Monday Memories
Did I ever tell you about my plan to open a bookstore?
After three really terrific contract librarian positions at Ohio State University from 1978-1983, I finally landed a full-time, tenure-track, faculty rank job. Problem was, it was incredibly clerical and I hated it, so I resigned. What to do? By this time the children had entered high school. "Oh, I know, I'll open a business--a book store." The kids could help--keep them off the streets, etc. We would bond. How hard could it be?
I visited the local Mom and Pop Christian bookstores and chatted up the owners. To my discerning ear these folks had no experience either in business or with books; they prayed, and poof! a store fell in their laps. Well, I could do that! So I prayed, and prayed and prayed, but I sure didn't see any doors opening up that said, "Bookstore Here." I also visited a franchise Christian bookstore and wrote to the company, and discovered that would take about $70,000 (which was a lot of money then--still is, actually). And yes, I read one book about the publishing industry (although I was a librarian I didn't have the foggiest idea how books were made and distributed).
So I thought maybe God was waiting for me to do something. Experience maybe? So I dropped in at the Pickwick Discount Books which had recently opened near us (a division of the Dayton-Hudson chain I think) and applied for a job. The assistant manager was thrilled to have me, said she could only pay me $.25 above minimum wage, but I could buy books at the employee discount. I figured it was for my education in the school of hard knocks, so I didn't care. Besides, I was on my way to my dream of owning a bookstore! Pause here for reflection: I've checked my resume, but you don't usually stick minimum wage jobs in the middle of your professional work record, so can't place the date, but I think it was fall 1983.
Reality is what wakes you up from a dream, not a nightmare. Let me count the ways that clued me in this wasn't for me. Ten things come to mind that returned me to the bosom and comfort of state employment.
1) The building had formerly been a pharmacy (Nicklaus, as in Jack's parents), and had no elevator, but all books and magazines were stored in the basement, which meant hand carrying them up a steep stairway for stocking the shelves. Worse though, was carrying them down. Freight operators are unionized, and their contract called for dumping the boxes of books at an address, not inside the door. If cars were in the way, they might be placed anywhere on the parking lot. We clerks had to bring these terribly heavy boxes inside on a dolly, and carry them to the basement storage. Rain or storm--we had to bring them in, and just look awful for the customers.
2) Destroying books was part of the job. For a librarian that was like drowning kittens. We had to sit in the cold basement for hours and tear covers off books that couldn't be returned (all those print runs you read about are phony statistics--printed doesn't mean sold). The covers were tracked and bundled for return and credit. Then the guts had to be carried back up the stairs and lifted over your head into the outside dumpster some distance from our building so people wouldn't steal them. Between ripping up boxes with heavy staples, and stripping covers off books, my hands felt like bad sandpaper.
3) We had to accept whatever magazines the distributor dropped off. I heard (but couldn't confirm) that the distributor in Columbus had ties to organized crime. That might explain all the obscenely trashy porn we got. We women staffers would conveniently leave most of them in the basement, bringing up only the better known titles like Hustler and Playboy, and trust me when I say they were definitely gross, but were the least objectionable. But even having to handle these disgustingly anti-female, violent porn rag sheets was traumatic.
4) The sweet assistant manager who hired me was only making $.50 more an hour than I was, but had horrid hours, and was always on call. I never did her job, which seemed to be constantly checking computerized sheets on a clipboard and sending reports. She dressed and wore her hair like a 1960s flower-child. Her live-in boyfriend also worked there and she was his supervisor. I guess it isn't nepotism if you're not married. I rode a bike to work on nice days because I lived near-by--I don't think they had a car or a choice. The stress of the job made her colitis act up and she was sick a lot.
5) The cash register was probably the latest version of computerization, and I never caught on. I couldn't clear an error, or get the drawer to open, or accept a gift certificate. I was the clerk you either feel very sorry for or hate if you're waiting in line. My self-esteem plummeted the few months I worked there. I was 43, but you become an "older learner" around age 25 (your brain cells freeze), and I never had enough time to learn anything well. The public can get a bit testy. Hateful, actually. I would almost start to tremble if I got a complicated transaction and the customer decided to be chatty.
6) Our best clerk who was a whiz with the register and bailing me out, resigned to go work as a paraprofessional in a - - library! Not once did I ever see her smile. Almost no place pays as low as libraries, so she wasn't making much either.
7) Books were disappearing and we discovered the thief was an OSU grad student who worked at the - - library!
8) Most of my tiny salary went for books because the discount was so good, and books were already discounted (many remainders and overruns).
9) The district manager was "transferred" by corporate to Minnesota when she was 8 1/2 months pregnant. Her husband was employed in Columbus, so I don't know what she did. Leaving her OB at that point, or packing for a move, would have been tough. She could barely walk, but would've needed her medical benefits.
10) But the most memorable event was the day my daughter called and said, "Mom, I've cleaned up most of the blood but you need to come home and take [her brother] to the ER." He had forgotten his key and decided to go in through a window.
No, I never opened that bookstore, but smile and nod with recognition when someone mentions that as an ideal business venture.
1.
Melli,
2. Lazy Daisy, a genius in the family 3.
Lady Bug, funny story about hubby 4.
Carmen (a meme but no memory when I checked) 5.
Chelle, a teacher we wish we all had, 6.
Libragirl's memory is really fresh, 7.
Renee faces life's storms, 8.
Purple Kangaroo, mommy of 3 adorables, 9.
Beckie, recalling blessings, 10.
Shelli's dear friend
Click here for the Monday Memories code
Trackbacks, pings, and comment links are accepted and encouraged!View More Monday Memories Participants
Or at least I thought this about my own arms as I was smearing on my Peaches and Creme this morning. So I counted brown spots, aka age spots (I'm retired and have time to do this). I have about 10 tiny spots on my right arm (if you are a Caucasian gardener or a golfer, your entire arm is probably a brown spot). My left arm is about the same but it has a slightly splotchy look, like there might be dozens of baby brown spots ready to bloom. It had one large spot which I had removed 2 weeks ago which still looks extremely mad that it got burned off. It wasn't precancerous the doctor said, just an ugly brown spot.
Posts
