So You Want to Work in a Bookstore: Lesson 8 | Your Coworkers
Let me tell you something about the people you’ll work with in a bookstore: there will be a lot of them. A bookstore is a retail store and working retail is not for the faint of heart. You need a strong back, a tough skin and a sick ability to be abused by customers and coworkers alike and still smile. A lot of them will be gone before you commit their names to memory, and some will stick around far past the point you feel they should. Some will have surprisingly little interest in reading or selling books, or in doing much of anything.
And then there are some who will remind you in everything they do that life should not be measured by sales trends and customer counts and goal sheets, its not all about the paycheck and the to-do lists; they will remind you that the most important stories in your bookstore are not the ones you’re selling, but those that you are experiencing. They will show you that the bookstore itself is your story, or at least part of it, and it is filled with characters who are boring, or quirky, infuriating, confusing (or just plain confused), energetic, heartbreaking and soul-saving. Some of these will be short stories, some will be stories that are never finished, some are epic narratives that span decades and intersect a thousand other stories in ways you could never expect.
Today, this lesson, is about one coworker specifically, because today (right now, actually) we’re celebrating the retirement of Gerriann, who has spent the last twenty-two years not only selling books and running bookclubs, but has kept us all smiling and sane, and more importantly, she’s fed us. A happy bookseller is the one who just a got a free meal, and Gerri has been the heart, soul and oven behind more well-fed booksellers and bookstore pot-lucks than you can imagine.
I was asked to write a short bio of Gerri to submit to our company newsletter, celebrating her service to company, to the store, to our customers, our staff and the world of literature in general. And in typical Gerrian fashion, she then basically wrote the article herself. Instead of letting me interview her, she left in my mailbox a completed (albeit brief) autobiography that began with her as a little girl, first falling in love with books. Easiest assignment I have ever had.
So, when it is so easy to overlook the people working at the stores we shop in, I want to share with you this article I “wrote” and let you meet a bookseller who’s well-deserved retirement is going to leave our store with a little less laughter and little bit hungrier, and with a great story for having known her.
“Growing up, reading was my favorite pastime, whether I was in my treehouse or riding my horse. Not surprisingly, the Black Stallion series was one of my favorites. And when I wasn’t reading, I spent a lot of time volunteering and working in children’s libraries, where my own passion for these stories developed into a deep knowledge of children’s literature.
In 1992, i was working for a clothing retailer when I heard from a friend that [the company] was hiring for two new stores in Western New York. On my lunch hour I went for an interview (I always kept a resume in my car) and was hired on the spot as an assistant manager in one of the stores. That was the start of my love affair with the bookselling business, and 20 years later, I’m still in love with it.
Now, I’m the merchandise manager. I love working the salesfloor with our great staff and talking to customers about our favorite books, recommending new authors to them and even learning of a few myself.
Thirteen years ago, I joined the Historical Fiction book club with Fay, who runs our children’s storytimes, and our group still has many of the same members years later. With each book we choose, I always do a little research about the time period and the facts surrounding the story and give a handout to the group to take our discussion beyond just the novels themselves.
My love of children’s literature from my time working in libraries has only grown… and has extended into my volunteering with Project Flight, a local literacy group that puts books into the hands of children around the world.
Next week, I will start a new chapter in the Book of Life: retirement. I plan to volunteer full time with Project Flight, and maybe even start a storytime or book club in my neighborhood school. And it’s a safe bet you’ll see me at the store, sitting by the fireplace, reading a great novel and sipping my latte.”
I just want to point out that apparently, Gerri loved reading so much, she could do it while riding a horse. If that kind of dedication doesn’t foreshadow a career in the book industry, I don’t know what does.
So, here’s to retirement; and to all the little things future booksellers will only hear about… to the lasagna and salad and cookies, and the brownies with Snickers or Andes mints (and once, an Andes mint wrapper), to vegetables from your garden, and keeping the yogurt your doctor forced you to eat in the freezer to pretend it was ice cream, to the bookseller you practically adopted, who ended up marrying your son, and stories about your crazy cat and grumpy husband, who I was terrified would answer the phone anytime I had to call you; to the sand and beach balls you put in the store’s front windows for your ‘books for the beach’ display, to letting us film a Jewish rapper’s music video in the back hallway. Lil Benji’s career never quite took off, but I’m sure he never forgot your support, even if you have no idea what I’m talking about.
Here’s to always having an enthusiastic and a little bit loopy “OK!” or “uh HUH!” ready no matter what the question or request, and whether or not those responses actually answered the question; and you coming down with pneumonia because someone sneezed in the breakroom, and every other diseases or physical ailment you’ve “contracted” over the years. Why we didn’t all chip in a buy you a John Travolta-esque bubble suit years ago, I have no idea.
Gerri, here’s to being the other half of our merchandising team, and keeping me sane(ish) simply by reminding me that the business may change but at the heart of it all, we’re there to share books and engage the people who walk through the doors. Without taking the time to do that we won’t sell a thing, and no one involved, not the book buyers or the booksellers, will remember why being a part of this bookstore is so important. And here’s to—wait, did I mention the Andes brownies already?
And here’s to your coworkers, one of the reasons you should want to work in a bookstore.
So You Want to Work in a Bookstore: Lesson 7 | Sweatpants Guy
No longer resigned to lounging on the couch on Sundays for every football game ever, no longer for painting or yardwork or staring at that weight bench in your basement you keep intending to use. What? No, you will, I know. Next week. You’ll start your workout routine next week.
No! No sir, not anymore are sweatpants marginalized and cast aside in favor of pants with their fancy zippers and buttons and measured waists. Who the hell do those pants think they are? No more!
Sweatpants. Sweatpants are your going out pants now, because somewhere along the line we have devolved into a society where this is entirely acceptable. With sweatpants you get a a full range of motion, the possibility of keeping one pair your entire life no matter how fat you end up with their revolutionary stretchable elastic waistband; and, of course, the liberating knowledge that your balls are just bouncing free as you walk, unhindered by stiff, restrictive fabric that other “pants” fall victim to. The ladies will love that last bit. A man in sweatpants is DTF, you better believe that. And for the record, real men wear their sweatpants pulled up an inch above their ankles to properly show off the white socks they’re wearing with sandles.
I was kneeling down, putting some books away on the bottom shelf when a husky, sweatpants clad customer who had a five-o’clock shadow on only half his face, stopped at the end of the aisle.
When I looked up he gave me a big, wide-eyed smile and snapped the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Yes sir!” he yelled and nodded at me, his eyebrows threatening to jump off his face, and continued on his way.
“Ok,” I said to the now empty space he had occupied (well, what else do you say?) and went back to what I’d been doing.
Until he came back. He always come back, that’s an important point to remember. You spoke while facing his general direction and that means you spoke to him. That means, as far as Sweatpants Guy is concerned, you are the only person in the store. You made the mistake of acknowledging his existence, something that apparently no one else has done in quite some time.
See, you’re the guy in the horror movie that opened the creepy nailed-shut door behind a shelf in his basement his first night in the new house that he bought for a surprisingly low price that the rest of the town avoids going near. How many red flags do you need? The house was wearing sweatpants, why did you even look at it? Now you’re the guy that lets out the evil spirit that’s been trapped in there since the house was built over an old Indian burial ground. Now, you gotta pay the piper, because that evil sweatpants-wearing spirit will now feast on what is left of your retail soul.
Anything else Sweatpants Guy needs to ask, that he needs to say, any other thought regarding his favorite snack foods or his opinion of the color green, anything at all that pops into his lumpy noggin that he inexplicably needs to speak aloud, he will find you, and he will tell you. And only you. Because you’re friends now.
Sweatpants Guy popped back around the corner of the aisle about 27-seconds later—-he didn’t come back into the aisle, make no mistake about that—-he only leaned around the corner. And waited. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and took a deep breath. I’d been through this before. There’s no point in trying to avoid it or pretend he isn’t there. Sweatpants Guy has nowhere else to be. He can do this all night. He stared at me silently until I looked up.
“Do you still have—-you have paper applications, or I do it online now?”
“Online.”
“Excellent!” he yelled, and pumped his fist int he air, and with a sweatpanty swish and a cloud of the cheap potpourri he rubbed on himself before leaving the house to mask that man-stink of indeterminate origins, he disappeared again, leaving me with the realization that he would probably get hired and I would be the one to argue with him that sweatpants were not acceptable work attire.
A Safeco Field Sendoff and the Inevitable End of Year Six
After lunch everyone met back up near the tree that stands at the end of Pike Place Market, at Virginia and Pike. From there we moved in a more or less northwesterish direction to Lenora Street and took that to 5th Avenue.
Whether it was the time of day, the angle of the sun, the breeze off the bay, our sheer exhaustion or the city itself, this was a beautiful walk. Seattle surprised us all by being clean. I’m not sure why were surprised, maybe Portland lowered our expectations of every city, but we were.
Along 5th we walked in the shadow of the monorail line, but unlike most areas we’d walked through in Chicago or New York, this elevated train line didn’t detract from the buildings around it. Businesses and real estate didn’t suffer for being near the line. Except for the immigration office, or law firm, whatever it was. I don’t think anyone really cared much about that place, though. Or you know what? It may have made that monorail cooler.
There were boutique shops and restaurant, fountains and coffee shops, a glass blower, all along this street. I understand, the monorail has a smaller footprint than a full blown elevated train line and since it services a significantly more limited area its reach isn’t as great. It may not be fair to compare the aesthetic or economic effects of a monorail to an L. And this one, I believe, only dates back to the 1960s, so NYC and Chicago have a hundred years of blight and decay on Seattle when it comes to that. Well, you know what? I’m going to compare them anyway. This was a cool walk. You did good Seattle.
We saw just the tip for a moment and it was gone. We were so close! The monorail line curved away from us and we turned onto Denny Way for a moment until at 4th Avenue we turned again. Then there it was again and this time we got a good view.
The Space Needle was really cool, and we only saw the outside of it and the gift shop. Honestly, I’m ok with that. It was $24 to ride up to the top and the wait was a little ridiculous. Would I love to go back and take a ride to the top, maybe have dinner, see the city at night from up there? Of course. I’m cheap, not dead. Who wouldn’t want to do that?
Instead, we spent a lot of time in the gift shop and took some great pictures inside and out of the Space Needle. Would it have been great to take some shots of the city from up there? Absolutely. Do I feel like I missed out on something because we didn’t? Nope. Besides, that Space Needle t-shirt was expensive.
Around the Space Needle has a great amusement park feel to it. There are more souvenir shops; one Seattle-themed, another Northwest-themed, and also what I thought to be a third cleverly named shop but, in fact, was the actual monorail station.
Nearest the Space Needle is the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibition hall, featuring a massive suspended glass sculpture. Just outside is an art installation called Sonic Bloom, comprising of massive Dr. Seuss-like flowers that collect solar power to glow at night and will also generate harmonic tones as you walk around them, giving them a cool interactive quality.
Beyond the glass museum was an amphitheater, an IMAX theater, the Kobe Bell (which I don’t think any of us got around to seeing) and tons of people. Tons. For everything that was in this area, there was still a lot of open space, great for picnics, field trips, I think some kids had a soccer game going.
We caught the monorail back down 5th Avenue and started walking again, hitting a disappointing patch of Chinatown and then stopping into CenturyLink Field to say hi to Richard Sherman before heading over to the Pyramid Alehouse. It turned out, this was directly across from the ballpark. It also turned out, that this is when things started to get a little hazy for me. I can say, however, that there was definitely a baseball game at some point, after which, the Mariners were nice enough to put on a fireworks show for us. I assume it was for us. Why else would they have fireworks? Obviously, it was to celebrate the conclusion of our trip. I guess I could be wrong.
After leaving Safeco Field it was a short walk in the misty Seattle rain to the train station and a somber ride back to Tukwila for our cars. The ride was somber for a lot of reasons. Most of which are none of your damn business. But we knew the night was winding down, that the trip was coming to a close. Kevin and Tony had shipped their beer home already, and in the morning we’d all meet up at the airport to say goodbye to Seattle and Dave (mostly Seattle) and head home.
After the disappointment that was Portland, Seattle proved to be a high point of the trip, all of us agreeing that we would love to come back and explore more. Which is great for everyone since Dave is offering free lodging, whether he knows it or not.
We eased into Baseball Trip this year and took it easy on the ballgames, giving ourselves the time to explore that we regretted not having on previous trips. Sure, there were times we didn’t like each other much, but that’s completely expected when you cram nine people into two cars for a week, especially with how much Kevin farts. There was beer, karaoke, sea lions, the Golden Gate Bridge, dirty old hippies, dozens of bookstores, beer, hills, dirty young hippies, more hills, more beer and even some baseball.
We didn’t do everything we wanted, but we did more than we expected. There wasn’t a dull moment. Of course, with this group of idiots, the same could be said if we’d have hung out in someone’s backyard. That’s what makes Baseball Trip so great; it isn’t the baseball or the driving, it isn’t scaring the locals (or being scared by locals), it isn’t the beer or the crop dusting of entire city blocks. It’s these people, this group, that has evolved and changed so much since that first year when our road trip route was shaped like a chicken wing. C’mon, we’re from Buffalo. What did you expect? And yes, that chicken wing was hot and spicy, just like Nick Markakis’ mom. Sorry, Baseball Trip joke.
There’s not one of us who wouldn’t agree with Tony (twice), when he said: Best baseball trip ever you turds!
So that’s it. Thanks.


