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Bits and bobs
Jul. 18th, 2007 10:35 pmThis Friday night at half past nine, I am going to dress up in my gown and witch's hat, host a barbecue, hand out drinks, take pictures for the Southport Visiter and then be responsible for a hundred and eighty people getting their copies of Deathly Hallows.
And? I get paid for this. I love my job.
Well, no, I don't get paid - my three hours' work will just about pay for my book. But it's the principle of the thing. Before that, unfortunately, comes the hard work. Today was spent alphabetising most of those hundred and eighty people, dealing with the last minute pre-orders and serving the few customers left in the world who, indeed, want other books. But I still love my job, because, hey, selling books, and every time I come back I'm reminded of how much I believe in the glorious ideal of an independent bookshop. There's a cartoon in today's Metro about the Asda/Bloomsbury fiasco with the caption "...and everyone lived happily ever after, except small bookshops." Cue wry laughter, because it's only funny 'cause it's true. The shop is still making no money, and honestly, it needs to sell those hundred and eighty books at full price. The discount we're doing isn't much, but creative - £15, and a quid off the next seven books you buy. More than the shop can really afford, but the whole event is designed to stop them running off to Tesco's, so we're going with the flow.
Anyway, more pleasant things! A new Harry Potter book does, of course, bring the geeks out of the woodwork - I was flirted with by a sweet indie boy who shamefacedly asked if he could pick up ten copies for all his friends - as well as small children who've heroicially got through the first six just recently. (My favourite of the HP contingent was an old lady who asked me to find a particular name in the notebook I keep the pre-orders in, and then gave me a handful of cash so I'd mark it as paid. "Tell her Grandma's taken care of it," she said, and disappeared.)
We also had a visit from one of my favourite customers today, a retired local doctor. The first thing he did was to park his elderly mother and her wheelchair right in the middle of the space - "She's ninety! Everyone else can get out of her way!" - and then gasp in surprise at seeing me after such a long time. Last time I saw him, I said, he was trying to buy a book when he couldn't remember the title.
"Yes!" he said cheerfully. "All I knew was something and someone's relative. The Assasin's Boyfriend. No, The Time Traveler's Wife."
"Was it the right book?" asked his mother.
"Right book," I said. "Wrong universe, maybe."
Delighted at this suggestion, he chortled his way out. There are lots of customers that I'm fond of, but he's near the top of the list. He wears Descartes T-shirts, which would dispose me favourably towards anyone.
Anyway! I am getting distracted. This seems a good a place as any to set out my Harry Potter spoiler policy, which is as follows: don't spoil me. Simple as, and thanks, everyone, for having used cuts so scrupulously until now. I'm usually not fussed about spoilers, but this time it matters to me that I stay unspoiled. And as this is the last Harry Potter book, this'll be the last time I'm ever worried about them.
Right. I'm going to be away for a couple of days - I'm going to London tomorrow for the BBC Power to the People aftershow party, and I'll be back on Friday afternoon, at which point there are barbecues and local newspapers and Harry Potter will take over my life. So I guess I'll be absent for a wee bit, but before I go, I should say: I've decided to go ahead with both the Slings & Arrows and Altered Mental States ficathons. I'll open sign-ups for both of them after the weekend, once we've got back all the people who are holed up somewhere reading Deathly Hallows. See y'all on the flipside.
And? I get paid for this. I love my job.
Well, no, I don't get paid - my three hours' work will just about pay for my book. But it's the principle of the thing. Before that, unfortunately, comes the hard work. Today was spent alphabetising most of those hundred and eighty people, dealing with the last minute pre-orders and serving the few customers left in the world who, indeed, want other books. But I still love my job, because, hey, selling books, and every time I come back I'm reminded of how much I believe in the glorious ideal of an independent bookshop. There's a cartoon in today's Metro about the Asda/Bloomsbury fiasco with the caption "...and everyone lived happily ever after, except small bookshops." Cue wry laughter, because it's only funny 'cause it's true. The shop is still making no money, and honestly, it needs to sell those hundred and eighty books at full price. The discount we're doing isn't much, but creative - £15, and a quid off the next seven books you buy. More than the shop can really afford, but the whole event is designed to stop them running off to Tesco's, so we're going with the flow.
Anyway, more pleasant things! A new Harry Potter book does, of course, bring the geeks out of the woodwork - I was flirted with by a sweet indie boy who shamefacedly asked if he could pick up ten copies for all his friends - as well as small children who've heroicially got through the first six just recently. (My favourite of the HP contingent was an old lady who asked me to find a particular name in the notebook I keep the pre-orders in, and then gave me a handful of cash so I'd mark it as paid. "Tell her Grandma's taken care of it," she said, and disappeared.)
We also had a visit from one of my favourite customers today, a retired local doctor. The first thing he did was to park his elderly mother and her wheelchair right in the middle of the space - "She's ninety! Everyone else can get out of her way!" - and then gasp in surprise at seeing me after such a long time. Last time I saw him, I said, he was trying to buy a book when he couldn't remember the title.
"Yes!" he said cheerfully. "All I knew was something and someone's relative. The Assasin's Boyfriend. No, The Time Traveler's Wife."
"Was it the right book?" asked his mother.
"Right book," I said. "Wrong universe, maybe."
Delighted at this suggestion, he chortled his way out. There are lots of customers that I'm fond of, but he's near the top of the list. He wears Descartes T-shirts, which would dispose me favourably towards anyone.
Anyway! I am getting distracted. This seems a good a place as any to set out my Harry Potter spoiler policy, which is as follows: don't spoil me. Simple as, and thanks, everyone, for having used cuts so scrupulously until now. I'm usually not fussed about spoilers, but this time it matters to me that I stay unspoiled. And as this is the last Harry Potter book, this'll be the last time I'm ever worried about them.
Right. I'm going to be away for a couple of days - I'm going to London tomorrow for the BBC Power to the People aftershow party, and I'll be back on Friday afternoon, at which point there are barbecues and local newspapers and Harry Potter will take over my life. So I guess I'll be absent for a wee bit, but before I go, I should say: I've decided to go ahead with both the Slings & Arrows and Altered Mental States ficathons. I'll open sign-ups for both of them after the weekend, once we've got back all the people who are holed up somewhere reading Deathly Hallows. See y'all on the flipside.
