A Little Bookstore Story

I will admit to a little nostalgia about the good old days of The Open Book.  Instead of a book review today, I thought I would share a little story I wrote last summer.....

I own an independent bookstore.  When you look through the windows you can see shelves filled with books, pictures on the wall, a coffee machine in the corner. You will see people browsing through books and employees behind the cash register.  It may appear to be just another business, engaged in commerce, buying and selling.  You might think that you could exchange the books for shoes or dish towels and that business would continue as usual.  You would be wrong.

The people that work at The Open Book are just a little different.  These are not the teens that apply to be lifeguards or mother’s helpers.  My employees tend to be creative, intelligent and quirky. Instead of popping the pink bubble wrap wrapped around the book shipments, they may decide to create an impromptu fashion show featuring the latest in packing material couture. Plays are rehearsed, employees sit in the window reading, someone wanders outside in a tall yellow hat and cries “Boooooks…Books for sale”.  It is a magical place and also a little strange.

Booksellers often suffer from insomnia.  We wonder where the money will come from to pay the publishers. We fret over the future. One early morning, about 3am, I decided to drive to the store to get some work done. As I pulled into a parking space in the front of the store I noticed a light in the children’s section at the back.  When I turned the key and opened the door, I heard reggae music.

I thought about getting back in my car and driving to the police station to report a break-in. But then Rory walked out of the bathroom in flannel pajama pants and a paint stained t-shirt. “Hey” he said. Robby walked out of the bathroom in a similar outfit. “What are you doing here so late?”  I walked to the rear of the store and saw sleeping bags laid out on the squishy alphabet tiles of the children’s section. There was an empty pizza box and some soda cans sitting on the toy trunk. “What the hell are you guys doing?” I asked quietly. 

“Do you remember when I asked you if we could paint the bathroom about a month ago?” said Robby. “We decided that tonight was a good night to do that. It’s almost done.  Do you want to see?”

The bathroom had been a really ugly shade of green.  The paint was peeling and it needed fixing up. It would have been nice to have a little more warning, but this was good.  Robby and Rory were taking initiative to fix up the store.

“Don’t worry, we got a really good deal on all the colors.  And the gold hardly cost anything at all. You are going to pay us back for supplies?” Rory had paint on his face and a slightly shiny tinge to his hair.

The gold? I took a breath and entered the tiny bathroom.  One wall was a perfect imitation of a Mondrian painting, all primary reds, yellows and blues. Straight lines and color blocks stood stark against the white wall.  Another wall was painted in Jackson Pollack style, spattered with crazy colors and wild patterns.  The sink was a casualty, green, pink and black speckled over the rust stains. “Look up, look up” said Robby.  The old tin ceiling looked like the dome of a capitol building.  They had taken gold leaf and rubbed it on so the old tiles gleamed.

I took it all in and felt an odd little bit of joy. “You guys, this is the most beautiful bathroom I have ever seen. Lets get some rest before it’s time to open.”  They got into their sleeping bags, I turned off the lights and curled up in the comfortable chair.  Sleep was not so hard to come by.