I have come to the conclusion that everyone needs a nemesis. Do you have one? I do now. I think it makes life more interesting; you can secretly and surreptitiously plot against your nemesis in a nefarious James Bond villain vein, concocting all sorts of schemes and traps, inventing various Wily Coyote Rube Goldberg mechanisms to destroy your nemesis.

My nemesis is a certain department store in BB Plaza that, for reasons of journalistic integrity and slander and libel laws, shall remain anonymous. Suffice it to say that one can find in this 3-storey department store anything one might need, from household goods to clothing, and that it shall henceforth be known as "PG."

How to shop like an expert

By declaring PG my nemesis, I have elevated my status in our relationship from helpless consumer to heroic protagonist. I have endowed our weekly interactions with a conflict characteristic of folktales and ancient epics. The downside, though, is that one of us must meet our downfall. It's either me or PG. This town ain't big enough for the both of us.

PG became my nemesis through no fault of my own. I was merely minding my own business, purchasing a wide array of affordable and useful furnishings and accoutrements for my sparsely furnished apartment. I was thrilled that I could find many of the things I needed in one convenient location. Almost like a Wal-Mart, but not quite as evil. At least I didn't think so.

One of the items I purchased was an ingeniously designed mop-bucket that would help me keep my place clean. I bought it, and a bunch of other stuff, and lugged it back up the hill to my apartment, hauling everything hobo-style using a broom handle slung over my shoulder to leverage all the plastic bags on my back. When I got home, however, I found that the mop-bucket was broken in two places, severely compromising its utility to me. I took the mop bucket back right away, and informed the clerk that I wanted a replacement.

In the entire store there was only one other mop bucket, and I promptly located it with the intention of simply swapping my broken bucket for one that was not defective. This time, though, I would make sure. I pulled the "new" bucket out of the box, but found that it was broken too. So I asked the clerk for a refund, and was told that since I had paid with a credit card, I could not get a refund for the defective mop bucket PG had sold me.

In instances such as these, one might be forgiven for running amok in the manner of Hang Kasturi. However, I kept my cool, but somewhat tersely suggested to the clerk, "You'd better go get your manager." Soon the manager arrived, and repeated what the clerk told me. He didn't seem to understand why I was upset, but I told him that I was not leaving PG without either a refund or a working mop bucket.

Customer service

"In that case, all I can do is offer you some merchandise of equal or lesser value, like this toaster," said the manager, in a tone that suggested that he felt he was doing me a favor.

"But I don't want a [expletive deleted] toaster. I want a [expletive deleted] mop bucket!" I was emphatic at this point. After about 10 minutes of back and forth, I left the exasperated manager with my [expletive deleted] toaster under my arm.

On another occasion my wife and I picked out a number of items to purchase and were carrying them around, looking for a counter at which to complete our transaction. There were no baskets or carts to put our purchases in, so it was a bit awkward and inconvenient because we had to walk halfway to Klang to find a counter that was in service.

On yet another occasion my wife told me about, she had just found an item that she needed, that would improve her life immensely, but was unable to buy it because there was no price-tag, a stocking oversight that effectively crippled the clerical staff. Now, whenever I enter PG, or "the belly of the beast," as I have taken to calling it, I prepare myself for the worst.

In a massive operation like PG, there seems to be no accountability. The staff has no real stake in pleasing the customer, and the scale of business makes the threat of one individual to no longer shop there is a meaningless threat. The relationship between me and PG is asymmetrical, which irks me. I have no power. In smaller scale operations the consumer interacts with people that have a direct stake in the fortunes of the store, like the owner, or a member of the owner's family. There is a much greater attempt to satisfy the customer in your average mom-and-pop runcit store than at the supermarket.

Balik kampung

I saw this directly over the Hari Raya weekend when I went to visit some friends in a small town in Perak. I went to a small store downtown and the staff bent over backwards to help me find what I was looking for. Our transaction went beyond the level of mere commerce; it was a friendly and pleasant personal interaction as well. Not just a consumer-producer relationship, but an encounter between people. This type of interaction happens thousands of times daily in smaller communities, and is an important part of society, in my opinion. It's a part that is frequently overlooked, as well.

In my travels throughout Southeast Asia I have always appreciated the mundane hustle and bustle of smaller towns. The liveliness appealed to me; I like to see people. I never made the connection before the Hari Raya weekend, but now I see that it is a result of the nature of commerce in these towns. Many small merchants. In my home country, an unsettling phenomenon has taken place over the past 20 years or so. Call it "hypermarktetization" if you will. Huge shopping warehouses offering everything from food to tires have opened up in just about every town in the United States.

These stores, for the sake of convenience I'll refer to them as WM, typically offer a wide variety of goods at prices far below those in main-street shops. Thus they combine one-stop convenience with affordability and value. In economic terms, this form of shopping is much more efficient than main-street shopping, and hence the latter is falling by the wayside, a victim of Schumpeter's "creative destruction." There are fewer transaction costs and economies of scale are utilized. It is one of the hallmarks of economic development.

But there is something missing here. One of my fondest memories of when I was just a boy was hopping on the city bus with my family in my home town and traveling downtown for a day of shopping. The outside air and the variety of shops and faces still sticks out in my head. Now, 20 years later, all of those shops are gone, and instead of a pleasant ride on the city bus shopping entails cruising a massive concrete sea looking for parking.

Although my shopping dollars go much farther at WM, there is some sadness. I am able to buy more things, more plastic and paper, often times things that I never knew I needed, but I no longer have the experience, the connection with other people whose livelihoods were directly tied to mine. I don't know the people at WM, and they don't ask about my family.

As Malaysia develops economically, I hope that the smaller towns can maintain their identity and sense of community. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I think that vitality is important. It is important to feel the pulse of a community, for there to be some meaning in our daily rituals. A trip to town should be an outing, and adventure for the children, and a chance to maybe see a friend. The community shouldn't be sacrificed to development.

KEITH BETTINGER is a Fulbright Scholar living in Kuala Lumpur. A frequent contributor to the Asia Times , Keith has written on international politics and development issues. His column appears weekly and examines economic development, culture, and travel. Keith has degrees in History and Political Science and graduate degrees in Education and International Affairs. Email him with questions, comments, fears, or trepidations at kisu1492@yahoo.com .