You’ll Find Me in “Drama”
I realized recently that before I enter a bookstore, I have a habit of turning off the ringer on my cell phone. I was tiptoeing around a display of paperback bestsellers with ninja-like stealth when I began to think, “I wonder why that is? After all, this is a store not a library.”
But as I glanced around me, I came to the awareness that the bookstore really is practically a library. Everywhere I looked there were people sitting down deeply entranced by a text. To my right a woman’s brow furrowed as her eyes darted over the advice of a dating self-help book. By my elbow was an older man in tweed with a penchant for Dickens. To my left was a young man enjoying Stephen King and a cappuccino.
I wanted to yell, “Aha!” “Eureka!” or even “Gadzooks!” but couldn’t for fear of being shushed. I didn’t dare disturb the intellectuals pouring over each work of literature with admiration and reverence . . . but no apparent intentions to buy.
Yes, eventually each person would check his watch, put his book back whence it came, and leave the store empty-handed. That’s amazing! I thought. Can they do that?
Surely if I wandered into Target and rode a mountain bike around the store “just to test it out” someone would stop me. But here in the bookstore, people live to read and reshelf.
At first the whole notion unnerved me. Do I really want to purchase a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover after a teenager has been reading it in the corner, clandestinely touching himself?
But then such an idea came to me! If I ever became homeless, I would spend my days in the bookstore! Instead of sitting on a street corner feeling sorry for myself and drinking myself into oblivion, I would spend the daylight hours surrounded by literary genius. One day I might enjoy the classics, the next day science fiction, and perhaps humor the following day.
And while I was expanding my knowledge of everything that could possibly be found in print, I would do the world a public service. Every time I spied a student desperately searching the the CliffsNotes section I would idle up to him and selflessly offer assistance. “King Lear, eh? Buy me a latte and I’ll tell you how it ends.”
Sure, eventually the bookstore staff might notice my ever-presence, but I’ve got that covered. “What do you mean I have to leave? I work here! That’s right. I work my ass off for this company. Or maybe you haven’t noticed that I’m here every day from the time we open until the time we close. Even on weekends and holidays! Tell me, what time did you show up for work this morning, Bucky?”
If they don’t believe me, that’s when I’d get loud. “Who do you think you are? I don’t answer to you. I’m corporate, dammit. This is going in my report!”
Ah yes, I’ve got it all figured out.
Well, except for one thing. Should I live at Borders or Barnes & Noble?