Why I Sold the Bookstore

Retired and financially secure, I decided to open a bookstore. "Sounds like a good way to waste your daughter's inheritance," said several of my friends and family.

But the point was not to make money. Since the country was in the "great recession" and "e-readers" were the wave of the future, making a profit in a small, old fashioned independent book store seemed unlikely at best.

What I wanted was to wallow in books, reread old favorites, find new ones, and hang out with writers and readers. I would return to my "English major" days of the time before I chose a career of work that would actually pay me a living wage.

In my store I felt at home. Some days I locked the front door and hid in the back of the store when I was reading something wonderful and did not want to be disturbed. Customers could be such a bother, especially when they ask you question after question and don't buy anything. I didn't even mind that some people used the store to browse my displays of new releases and then went home to buy it on Amazon.

My store was designed for enjoyment, with plush arm chairs and large soft couches. I commissioned a local wood worker to build me a giant chair from some ancient wood beams from an old house. The chair was of a size that would accommodate a parent and up to three children to sit together comfortably and read. Teenagers took naps in the store after school. Local artists hung their paintings and occasionally would sell them. I had a piano in the middle of the store. People of all levels of skill gave impromptu performances.

I catered to local self-published authors, those who knew they were not going to sell a lot of books, but were thrilled simply to have created a book and happy to find a store that would display it. A group of storytellers were drawn to my store. Meetings to enjoy and critique others' work became a regular event, along with the occasional poetry slam.

Some very quirky characters showed up in the store. One man threw a fit that I did not have the complete works of G. K. Chesterton, "the greatest writer in the English language, by far!"

In the store, I had only one modern device, a barcode scanner connected to a computer in order to register sales and inventory. I did have a cell phone, and that is where all the trouble started.

One evening after locking up I walked over to shut down the computer and inadvertently placed my cell phone on the counter beneath the bar code scanner. The scanner somehow made contact with some app on the cell phone and a great popping and buzzing began. I reached to retrieve the phone and felt a strong electric shock.

I jumped backwards and watched in bewilderment as the phone and scanner continued to engage. The phone hoovered just above the surface of the counter, held there by the scanner. Within a minute of so, out of the space between the two devices grew what I can only describe as an electric arm, or appendage of pure energy. This tentacle or arm slowly began moving around the room, seeking something, reaching toward the book shelves, crackling and glowing. Two more arms emerged and they began to snake around the room touching books as they went.

One of the arms lifted a book, Pride and Prejudice, out of the shelf and shook it. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth fell from the pages and stood before me, puzzled looks on their faces. Suddenly, the two characters began to shimmer, then glow, then disintegrated into golden sparkles that hung in the air like a colorful fog. Then with an audible whooshing sound they were sucked into the computer through the arm!

Others followed. Odysseus and Penelope, Daisy Miller, then Abraham Lincoln. Shimmer, glow, sparkle and then they were gone. All of my precious books were being sucked into the computer through the monstrous electric arms. They were gone! I staggered backwards, terrified, helpless!

One of the arms reached the poetry section and shook out Walt Whitman. He muttered something about singing the body electric, then he was sucked in. I watched his shadowy image travel through the length of the arms and disappear into the scanner. Mark Twain appeared and started an angry rant, then fear and confusion crossed his face. Shimmer, glow, sparkle, then just...gone!

Next they took from the shelf a biography of Muhammed Ali. He fell from the pages in full boxing attire and immediately recognized he was in danger. He used his famous footwork to dance around the store keeping away from the threatening arms. For a short while they chose to move on to easier targets, but eventually they formed a tight trio of the arms and trapped him in a corner. When he decided to punch his way out, he was doomed. He did not go quietly or easily, but once engaged with the powerful arms, his fate was not in question. Shimmer, glow. sparkle. As he was pulled into the computer the sound of "I am the greatest!" rang out through the store.

Then from the young reader section Harry Potter rushed forward. He engaged the electrical arm with his powerful wand, pushing it back, the sound of thunder and the flash of lightening coming from his magical weapon. Then another arm joined the fray. Eventually Harry's wand began to shake and wobble. It was ripped from his hand. Harry cried out some sort of incantation or spell, to no effect. He too, was sucked into the computer.

On the verge of despair, I then heard a great commotion from the back of the room. Thundering footsteps and cries of the warrior made me tremble. It was King Arthur and his twelve knights of the roundtable, swinging and slashing at the electric arms. They formed into pairs and trios back to back for protection and twirled as if in a dance. As they cut into their foe at multiple places, a great explosion filled the room with light and sound! I fell back onto one of my couches, unconscious.

Hours later I heard a banging on my locked front door. I fought to awaken. It was my wife, concerned that I had not come home yet. I rushed to the door, my mind in a fog, to let her in. For a short period of time I babbled incoherently. "My books! My books! What had happened to all my precious books? The computer! The phone! It stole all the books...the electricity. Harry Potter! Muhammed Ali!"

My wife took me by my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "What are you talking about? You went to sleep again! What kind of crazy dream did you have?"

Then I looked around. All the books were still there. Nothing was gone! My cell phone was safe on the counter. Nothing was wrong with the bar code scanner or the computer. No signs of a struggle. It must have been a dream! I apologized to my wife and accepted I would have a cold dinner.

For several weeks I enjoyed telling this entertaining dream to others especially the group of storytellers.

But at the end of the month, I received my electrical bill. Usually a few hundred dollars, it was $18,456.00.

The electricity bill was proof! It was not a dream! It really happened!

After a period of reflection, I decided it was time to sell the store to a young couple better prepared to handle the modern realities of business.

I still go there to wallow in books and hang out with writers, readers, and storytellers. But all of this is why I decided to sell the bookstore.