New Series: Notes From Your Local Bookseller
Welcome to a new series on our blog where we hear from booksellers at Old Town Books! These kind folks are keeping the shop running during a really difficult time. We wanted to share their voices and perspectives on how things are going at the shop.
First up is Floor Manager Abby Bennsky. Abby started working at Old Town Books in November 2019 but it feels like she’s been here since day one. She is an incredibly hard working bookseller and reads SO widely. If you told me I had to sum up Abby’s reading preference I’d just have to say: She reads everything! If you’ve met her in the shop you know she can recommend a book from any genre. A great trait in a bookseller, as is her ability to deadlift multiple boxes of heavy books. And - as you’ll gather from her post - she’s also a great writer! She earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of Gloucestershire in December of last year. Thanks for reading, and thanks for buying books from us on www.oldtownbooks.com. It’s because of you that people like me and Abby get to keep doing what we love.
Floor Manager Abby Bennsky
If you had told me six months ago that I’d be working in a bookstore without interacting with many people, I would’ve jumped at such an opportunity. Books sans people truly is my idea of heaven and has been for most of my life. I’m an introvert. I enjoy my silence, my solitude, my time to escape be it physically or through the pages of a book.
About a week ago, however, I got my wish in true genie-like fashion. Now when I go into work, the streets of Old Town are quiet. The shop is empty and cold when I unlock the doors in the morning, with various boxes and bubble wrap strewn everywhere. Our usual routines of opening and closing, which usually include dusting and sweeping and turning on all the lights, have fallen by the wayside as our attention turns to other matters.
The only people I see when working are my fellow booksellers, printing mailing labels or organizing pick-up orders, or the UPS or the Postal Service workers, dropping off and picking up boxes and envelopes full of books. I talk to customers on the phone occasionally if they call, but talking on the phone has never been something I liked to do (so much so that the very idea would fill me with a mortal terror as recent as a few years ago #introvertlife)
But that’s it. That limited audience and then my family when I return home in the evening, which also includes my 10-week-old puppy, Bear, so that’s a plus. But, as this week draws to a close, I have come to the rather obvious realization that… this is not what I signed up for, however unintentionally.
I miss the chaos of a normal day in the store, where you never know who’s going to walk through our doors, what book they’re going to ask for and whether or not they can remember anything about the book itself other than they “think the cover is blue.”
“Right now, the store feels like it’s holding its breath and I feel the same way. ”
I miss the excitement of our book clubs and events, with people jogging up our stairs to the Lit Loft, possibly for the first time. I miss the dogs that peek in when we have the doors open. I miss the families browsing in the summer while waiting for their table at Virtue to be ready. And I especially miss the Tuesday mornings when we put out the new releases, when a book I’ve been reading and hearing about for months is a physical thing and I can actually hold it in my hands.
Right now, the store feels like it’s holding its breath and I feel the same way. I’ve told customers and coworkers that I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to “happen,” for lack of a better word. But it’s only now, a week into our new routine, that I realized that this could be our new normal for the foreseeable future.
The quiet? The solitude? No, it’s not what I love about working at a bookstore. It can’t compare to the joy of finding out a customer has read the same obscure favorites as you, the pride when you find the perfect recommendation for someone. We aren’t meeting in person for book clubs where the room bursts into laughter apropos of nothing or echoes with the mutual groans of frustration when mentioning a character everyone hated.
But I keep these memories close to my heart as I go in to fill online orders and put together care packages and answer phone calls, because it’s what I can do right now and I know those who have been a part of this community in Old Town miss the in-person experience as much as I do. And I know all of us will continue doing what we can until our doors can open once again, dogs peeking in and all.
