Questions I often fielded while working at a chain bookstore:
“I’m looking for this book that was reviewed on Good Morning America. I think it has a green cover.”
“I’m looking for this song that was featured on NPR. It kind of sounded like this: laa, la la la, lo lou.”
My favorite response to the music question was to scratch my head and ask the customer to repeat the song. Then after a couple of feigned off-key interpretations of Carmen’s Bizet or some botched rendition by castrati Josh Groban, I would look at him quizzically and then direct him to my co-workers, which can be understood as “If you have to ask me such a ridiculous question before checking the NPR website, perhaps you would like to entertain my colleagues with Irish lullabies?” This would provide at least five minutes of amusement before directing him to the Muze, a black hole of an online music directory that freezes while trying to locate a customer’s request.
Karma has evidently returned the favor for all of my tomfoolery. I went to the same chain this past Memorial Day for a new selection. (I am fresh out of anything interesting to read and rerun episodes of The Dog Whisperer just will not suffice.) I forgot my New York Times list of the Best American Fiction of the Last 25 Years at home. Pretentious, yes, but I haven’t read any Phillip Roth or John Updike yet. I do disagree with their #1 ranking of Toni Morrison’s Beloved...entirely overrated. (But DeLillo gets three honorable mentions. Woot!)
I forgot that the store’s hands are tied when it comes to lists since they mostly fabricate their own lists. When I asked the Yanni-looking bookseller about it, he said that he was off last Sunday and couldn’t recall seeing it. This he told me after discussing the emotional realism of the latest John Grisham novel. Silly me to think they were in the business of selling books.
Unwilling to dive headfirst into the abyss of popular fiction, Toombsday suggested some Hunter S. Thompson. But alas, we couldn’t find him in the fiction section. After a few minutes in fiction, I slapped myself on the forehead, “Why would HST be in the fiction section? After all, he is the godfather of gonzo journalism.” There wasn’t a nonfiction section in sight. So I approached another bookseller… but I should digress at this point.
During my three year jaunt at B&N, I learned that there are similar traits and/or stereotypes that can be found in any book or music seller. There’s the jaded “writer,” the failed community theatre actor, the cutesy pie with thick glasses and baby doll shoes, the S&M dominatrix, the pill popper, the president of the local Critical Mass, the list continues. Where was I on the list? Probably somewhere in between jaded “writer” and thick glasses. But this isn’t the point. The point is that I stumbled upon the failed community theatre actor when I asked about nonfiction.
“Nonfiction?” he stammered. “Everything but fiction is nonfiction. That’s pretty much the whole store.”
I wasn’t in the mood to tangle…like, listen here King Lear…don’t tell me that New Age Transcendentalism is nonfiction. Or redecorating with feng shui is nonfiction. And explain to me why Sherman Alexie and Louise Erdrich are abandoned in the Native American section next to books about finding your spirit animal? Why are they excluded from the same fiction section that Toni Morrison is located in? Nonfiction my ass.
But it’s Memorial Day and these guys are subject to the retail hell of assisting people who don’t have to work on federal holidays. So take it from me, instead of getting all snippety when a customer asks you a legitimate question about a book, do what I used to do. Look it up in the computer and then frown at the screen. Say, “It looks like we might have one in stock. Let me go check storage.” Go back to storage and talk to Chris for a bit while he is inventorying books. Then go to the customer and say, “That’s really odd. It’s not back there either. Maybe it is on hold for a customer.” Then go to cash wrap and look through the books. Snicker a bit at someone’s request for Harry Potter. Then say, “I’m not sure where it is. Can I call the other store or order it for you?”
By this time the customer is so annoyed that the book does not exist but so grateful that you took all that time to look for it that she may accept your John Grisham recommendation instead. But I doubt it, King Lear. I sincerely doubt it.
“I’m looking for this song that was featured on NPR. It kind of sounded like this: laa, la la la, lo lou.”
My favorite response to the music question was to scratch my head and ask the customer to repeat the song. Then after a couple of feigned off-key interpretations of Carmen’s Bizet or some botched rendition by castrati Josh Groban, I would look at him quizzically and then direct him to my co-workers, which can be understood as “If you have to ask me such a ridiculous question before checking the NPR website, perhaps you would like to entertain my colleagues with Irish lullabies?” This would provide at least five minutes of amusement before directing him to the Muze, a black hole of an online music directory that freezes while trying to locate a customer’s request.
Karma has evidently returned the favor for all of my tomfoolery. I went to the same chain this past Memorial Day for a new selection. (I am fresh out of anything interesting to read and rerun episodes of The Dog Whisperer just will not suffice.) I forgot my New York Times list of the Best American Fiction of the Last 25 Years at home. Pretentious, yes, but I haven’t read any Phillip Roth or John Updike yet. I do disagree with their #1 ranking of Toni Morrison’s Beloved...entirely overrated. (But DeLillo gets three honorable mentions. Woot!)
I forgot that the store’s hands are tied when it comes to lists since they mostly fabricate their own lists. When I asked the Yanni-looking bookseller about it, he said that he was off last Sunday and couldn’t recall seeing it. This he told me after discussing the emotional realism of the latest John Grisham novel. Silly me to think they were in the business of selling books.
Unwilling to dive headfirst into the abyss of popular fiction, Toombsday suggested some Hunter S. Thompson. But alas, we couldn’t find him in the fiction section. After a few minutes in fiction, I slapped myself on the forehead, “Why would HST be in the fiction section? After all, he is the godfather of gonzo journalism.” There wasn’t a nonfiction section in sight. So I approached another bookseller… but I should digress at this point.
During my three year jaunt at B&N, I learned that there are similar traits and/or stereotypes that can be found in any book or music seller. There’s the jaded “writer,” the failed community theatre actor, the cutesy pie with thick glasses and baby doll shoes, the S&M dominatrix, the pill popper, the president of the local Critical Mass, the list continues. Where was I on the list? Probably somewhere in between jaded “writer” and thick glasses. But this isn’t the point. The point is that I stumbled upon the failed community theatre actor when I asked about nonfiction.
“Nonfiction?” he stammered. “Everything but fiction is nonfiction. That’s pretty much the whole store.”
I wasn’t in the mood to tangle…like, listen here King Lear…don’t tell me that New Age Transcendentalism is nonfiction. Or redecorating with feng shui is nonfiction. And explain to me why Sherman Alexie and Louise Erdrich are abandoned in the Native American section next to books about finding your spirit animal? Why are they excluded from the same fiction section that Toni Morrison is located in? Nonfiction my ass.
But it’s Memorial Day and these guys are subject to the retail hell of assisting people who don’t have to work on federal holidays. So take it from me, instead of getting all snippety when a customer asks you a legitimate question about a book, do what I used to do. Look it up in the computer and then frown at the screen. Say, “It looks like we might have one in stock. Let me go check storage.” Go back to storage and talk to Chris for a bit while he is inventorying books. Then go to the customer and say, “That’s really odd. It’s not back there either. Maybe it is on hold for a customer.” Then go to cash wrap and look through the books. Snicker a bit at someone’s request for Harry Potter. Then say, “I’m not sure where it is. Can I call the other store or order it for you?”
By this time the customer is so annoyed that the book does not exist but so grateful that you took all that time to look for it that she may accept your John Grisham recommendation instead. But I doubt it, King Lear. I sincerely doubt it.
posted by anarchic at 10:27 AM
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