Customer: I don't, but I would like to sign up for one.
Me (He's going to say no after I tell tell him how much it costs.): Great! Do you know all the details and benefits? It costs $25 for a year membership for 10% off everything in the store...
Customer: Yep. Sign me up! By the way, do you have a trashcan?
Me (Ugh. What is he going to hand me?): ...Yes.
Customer, handing over his Borders discount card: I won't need this anymore.
That's right. All of the local Borders have officially closed down. We are the only bookstore in a twenty mile radius. The next closest bookstore? Another one of us. (I don't think we need to get specific. Y'all know where I work.) I actually felt a little sad when he handed me the card and I threw it away. I know I would sneer whenever someone mentioned Borders. I also plug my ears and "lalalalala" every time someone mentions Amazon. Truthfully, though, losing Borders is the end of an era. It was always us against them in a friendly "booksellers rule!" rivalry. To lose them is to lose another option for one's book buying purposes. It's one less store for people to find that book that will change their life (or just keep them up all night reading). One less store to smell the bookish air (and yes, there is a certain kind of air in a bookstore). One less store to hold that book in your hand and just know you've GOT to have it. People still want to buy books, even with all those iPads and iPhones and e-readers, including that e-reader from another company (lalalalala!). I love my NOOK, but there's just something about a BOOK.
I started selling books eleven (ELEVEN. Holy. Crap.) years ago, right after I moved back home after going to school in Indiana for two years. I wanted a part-time job while I attended The OSU and my cousin was a manager at our local bookstore. It seemed like the perfect fit for an English major. Love of reading? Check. Knowledge of classics, cheesy romances, and pop culture? Check. Ability to not kill someone for yelling at you when you're sold out of the book they need for class tomorrow even though they've known about it all summer? Um, yeah. Check! I've been a head cashier, a music seller, a cafe server, a receiver, a lead for every section imaginable, and an "I need a cigarette. Be the manager for ten minutes" bookseller. I've transferred to three different stores in three different states and have always found the same welcoming crew of friendly booksellers. (Well, there are always a few exceptions. Amiright, North Carolina peeps?!) Overall, you're working with a similar group of people no matter what store you find yourself. We love books, we love to talk about books, and we want to help other people find that same love.
So what upsets me more than anything? When a fellow bookseller says they're going to quit and people congratulate them on "getting out". I mean, good for you. You've found a job that pays more money/is in the field you studied/offers more hours. That's awesome. But for some of us (and I include myself in the 'some')? We're staying. And, shocker of shockers, we like it. We WANT to stay. And *gasp* this might actually be the place we work for the rest of our working lives. And when you're congratulating someone on quitting, you're saying the rest of us are still "stuck in the hellhole". (Not my words, but words I've heard.) I've had bookseller friends tell me they're looked down upon by friends, family, even strangers, for "still" working at the bookstore. "Why can't you find a 'real' job," they're asked. I despise that question. This IS a real job. I work forty (not always fun, labor-intensive, dealing with cranky customers, picking up after people who surely learned how to do it themselves, constantly on my feet) hours a week and get a paycheck. That's a J-O-B, my friends. And a good one, at that.
Long live the bookstore! Long live the booksellers who keep them running all day, every day (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, because we deserve a couple of guaranteed days off)! Books are my passion and it's what I love to do. A cubicle does not a real job make.
But, uh, I'll still plug my ears and "lalalalala" every time someone mentions Amazon.
The tools of MY trade. (Also, a behind the scenes look at a breakroom. Ooo!)
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