I found this picture online last week, but I didn't get around to posting it because I get tied up with my article about the coin-covered tree in Britain and how Tabasco sauce is made. Which is really a shame, because this is much more important than a funny tree and fermented peppers.
I might not ever know what it's like to teach kids this age. In fact, I have no real desire at this point in my life to do so. I want to teach, yes, and will venture into that world in the Fall, but I'll be facing people a little closer to my own age as a college professor. But that doesn't change the fact that I feel very passionate about young people reading. Just because I don't want to be at the front of a classroom full of young minds eager to learn doesn't mean that I don't want to see those kids grow up with a love of literature and reading that will hopefully lead them into a class that is a little more my style.
I remember when I started looking for a job in Charlotte while I was working on my Master's at UNCC. I looked everywhere for a job, and tried not to pigeonhole myself into something that I had already done in the past (Blockbuster, electrical supplies). But I put extra effort into getting a job at a book store. There were a few near my apartment (a privately owned, used bookstore; and a couple campus-centric bookstores either on or right off of school grounds), but I ended up getting a job at the Books a Million about ten minutes away. And I remember hearing that I got the job and being so excited because I was going to be working around books.
However, the reality set up after a couple weeks. I was under the impression that working in a bookstore would basically be a four-hour long workshop with intellectual people, talking about our favorite books and discussing literature as if it was a great friend we all had in common. And those moments did happen, but at a much lesser consistency than I imagined. Instead, my job was to move stacks of books from one place to another, and to put books on the shelves. Primarily, though, my job was to clean up after the customers, who usually left food and empty drink containers on the floor, on the shelves, or dangling over stacks of books, most likely having ruined at least one with their sticky contents. I grew to dislike people while working there, and I'm just glad that I got out while I did instead of turning into some of the more seasoned employees, who rarely had anything good to say about the people they serviced.
But there were moments that made up for all the annoyances, all of the ruined books and stacks of discarded magazines underneath tables and chairs. Those moments usually involved kids, who would run up to me while I was wearing that black apron, and ask where this book or that book was located. I would usually know what they were talking about, and trek to the young adult or kids section to find it for them, all the while they were practically licking at my heels with anticipation. Other times I might not know what they were looking for exactly, or where it was to be found, so I had to go to the kiosk in the middle of the store to click some keys and find it in the database. They would usually be talking hurriedly and excitedly amongst themselves (if they were with friends) or with me (if they were alone or with their parents, off looking for their own non-fiction or romance novel) about how awesome the book was, or how good their friends said it was, or how much the prequel changed their lives. They were excited about books, about written words, and about the stories in the pages of the books that they treasured. Adults often lacked this excitement, and they usually just wanted something to kill some time while they were waiting on their significant other, or they were looking for a book that was assigned to them in a college course. Kids, though, they felt some sort of electricity when they entered the book store, ready to devour the newest debut of a series they grew up with. And it was palpable, enviable. It made me excited to be at work, and it made me hope that they would fight the odds and hold on to that love of literature that many adults seem to forget, or "grow" out of.
Sometimes I wish I worked in a bookstore again. While there were many times when I was tired of catering to inconsiderate crowds of mall shoppers -- and I even tried to find a different job after a year there because I didn't think I could handle the situation any longer without developing a real, deep-seeded distrust for humanity in general -- there always seemed to be a shining light at the end of the dark tunnel, almost always in the form of the glint in the eye of a young reader. And I truly loved being around the books. They, too, almost made the job bearable. So, perhaps I won't ever go back to a large chain like that again. But I still maintain a pledge that I made to myself at a younger age: if, given the chance and financial stability, I have the opportunity to work in a used book store and still provide a comfortable life for my family, I would gladly spend the rest of my days around shelves filled with books. I still get it, and many kids still get it. That's why I love this picture, and that's why I still love books. They hold a magic that can turn a rowdy bunch of middle schoolers into a calm group of imaginations running wild.
-JJ
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