This is based on my experiences working in bookstores on-and-off for 20 years!
Dear America,
Let’s talk. I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well over the last couple of decades, working in bookstores on and off like I have.
Bookstores? you respond. Why does that make you think you know me?
Oh, America, how can you be so short-sighted, thinking of a bookstore as just another retail big box? Of course the floundering box -stores and the flourishing marketplace online that now underlies all commerce make you think books are just hammers, mailboxes, or random things like Foot-Pedithat you didn’t even know existed until you saw them on your phone.
But books, do, still go a little deeper than garden-hoses. Or even phone-chargers.
What do I like about you? Let’s start with the positive stuff. As Socrates once said, Wisdom begins in wonder, and I think there’s still a fair bit of wonder still going around, otherwise people wouldn’t set foot in a bookstore.
A particularly exuberant customer who appreciates my suggestions for books has told me several times, “This is why we need bookstores! I’d never have heard of that book if you hadn’t told me. And I only found this one (pointing to a tome in his hand) because I ran it by accident. I’d never have found this online.”
Whew. There’s someone who still loves serendipity---and not just virtual, but physical which means a lot in the reading world because in my experience most people still love the physical book. Many, many people have told me, ‘Yeah, I read ebooks, but for the books I really want, I want the book.’ Mind you, a lot of young people have told me that as well. My friend’s 11-year old daughter loves her bookshelf brimming with all kinds of books. Let’s face it—a physical bookshelf is much more attractively tactile than an online bookshelf.
Once, a boy with chestnut hair, sporting dimples, of about the glorious age of eight years or so told me, gleefully, “You must love your job! All these books!”
Well, yes, of course, many interesting books appear all the time. (And for all those customers who’ve asked me, “Have you read all the books in here?” I borrow a brilliant response from my coworker, “I’m only up to Q.”)
But the little boy forgot to mention the customers.
And boy America, have I met you here. What have I learned?
The vast majority of us are polite, understanding, and dare I say it--can even be enchanting. I’ve met so many different stripes of folk over the past two decades in which I worked at Borders-- and for those of you who remember the mall bookstores-- B. Dalton. I now work at Barnes & Noble—the first big bookstore with a café in St. Louis. I remember a Japanese friend brought me here for the first time, in 1994—it was so absolutely wonderful to have a coffee while perusing a book in a bookstore.
A quick rundown of some individuals I’ve met—a random sampling, with no particular order. Stand up and pay attention America, for this is you:
A coal-miner from Illinois who loves history, and has read the Vedas (ancient Hindu scriptures)—simply because he finds it fascinating to learn how different segments of humanity have viewed this fascinating, volatile world in which we all find ourselves. Oh, and he taught himself Spanish at the bottom of the coal mine—when he had free time, he said, he’d just read. An African-American woman who’s an engineer at Boeing and loves working on those jet engines. I can tell she really does, because she always smiles when she talks about them. A Mexican immigrant looking for a book on English who refused to believe me when I told him he spoke very well already. “No, no,” he protested, “I need to improve.”
A woman who lost her daughter on Flight 800 (a TWA flight from New York to Paris which crashed into the Atlantic Ocean in July 1996)---her fortitude nearly brought me to tears. A customer who responded to my ‘How are you?’ with this very clever repartee: I’m too blessed to be stressed. “I love that!” I told him. He told me he’s got his whole family saying it.
I’ve helped nuns—both in habit and without, both Christian and Buddhist—, Orthodox Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and many atheists. (Interestingly enough it’s only the atheists who’ve tried to convince me to think the way they do!) I’ve shown many folks to paranormal books and I’ve helped more people than I can count find the right bible they need. And I haven’t even read the entire bible.
One day, I told a woman that a book she needed was in Fiction, and that the section was arranged alphabetically. (I was busy with another customer at the time and she didn’t want to wait.) She came back, flustered, and said, “I’m from Texas. Arranged alphabetically how?”
Do they not speak English in Texas? Nor have libraries? Well, I have had Texans tell me it’s a different world down there.
See how intriguing you are America?
I’ve wrapped gifts for a former US Ambassador and cousin of President George Bush Sr. and I’ve helped many, many people who have to wait two weeks to get a paycheck in order to buy a $25 book they really want. I’ve helped lots of people find books I’d never read—from most manga to urban fiction, to –god forbid--golf---but I’m delighted to help them find what they want. {The only exception to that rule is one mass-seller which disturbed me more than anything else in all my years of bookselling but let’s not go there right now.}
Now, let’s go a little deeper. What else have you shown me America?
I helped an older white male once find a book by a far-right politician. That particular day I happened to be wearing a beaded pendant with the symbol OM on it (OM refers to the sound of creation of the universe). I found the book for him, and he told me, a little puzzled, “You’re so nice.” And I smiled and thanked him, but I always wondered what he meant by that. Was he puzzled I was nice because he’d only dealt with surly retail clerks? Or was he puzzled I was nice because of my darker skin and the foreign pendant?
You can be puzzling America. I was born in the US at a time when everyone thought Indian meant ‘Cherokee’. At one time you all were delighted because you too had Cherokee ancestry (I can’t count the number of times I’d hear, “You’re Indian? I’m a quarter-Cherokee!” in the 1970’s, ‘80’s, and even into the mid-‘90’s. Now you all are puzzled because I work in a bookstore and write & dance instead of being a doctor, a doctor’s wife, or work in IT.)
But you know something? Your responses never angered me. And nowadays, America, you seem to have a short fuse. Everyone seems to get angry so quickly! Let me illustrate: a customer once asked me, out of the blue, after I helped him find a book, “Do you play badminton?” Completely bewildered, I answered, “No”. He said, “Really? I have a lot of Indian friends and they all play badminton.”
I groaned inside, but wasn’t mad. However, when I told one of coworkers about this incident, he replied, “How does that not make you angry?”
I couldn’t believe that question. The customer’s question would never make me angry. The fact he thought I played badminton just because I’m Indian (although I was born here in the US) is a ridiculous assumption to make but a lot in life is ridiculous. (Case in point: I asked a little girl once who was buying Shopkins, “What are these?” She looked at me for a second, thought, and said, “I don’t know. You just buy them.” Never fear America—the next generation of consumer is alive and well! For those of you who don’t know, Shopkins are tiny plastic models of things like sandwiches. With eyes. ) I’m not going to waste anger on silly stereotypic statements, such as when customers tell me, “It must be hot where you’re from.” I always answer, very politely, “It is. I’m from St. Louis,” whereupon they look at me surprised, a little taken aback that I grew up here. I’m pretty convinced the only way we can become angry over something is if we carry it—anger-- inside us all the time. And far too many of us do.
The best evidence for the ever-present readiness to anger is found in the preponderance of profanity in books. As mentioned twice I’ve worked in bookstores on-and-off for twenty years and I find the vulgarity of language in books nowadays (not to mention in titles!) so disheartening. As a writer, I have never envisioned sitting down, turning on my computer, and wondering, ‘Now how can I achieve the literary profundity, tortured angst, and incessant insecurities of an angry 13-year old boy?’ But that’s seems to be de rigeur nowadays. I don’t get it. Hey, if you want profanity, go online.
But vulgarity in books? For me, the whole point of writing is to express a thought as creatively as possible. And language and abstraction are among the true characteristics of being a really wise Homo Sapiens. (Tangentially speaking, I’m quite certain Mother Earth would never have baptized our species Wise Man!) According to the fascinating book Sapiens, by Yuval Noah Harari, the one true quality that sets us apart from the great apes, are imagined realities that can unite many, many, minds. I believe we should honor this astounding capability of ours, in directions of greater self-reflection, understanding and openness---and not in directions of fear-based brutality and vulgarity. If it weren’t for this singular power to create imagined realities among vast numbers of individuals, according to Harari, “One-on-one or even ten-on-ten we are embarrassingly similar to chimpanzees.”
Well America, do you have a better sense of your true self yet? What other truths has the bookstore revealed?
A very sad one comes to mind--many of us are in jail. I’ve ordered books for scores of incarcerated folk. This is especially heartbreaking as so much of what lands people in jail is mental illness, misguided minds, mistakes.
Many of us are struggling with all kinds of mental conditions---anxiety, depression (which is everywhere now), borderline personality disorder—which is especially hard to treat—and narcissism which is unabashedly taking over society. I had a woman who once told me she was married to a male narcissist for 21 years; another woman told me her daughter had taken out a restraining order against her ex-husband with some kind of narcissistic disorder.
Once, a regular customer in the store got furious at me and berated me. A few weeks later, I saw her in the post office. I didn’t know what to say, but she approached me, showed a lot of concern for my foot (which was recovering from surgery at the time) and blessed me. And I knew then, she had something going on which needed medication.
America, a whole lot of us are on meds.
You know what I think would help? We all need to get out of our heads and over ourselves. None of us are the center of the world. (Thank God!) Let me explain: a year or so ago, a woman in complete burka, from Saudi Arabia, came in with her 10-year old son. He excitedly asked me for a magic set. I showed him one. Then, his mother whispered something to him. He turned to me, and said, with a smile, “She says you have beautiful eyes.”
Well, I grinned from cheek to cheek. But the reason I always remembered that comment was that I could only see the boy’s mother’s eyes. In her world, eyes were all-important—and she had commented on mine. That meant a lot to me.
But lest anyone think I’m blowing my own horn, I’ve also been called Stupid by an American woman, (she was upset that I didn’t let her leap ahead of someone else in line) and once an American man told me on the phone, I don’t like your voice. The response that came to mind? It’s from one of my friends, and is perfect to skewer the gentleman’s absurd comment: Thank you Sir Lancelot.
But I didn’t say it.
My point is, if there’s one thing working with the public has taught me, it’s to never take most things personally--while being as sincere as possible with the customer at the same time. It’s a beautiful balance that always keeps you humble.
I had a customer once who responded to my greeting, “How are you?” by saying, thoughtfully, with a smile, “I’m better than some, not as fortunate as others.” Wow, how perfect is that?
What else, America, what else? Ah! Lest I forget, you dazzle me with your paradoxes. Men who ask me for gun magazines (at whose testosterone-pumped covers I can’t bear to look ) are more often than not the politest and most courteous of people. A counterpoint? A woman who once flared up at me because her check wasn’t accepted---and the book she was buying? The Dalai Lama’s The Art of Happiness.
We are a country, of people desperate because the slow-cooker book they want is out of stock. People who still hide cash in mattresses—or other places. (A man once slapped dollars upon the counter, claiming he didn’t trust banks. The dollars had crumbs of dirt on them. Did he hide cash in a hole in his backyard?) People who believe that Abe Lincoln really killed vampires. (Yes, I am not kidding, a woman looked at the book Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, looked at me, looked back at the book, back at me, and whispered, Did he really?)
I hated destroying her illusion.
This is who we are, and we are all better for it. We all demonize one another and the truth is we can all be demons at any time. Or hopefully more often than not, angels. Liberals do not bear the whole truth, nor do conservatives. Men don’t have the whole truth, nor do women. Neither the rich nor poor know what’s really right. The straight don’t, neither do the many varieties of non-straight. Animals don’t, nor do people, the healthy don’t, nor the unwell.
Hey, light is both wave and a particle. And as the Hindus say, Dharma is subtle. (Dharma refers to ones duty, or how one contributes to and supports the rest of life.)
I’d like to close this essay with advice from trees. (Let’s face it, not only would we have no books without trees, we would have no oxygen, so we need to pay attention to their teachings.). In the wonderful book, The Hidden Life of Trees, Peter Wohlleben writes, “But isn’t that how evolution works? you ask. The survival of the fittest? Trees would just shake their heads—or rather their crowns. Their well-being depends on the community, and when the supposedly feeble trees disappear, the others lose as well…Even strong trees get sick a lot over the course of their lives. When this happens, they depend on their weaker neighbors for support. If they are no longer there, then all it takes is what once would have been a harmless insect attack to seal the fate even of giants.”
Some of us are tall, some small. Some need to spend all their time dissecting the Kardashians (about whom I knew nothing until I started working at Barnes & Noble) and some read Socrates.
And you meet them all in a bookstore.
Well, America, at least we’re still reading.
Even in Texas.
