Okay so today I went to a Border’s Bookstore that is being shutdown. If I hadn’t been so overcome with glee at the thought of getting brand new discounted books and classical music (above is a picture of my purchases!!!) I would have been depressed. Bookstores that are closing make me think of the movie “You’ve Got Mail”. They’re so sad and forlorn...and as Kathleen Kelly says, “I feel like a part of me has died.”
Anyways, being there and partaking in the frenzy also known as a closeout sale reminded me of an essay I wrote for my creative writing class in high school. So I thought I would share it with you. I tried to eliminate the blatantly awful spelling/grammar/phrasing issues, but I’m not sure I got them all, and I left some of the more amusing ones! (My favorites are the random citations that don’t really fit in with the essay and my sad attempts to use semi-colons!) Also, I’m very ashamed of my attitude at the end of this essay...most likely it’s the reason that Border’s is now bankrupt.
Buying Books at Border’s Bookstore
Just walking through the doors gives me a thrill. I hear some indie singer over the loudspeaker. I don’t know who she is, but I like her voice. Somewhere in the store, there’s a guy singing along. I can’t see him, but I can hear him. I am soaked. Outside Border’s Bookstore, it is raining.
First I go the self-help section. I NEVER buy anything from it, but I always look in it. There are always some amusing titles. Such as Ten Days to Self-Esteem or The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook.
From there, I move on to religion. Even if I don’t buy anything, I feel scholarly about browsing through it. A worker asks me if I need any help. I tell him that I don’t and turn back to a shelf full of C.S. Lewis books. He asks my opinion on C.S. Lewis. “He’s not that bad.”I mutter. I’m not much of a conversationalist when I shop for books. He recommends an author whom I’ve never heard of. I locate and browse through one of his works. It’s not very good; certainly not comparable to C.S. Lewis. However, the worker is now gone. I move on to John Piper books. After those, I look at the books about other religions; Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Baha’ism, Atheism, Unitarianism, almost anything you can think of. I look around. I make sure that there’s no one nearby. I quietly sneak over to the Tarot Cards. I can’t explain why, but I love looking at them. I’ve always wondered why they’re locked up. Are they really valuable? Do you have to be a certain age to buy them?
The last place I go is to the literature section. Of course, I snicker as I pass by the young adult section with all of its vampire, drama queen, werewolf junk. That section degrades Border’s, which was originally intended to serve an academic community.¹ I don’t think that anything in that part of the store should count as a book. Especially when you consider what while there are 25, 530 books in the literature section, there are only 15, 744 in the young adult section.² I love going to the literature section. That’s where the best books in the whole store can be found; from Jane Austen and Emily Bronte, to Ray Bradbury and J.R.R. Tolkien. Today, I’m looking for a certain book, Dicken’s Nicholas Nickleby. All of the books are organized alphabetically by author. I like to start at the beginning and work my way through each letter. That way, I know when something new comes in.
As I browse, I see a lady sitting off in a corner. She is reading a book. She has blondish curly hair, blue framed glasses, and a standoffish air. Last time I saw her, she was wearing glasses with brown frames. The time before that, they were green. I don’t see her every time I come here, but I see her often enough. She is always reading. I wonder if she ever buys the books that she reads.
They don’t have Nicholas Nickleby. Instead, I settle for a Pride and Prejudice knockoff, The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy. I take it up to the register. The line is really long today. Next to me is a rack with all of the different pens that Border’s sells. There is a pad of paper next to it so you can test them out. I look at all of the signatures on it. I see my friend Darcy’s familiar handwriting on it. Underneath her name, I sign my name as well. It’s funny how many things you can find at Border’s. Many people are surprised to hear that the original Border’s Bookstore sold used books.³
The checkout girl calls me up. I hand her my rewards card so that I can get my discount. She takes it without eve lookin at me. I hand her The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy; when she sees it, her expression changes completely.
“Are you a Pride and Prejudice fan too?” she asks excitedly. Without even giving me time to reply, she tells me about several other knockoff books that she has read, Austenland, Enthusiasm, and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I tell her that I haven’t really heard about them, but I mention and Indian movie called, “Bride and Prejudice” that my friends and I love. As she takes my money, she tells me that she’s going to look it up as soon as she gets off work.
I take my book over to the café. Of course, I have to have a cup of coffee as I read my new book. I stand in front of the counter, trying to decide what I want. I don’t like to get the same thing over and over again. That would be really boring. It would be easier to decide what I wanted if the woman behind the counter wouldn’t keep interrupting my thoughts. She keeps asking if I’ve decided what I want, or if I would like for her to tell me about the different types of coffee to choose from. What I really want at this point is for her to stop talking. But I can’t very well tell her that. Finally, for lack of a better option, I settle with the next thing I see: a cherry almond latte.
I sit down in the corner of the café while I wait for her to make my coffee. It’s still raining outside. I open my book. I’m midway through the first chapter when I hear someone calling my name. I have a tendency to tune everything out when I read. It takes me a while to realize that it’s the coffee girl. I run up to the counter and get my latte. I sit back down at my table and continue reading.
My book is rather disappointing. It isn’t at all like a diary written by a man as noble and gentlemanly as Mr. Darcy. My latte, on the other hand, is amazing. I think that it may be the best cup of coffee that I have ever had. Maybe from now on, I’ll spend my money on coffee, and just get my books from the library. That way, I can return the ones I don’t like.
Citations:
3. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borders_Bookstores\
PS if you made it all the way through this post you have waaaaay too much time on your hands.
