I miss the days I spent surrounded by a plethora of beautiful used books waiting to be re-boughten.
I miss stashing yet another book I couldn’t afford underneath the counter, and re-adjusting the books that were already there when the entire pile threatened to tumble down around my feet. Instead, I now only stash endless amounts of pizza in my gut, which I’m sure will have a crippling effect on my digestive system at some point.
I miss the thrill of a customer bringing in the books their child is outgrown, and I miss the feeling of sheepishness that would come over me when I realized said books were titles I could never live without, despite the fact that I am a mature adult. (Most of the time.)
I miss the customers who would stop in just to visit with me- the older blonde woman who raved about my shoes to her sickly husband; Dino, who always called me Sweety; and even the son of the Alzheimer’s man, who had the gall to leave me to babysit his ailing father. Now, no one raves about my outfits, because who would have anything nice to say about a grease-stained manager shirt that refuses to stay buttoned at my breast, no matter how many times I safety pin it?
I miss being able to wear my collection of adorably awesome shoes every single day. Instead, I now must don my hideous black non-slip work shoes.
I miss going to work and being left to my own devices. Now, I have a health inspector looking over my shoulder at every turn.
I miss having a chance to read all the books I would never buy, (as if there really is such a thing). Instead, I get to read applications of people applying for delivery drivers and servers, and I remain unimpressed when they have no previous experience and use their parents as references.
I miss the occassional stop I would make to the Pretzel Maker, where I would purchase deliciously-fresh pretzel bites. Now, I generally get to eat the non-fresh pizza of customers who forgot to pick up their orders.
I miss smelling nice. Because no matter how much perfume I spray on myself, there is always the underlying smell of D’odour du Pepperoni.
I miss arranging books in such a way that will catch one’s eye. I now get to arrange the freezer in such a way that will keep the frozen pizza dough from tumbling out every time one opens the door.
Does anybody own a bookstore that they need a Sparklebumps in?