At this time of year, we buy literally hundreds of books a day. We clean each book with dustcloths, water, rubbing alcohol, and/or special solvents designed to remove sticker goo; we repair and cover with clear protectors any damaged or potentially damageable dust wrappers; we price the books carefully, sort them into sections, and shelve them, dozen after dozen. That's why you'll often see one or more of us at the counter cleaning and fixing books, one or more working on our internet listings of the more obscure or academic titles, one or more of us shelving books among the 45,000 titles currently in stock, and not me - I'm in the office, dealing with the most complicated ones.
After a few hours in the office with the rubbing alcohol and solvent fumes, I get a little wacky. It's hard to tell, I'm sure, since I'm known to scurry up and down aisles with a hand puppet, an inventory checklist, three pens (one in hand, one behind each ear), and an armload of books while speaking in a passable imitation of Rizzo the Rat or Elmo, but sometimes I get thoroughly out of hand. Freer with my opinions, more likely to come up with recommendations from unexpected sections, a little playful in my pricing notes (yes, I do use "THC" as my section code for "Theatre History and Criticism"), and more likely to end up singing made-up songs while sweeping or wiping windows.
This is why I don't let people in after hours when I've got a broom in hand:
I am the very model of an independent bookseller;
I've information internet and alphabet and pure rumor;
I know the names of winners of the Nobel and the Pulitzer
The Pushcart Prize and Book Award and even of the Man Booker
I'm very well acquainted with the Hugo and the Nebula
And know a lot of authors nominated for the Agatha;
My tastes run to the classics of a well-kept scholar's library
Although I buy for everyone who loves books quite prodigiously;
I grade books fine or very good or good or just acceptable
And list them on the internet with prices quite comparable
And shelve them first by topic then by author or by editor
In categories based upon the tastes of my best collectors;
In short in matters mercantile of books and bibliophilia
I am the very model of an independent bookseller.
That's bad. It's only July 21. I'm not supposed to be that silly until at least the 27th.
If you're coming in to have a serious conversation with me, best wait until after the 3rd or 4th of August. At least by then I'll be spending less time with the cleaning solvents. Maybe.
After a few hours in the office with the rubbing alcohol and solvent fumes, I get a little wacky. It's hard to tell, I'm sure, since I'm known to scurry up and down aisles with a hand puppet, an inventory checklist, three pens (one in hand, one behind each ear), and an armload of books while speaking in a passable imitation of Rizzo the Rat or Elmo, but sometimes I get thoroughly out of hand. Freer with my opinions, more likely to come up with recommendations from unexpected sections, a little playful in my pricing notes (yes, I do use "THC" as my section code for "Theatre History and Criticism"), and more likely to end up singing made-up songs while sweeping or wiping windows.
This is why I don't let people in after hours when I've got a broom in hand:
I am the very model of an independent bookseller;
I've information internet and alphabet and pure rumor;
I know the names of winners of the Nobel and the Pulitzer
The Pushcart Prize and Book Award and even of the Man Booker
I'm very well acquainted with the Hugo and the Nebula
And know a lot of authors nominated for the Agatha;
My tastes run to the classics of a well-kept scholar's library
Although I buy for everyone who loves books quite prodigiously;
I grade books fine or very good or good or just acceptable
And list them on the internet with prices quite comparable
And shelve them first by topic then by author or by editor
In categories based upon the tastes of my best collectors;
In short in matters mercantile of books and bibliophilia
I am the very model of an independent bookseller.
That's bad. It's only July 21. I'm not supposed to be that silly until at least the 27th.
If you're coming in to have a serious conversation with me, best wait until after the 3rd or 4th of August. At least by then I'll be spending less time with the cleaning solvents. Maybe.
After a few hours in the office with the rubbing alcohol and solvent fumes, I get a little wacky. It's hard to tell, I'm sure, since I'm known to scurry up and down aisles with a hand puppet, an inventory checklist, three pens (one in hand, one behind each ear), and an armload of books while speaking in a passable imitation of Rizzo the Rat or Elmo, but sometimes I get thoroughly out of hand. GunCleaningSolvent
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