I just had one word to say when my wife called and told me the news. "No." I said. Well, OK, that's a grammatically correct rendition of what I said but it doesn't exactly catch the phrasing and tonality of my one word response. Truth be told, it was more along the lines of something like this:
With a nasally-whiney sort of inflection like you hear from that often observed little snot-nosed brat being dragged out of the store (take your pick, any store will do) by his mother clutching his earlobe as she drags him back to their car while yelling into his other ear, "You don't need it, I'm not gonna' buy it, so get in the car and shut up!" That's the kind of tonality I'm talking about here. And, by the way, I'm on that mother's side when it comes to dealing with misbehaving kiddies even if it means a little pop on the butt. But the exclamation I'm trying to describe here is the kind that erupts from the shock and awe of sudden disappointment. In my case, deep, deep disappointment. My Borders store is closing.
I knew tragedy was brewing but I didn't expect it to rear its ugly head so soon, so abruptly, and so close. I had received the email from Mike Edwards, CEO of Borders, a week or so ago assuring Borders customers that, sure, they were reorganizing, and sure, there might be a few stores closing here and there, but Mike said he was confident the restructuring process would go smoothly and enable the company to get back on its feet. So I shouldn't have been surprised when my wife called to tell me she had just gone by my store and there were signs plastered all over the windows declaring 60% discounts due to STORE CLOSING!! But surprised I was and saddened as well. I had dared to hope Mike wasn't talking about my store when he said Borders would be closing underperforming stores. Never for a minute did I suspect that my Borders store would be classified as underperforming. I was doing my part to keep the enterprise profitable. I mean, come on Mikey, there's only so much I can do on a retiree's income for cryin' out loud! Granted, since I retired I've gotten more books on loan from the library and from my son than I ever purchased from Borders but I've got to say this in my defense...every single time, I say again, every...single...time that Borders offered 50% off sales, I was there, man, I was there! Borders Rewards card in one hand, VISA debit card in the other. Nobody was going to beat me to the draw during 50% off sales events, NO-BODY! But my wife said 60%!! That's Six-Oh! Geez, I thought, maybe I screwed myself (and my store) by taking advantage of those fifty percenter deals and it resulted in... underperformance? God, I hoped not but I started to feel guilty that maybe it was all my fault. Hence, my disappointment. And my sorrow.
Nevertheless and responsible or not it started to dawn on me that I needed to go there, to that hallowed ground, to see what's up for myself. Sadness? Oh yes, sadness in massive quantities. But despite tragedy there were reports of significant bargains being available (ie. six-oh) and thus, bittersweet emotions were swirling through my head. I sort of had those feelings I imagine one would have upon being invited to attend the hearing of the will after the death of their favorite uncle. An uncle who also happened to be rich. I mean he (the imaginary rich uncle) was a pretty swell guy and we (imaginary me and my imaginary rich uncle) always got along and everything in a cordial rich uncle/poor underachieving nephew sort of way but if there's a lot of stuff being bequeathed to friends and relatives at this will hearing, why not just mosey down there and see if any bones get thrown in this doggy's direction, right? I mean, it can't hurt or anything just to go and have a look-see, can it? It's not like disrespectful or anything, it's just keeping eyes and ears open for good deals. As soon as I hung up the phone (like you can "hang up" a cell phone, right?) or as soon as the phone call ended, I put aside one of my current reads, The GUN, by C.J. Chivers (purchased at 50% off at Borders) aside and proceeded to change out of my miracle-whip & mustard stained T-shirt and put on something a little more suitable for public dress appearance and headed down to Borders.
Not only were the store windows plastered with bright yellow, red, and black posters loudly proclaiming slashed prices off everything, they even had a sign carrier positioned out on the road divider on the street in front of the store, waving the same signs at every passing motorist. Or at least I think that was the intent, to have him wave to every passing motorist but he wasn't doing any such thing. Much of the time I observed him he was leaning on the sign with very little movement at all and the rest of the time sort of half-assedly moving the sign side to side or up and down but in a rather unenthusiastic fashion. Underperforming was the word that came to mind and I briefly thought perhaps I should report the situation to CEO Mike but on second thought I evaluated the situation to be a Catch-22 sort of thing for an underperforming sign bearer to be working for an underperforming Borders store. So why bother? One thing was for sure, this dude would never cut it working for the Liberty Tax people...he did a pretty good imitation of a statue but failed miserably to show any excitement for his mission.
The first thing I noticed upon arrival at my Borders store was that my wife's reconnaissance was flawed. There wasn't anything like a 60% discount on display, not even on the signs held by Rip Van Sign Bearer out on the traffic island. But I don't think she lied. She probably just took the "20 to 40% off" propaganda and added them together. Besides, my old self-imposed 50% threshold was always limited to one item. At least 20% and maybe 40% off everything would apply to as many items as I wanted so it sounded like a good deal to me. The second thing I noticed was that the parking lot was full. Obviously, the demise of my beloved bookstore had drawn out the buzzards in its death throws. Not me, mind you, I'm still feeling the grief that comes from losing a friend. I'm there to verify the truth of the shocking obituary. And if I can pickup some good deals on a couple of book purchases while I'm at it? Well, who could find fault with that? That's just good old American pragmatism. Pragmatism with the proper respect. Nothing wrong with that. Inside the store a somber scene awaited me. The first thing that struck me was the silence. Very quiet. Hushed is perhaps the best description. Respectfully hushed. The old cafe section was roped off like a crime scene and all the lights were off. I peeked in and surveyed the floor as best I could in the darkness half expecting to see chalk lines outlining the fallen positions of those who fell there. But I knew my imagination was rushing far too close to the macabre and pulled myself back to reality, forcing myself to head to other sections of the store in no particular order. I have certain sections I always visit but my progression from one to the other is in random order depending on whatever mood I'm in at the time. My bookstore browsing habits are not terribly structured. I do a lot of roaming. The usual customer suspects were there in abundance. Sometimes I feel like I'm in the bar scene of Star Wars, just one more of the weirdos seeking refreshment, in this case, reading refreshment. In the fiction section maze I always half expect to run into Chewbacca around the next corner. And if I have to step around one of the intense readers sitting cross legged yoga style in the isles I imagine them to be R2-D2 out of uniform. What I'm describing I guess is just the usual gang of geeks hanging out at the bookstore on any given day. And yes, I'm one of them. I don't have any piercings (or at least none that I'll admit to) and I don't sit on the floor but I guess I'm still strange enough to fit in with the crowd. I don't shave my legs either so I have something in common with lots of my female reading comrades.
Sadly, my bookstore visit came to a close. They really beefed up the checkout process by manning, make that womanning up each cash register with a clerk to handle the increased volume of sales. Back in the good old days a good part of each store visit was taken up waiting for an available clerk to check us out. Each clerk repeated the mantra that "all sales are final, no returns allowed" that sort of added to the finality of it all. It was all sadly efficient. No underperformance in evidence here, Mr CEO Mike, so maybe you should give my branch a second chance? Tell you what, if the store is allowed to survive, I promise to come back for 40% off sales. I won't hold out for five-oh.