I keep thinking about the woman we met at Browseabout, the one named Kirsten, who overheard Emily and me talking about the books on the Recent Bestsellers wall.
It’s a popular wall where people congregate. It’s up near the cash register.
I dragged Em over to it because I wanted her opinion on a few titles that I know she’s read (from following her on Goodreads) and I wanted to ask her about them.
Strangers, for one. It’s getting a lot of buzz and I’ve been considering it. “No,” she said. She hated it. “She’s too rich and entitled.”
What about The God of the Woods? “Yes, loved it.”
Pachinko? “Mom! You haven’t read that??!!” You have to. Yes.”
So it was going like this. She telling me what she liked, me telling her what I liked.
In the middle of this, a woman with an employee badge joined our conversation.
“Have you read Mad Mabel? We both say no. And at this point, another customer, overhearing her, chimes in, “Oh! I’m reading Mad Mabel now, and I just love it!”
We have now become a clump, a little clog of opinionated readers, doing one-sentence reviews in front of the Best Seller wall.
Kirsten asks us what we’re reading now.
Later, both Em and I remark that no bookstore employee has ever asked us what we were reading.
I tell her, John of John. Kirsten says that’s on her list, and asks what I think of it. I say, “Not a beach read. Maybe wait till winter.”
Em says she just finished The Loneliness of Sonja and Sunny.
People are now jostling to get in front of the wall. I gently herd us off to the side. I don’t want this convo to end, though. None of us does.
Kirsten points to a line of books on the wall. “These are my favorites now,” she says.
Hers is the line of books that begins with Wild Dark Shore. I notice Strangers is on her list, the book Em didn’t like, and The God of the Woods, which I’ve been eyeing, and which Em liked, and Mad Mabel, which sounds outrageous. (Mabel is an 81-year-old narrator and is a “hoot,” according to the other customer who is reading it now.)
As we talk, we learn more about Kirsten, who lives in Annapolis but spends part of the week here in Rehoboth. She reads two books a week.
She learns about us, too. She learns that Em’s from Portland, home of Powell’s; and I’m from PA.
Browseabout is a very busy store, especially in summer. In addition to books, they sell toys and puzzles, home decor, and greeting cards, all tastefully curated.
But the whole time we’re talking to Kirsten, I keep wondering what the store manager is thinking about her having this extensive conversation with us in front of the Best Seller wall
I keep worrying about her getting in trouble for talking to us for so long, even though it was the most interesting and meaningful conversation with a stranger in a store I’d had all week, and a true moment of connection. I truly did not want it to end, but I worried that she might get fired for it. How sad is that?
I went back the next day by myself to look for her, but she wasn’t there. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to her, really, maybe just tell her how much I appreciated our book talk.
The fact that she wasn’t there, worried me a bit, but it could have just been her day off. Still, I worried she might have been fired, been told a bookstore wasn’t a book club, and that she needed to direct people to books so that they could buy them, not discuss them.
I hope I am wrong.
But I think what I’m trying to say here is that when you are in a business where you are trying to sell something, whether it is books, or cars, or clothing, you are selling your thing to a person first. The book, car, or shirt is secondary. The primary transaction is person-to-person.
When Kirsten asked us what we were reading, I felt an instant connection to her. I felt she wanted to know about my inner life, what things captured my imagination, and if she could connect her imaginative life with mine.
It made me feel like I wasn’t just a customer. Actually, I didn’t feel like a customer at all. She made me feel like an interesting person.
I’d buy anything from her. I hope our conversation didn’t get her fired.
Inspiration Location 