ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A BOOKSELLER

If you had asked me a couple of years ago whether I’d be spending a day or two a week selling books, I’d have looked at you rather strangely. Sure, I loved to read, but the thought of being on the other side of the cash register hadn’t really occurred to me.

I got into the book business through a series of accidents, whims, and knowing the right person at the right time, combined with my big move to the Big Apple. And what can I say, I love every minute of it. I’ve only been a bookstore girl for a little over a year, but it’s a hard habit to kick–and why should I? There’s nothing much that beats the feeling of recommending a book and having a customer’s face light up when I give a brief description of said book and how much I liked it and how I hope, based on the customer’s habits, that he or she will like it too. Luckily based on the repeat business, it’s worked out for the most part. I’ve had a few customers come back into the store to thank me for the book I recommended, and would I give them “more, please.”

I worked at the store this past Sunday, as it has become my regular shift this fall. Although I didn’t have to be there until till just before noon–when the store opens-- I decided it would probably be a good idea to get there a little earlier. So, after opening up the rickety center gate and unlocking the door, I go inside and take a good long look at what’s changed in the past week. To my left is the new and noteworthy paperbacks. Oh cool, Blindsighted has sold out after a slow start initially. Looks like the special card I’d made up for it with my own positive gushing helped. I scan along to the 100 Best, which haven’t changed too much in the last few months. I think the most recent change was going for Michael Connelly’s The Last Coyote–everyone’s favorite–instead of The Black Echo, which is the first in the series. I walk around and check the status of books in the First in a Series, Historicals, and the New Hardcover sections. I raise my eyebrows that we don’t have certain books in that I thought we’d have–and where did all these signed copies of The Little Friend come from?–but at least when customers start trickling in, I’ll have some explanations.

I keep the lights off to deter any would-be customers from coming in before opening, which I don’t usually do, but the effect, while a little spooky, is kind of cool. It’s neat to have my night vision kick in at 11:45 in the morning, and I can still see enough to walk around and “card” the books. Our store, like many other independent bookstores in New York City and beyond, keep track of whether a book has sold through by tagging the last copy with a card, which has the author’s name, title, publisher, and most importantly, the ISBN number so we can reorder more copies. Lately there’s been an issue of not collecting cards so it’s been hard to keep track of whether books that should be reordered actually are. It’s something I still have to get used to doing, when it’s so much easier to talk to the customer and reinforce that the book they are buying is absolutely wonderful...but though the system is certainly not high-tech, it works. Although when the collection builds up over a 3 and a half hour shift and I have to run around putting them back into books or piling them into neat “to order” piles, it makes me a little dizzy.

10 minutes to opening, and the manager’s not here yet, but I’m not worried. Well, not until I try to count the register and find I can’t open the damn thing, as it starts giving me an error message and beeps at me endlessly. Just at the point where I’m about to throw in the towel and make a frantic telephone call to one of the orders, I figure out that, wait, I have to actually CLOSE the drawer fully before I can get the register to work. Eureka. That being settled and with the cash agreeing with the tally made the night before, it’s 5 minutes till opening, and I’m going to hit the lights, which often requires a PhD in arranging.

Two minutes until and I’m undoing the side gates when the manager finally shows, having gotten hopelessly stuck in Manhattan traffic–certainly not an unusual occurrence in this fair city of mine. I give her the lowdown and she’s suitably impressed–though it doesn’t last long as I get the news that Friday’s order never showed up, and that’s the reason the bookshelves are so sparse. Still, we work it so that she does the business stuff and I deal with the register, and as the clock strikes noon, the first customer comes in, and we’re off.

Three and a half hours have passed, and we’ve done pretty well for ourselves, especially for a Sunday afternoon. There was the woman who basically bought any paperback I put into her hands, which accorded me the pleasure of foisting my own personal tastes upon her wallet. Of course, this was balanced by the guy who was looking for moody PI type books, so I recommended a recent favorite of mine, D Daniel Judson’s The Poisoned Rose. The customer was interested until he heard it was set in Long Island, which, considering he had a summer house there, was probably a little more depressing than he liked. But, determined to make the sale, I divined that he could branch out from PIs into more police procedural type books and he was happy with the two books I picked out.

Of course, not every customer was happy to buy books. One lady went for a caper novel which promised a free gift, and declared that it was so “stupid” that she had to get a copy. I can think of better ways of making a sale, but I certainly won’t argue with any logic. Just as I will never deter any customer from voluntarily buying a James Patterson book. I may not like the books, but if other people do and don’t ask my opinion, I won’t volunteer it. But no matter what, if a customer comes in, I always greet them with my usual “if you need any help, just let me/us know.” Even if I never say another word to them beyond the “would you like a bag, sir/ma’am?” the initial contact is crucial–just to let them know that I really am there to help, and am happy to.

Sure, the special events, the author signings, the occasional drink or dinner afterwards, those are all added perks of the bookseller’s life. But last Sunday was an average day–just doing the things I needed to do to sell books and make things run smoothly. And I look forward to that every single shift I do.

Sarah Weinman
30 October 2002