletters. Stay strong.









