textfiles/stories/bookem2

                             B O O K  'E M

                       Volume 1  Number 2

      Author: Caroline Kent    e-mail: caro@freenet.fsu.edu

    Copyright (c) 1995 by Caroline Kent. All Rights Reserved.


     (It's a few minutes before 9:00 a.m.  I am vigorously wiping
the front door of the bookstore, trying to remove a stubborn
spot)
     "Hi!  Welcome back to "Book 'Em."  It's so nice to see
you again.  I really enjoyed talking with you last month about the
bookstore and I hope you'll stay awhile so I can tell you some
more `stories from the stacks'."
     (I take a deep breath and glance up at the sky)
     "Isn't it a beautiful morning?  Summer is my absolute
favorite time of the year.  If only I could spend my days like
those folks in the Country Time Lemonade commercials . . .  just
lying around in the grass sipping lemonade with nowhere to go and
nothing to do and . . . "  
     (Someone coughs and I rouse myself from my daydream and pull
out a set of keys from my pocket)
     "Listen to me, just standing here chatting away.  It's time
to open the store for business . . . come on in."
     (I unlock the door and change the sign to "open."  Two
children around the age of nine rush inside the door and race to
the back of the store)
     "Business has really picked up since school has let out for
the summer.  With the popularity of computer and video games,
it's nice to see that children still appreciate books . . . "
     (I pause, as one child, after running around the store three
times, approaches me and starts to speak) 
     "Goosebumps, aisle three," I say, pointing in the general
direction.  
     (The child closes his mouth and takes off at full
speed down the aisle)
     "Children are the easiest customers to figure out.  They
either want the latest Goosebumps novel by R.L. Stine or . . ." 
     (I pause as another child approaches me)
     "Pogs, aisle two," I say confidently.
     (The child doesn't move)
     "Milkcaps or pogs as they are called, are the hottest
collectible since baseball cards.  It's actually a game that you
play.  You stack the caps face-up in a pile and throw a thing
called a "slammer" down on the stack.  Any caps that flip over,
the player gets to keep.  The remaining caps are restacked and
the next player throws the slammer on the stack and keeps the
caps that flip over.  The players take turns "slamming" until all
the caps are flipped over.  The player who flips over the most caps
wins." 
     (As I finish speaking, I notice that the child still has not
moved)
     "You don't want pogs?" I ask in a stunned voice. 
     (The little boy shakes his head)  
     "I'm losing my touch," I say sadly with a shake of my head.
     "How about a Goosebumps book?" I ask hopefully.
     (Again the little boy shakes his head)
     "Well, if it's not Goosebumps or pogs, it can only be one
other thing . . . "
     (I take the little boy's hand and lead him to the back of
the store) 
     "The bathroom's over here."
     (He runs inside)
     "Yes," I say, pumping my fists. "I still got it!" 
     (With my chin up and my head held high I  return to the front door and 
 continue polishing the glass) 
     "Sometimes adults can be a little bit more demanding then
children.  After eight hours on the job you learn to use the
`self-serve' method . . . " 



                     A Walk On The Far Side

     In order to keep daily walking mileage to a minimum,
bookstore employees learn to answer a customer's "where is"
question with a point of the finger.  Some points are easier to
make than others . . . 
     "Where is the checkout?" asks a befuddled customer.
I point to the cash register, which is six inches in front of me.
      Kids are easy to direct.  I just point in the general
direction of the book and they scamper off at breakneck speed,. 
The farther away the area the better.  More running room.
      If a book is located in the back of the store you learn to
be creative.  
     "Gardening books?  Go two aisles over to your left, make a
right, drive three miles, first house on your right . . . "
     Recently, a man approached me with this one . . . 
     "Do you have any of Gary Larsen's "Far Side" Books?"
     "Yes, we do.  They're over in the humor section," I replied
pointing finger poised and ready.  "Go over to the corner, now
look on the far side . . . "

     

     (I give the door a final buff and stand back to admire my
handiwork.  A man walks up to the door, places the palm of his
hand on the glass and pushes open the door.  Clutching my rag to
my heart, I try not to cry) 
     "Do you sell books?" he asks.
     "No," I reply with a straight face. "But you can buy one
at the pizza place up the street with the topping of your
choice."
     "What I meant was . . . uh. . .do you sell OLD books?" he
stutters, backing slowly out the door.
     "No," I reply solemnly.  "All of our books were made fresh this morning."
     He thanks me and makes a bee-line for his car.
      "Actually, that isn't the dumbest question that I've been
asked.  Believe it or not, I received a phone call from a woman who
wanted to know if we carried helium to blow up balloons.  When I told
her no, she hung up on me.  Maybe I shouldn't have replied in a Mickey
Mouse voice?"
     (I continue polishing for a few minutes and then stop as I
realize everyone is staring at me. I nervously stick the cloth in
my apron pocket)
     "You probably think I have a fetish for doors  . . . "
     (Someone coughs but I ignore them)
     ". . but actually I am staked out at the front so that I can
watch these little  devils . . . er . . . I mean sweet, little,
darling children, to make sure that they don't yank this door off
of its hinges.  I shudder at the thought of having to call a
repair man.  . . ." 



                           Open Sesame


     After twenty years of being opened and closed a thousand
times a day, our front door decided it needed a rest.  After a
push by the one billionth customer, the door said, "That's it. I
need a vacation."  And off of its hinges it came.  
     We kept it locked for three months until the repair man got
there.  We hung a big six foot sign that said, "Please use the other
door" and drew an arrow pointing in the appropriate direction.   
     Of course, to a customer, a locked door means only one
thing . . . STORE IS CLOSED!  They would come to the broken door and
pull and push and yank and then stand there and scratch their
heads trying to figure out why the door was locked during the
middle of the day.  They could see people inside.  They figured
that it must be THEM that we wanted to keep out.  Forget the
sign.  Our astute customers save their reading for inside the
store.  If they happened to catch a glimpse of me, they waved and
pointed to the door and motioned that they wanted to come in.  I
pointed to the other door and after a moment it occurred to them
that if they walked a foot to the right they could get inside. 
Wow, what a cool trick . . . 
     
    
 
     (A customer has approached the cash register and I
reluctantly leave my guard position at the door) 
     "The repairman gave us these neat little stickers with his
phone number on them.  They are on call twenty-four hours a day,
seven days a week so if,  heaven forbid, our door should ever
require repair again, they'll come at a moment's notice.  I put
one on my phone at home so that I'll have the number handy in
case something happens during the middle of the night.  Of
course, I'd be sleeping and wouldn't know if something happened
but I might have a premonition and they could check it out to see
if it was a dream or not . . . "
     (I notice a white station-wagon that is pulling up into
the parking lot)
     "Nooooo!" I moan, putting a hand to my chest.  "Please, don't
let it be HIM!"     
     (I vault over the front counter and race toward the front
door as a man and a little boy come into view)
     "Quick," I yell, flipping the sign to "closed."  "Turn off
all of the lights and go hide.  Maybe they'll think we're closed.
I'll tell them that . . . that . . . there's a wild animal loose in the
store and . . . no, that's no good.  HE'LL want to come inside and
help catch it.  Quick, think of something, anything to keep "the
child" outside . . . "



                    Children Should Be Seen And Not Heard
                       
     Parents love to bring their children into a bookstore.  They can
slip away to a cozy corner with a book and relax for an hour or two
while their children race up and down the aisles venting all the
excess energy they've accumulated on the ride over.  There's little
hope that the parents will persuade them to behave.  Upon entering a
bookstore, parents develop amnesia and forget that the little angels
they dragged kicking and screaming in the door belong to them. 
     "That's not MY child screaming over there.  My children have
manners.  They know how to behave in public." 
     Luckily, there are plenty of things that children can find to 
amuse themselves with in a bookstore.  Children's book publishers
came up with the brilliant idea that if you add sound to a book
it will encourage a child to read.  Thus, "Play-A-Song" books
were born.  Each of these lovely books contains a sidebar with
pictures that play a tune when pressed.  When you come to one of
the pictures in the story, you press the matching picture on the
sidebar. Voila!  Instant sound effects.  Children love these
books.  They can press all the pictures at once and make a lot of
noise.  They like to do this for hours at a time to see which wears
out first, the batteries or the sales clerk's patience.  
     To coincide with the release of "The Flintstones" movie last
year, we received a lovely board book that played the movie's
theme song.  After listening to the song so much that I thought I
would "bam-bam" the next child who touched the book, I moved the
thing to the top shelf where no one under the age of twelve could
reach it.  I didn't have to worry about junior driving me insane
anymore.  Just his dad. . .


     (The child has infiltrated the premises and is slowly making
his way toward the children's section where he has spied "The Lion
King" xylophone)
     "Well, it was great to see you again," I call over my
shoulder as I chase after the wee one.  "I'd love to chat some
more but it seems that it is time for my nightly runnnnnnnnn . . ."
     (I grab hold of the tiny tot's tee and he drags me along up
and down the aisles)
     "How old does a person have to be before you can. . .
BOOK 'EM???"