This is long and I’m not sure if it belongs here, but I think it does, and I have to put it somewhere, so here we go.
I love books. Ever since I was little my dream job was to work at a bookstore. I used to go every week with my Dad up until I was in my mid/late teens, perusing the aisles, picking random books off the shelf that caught my eye, sitting in the big comfy chairs next to my Dad and escaping into other worlds.
As I got older and after my first few very unfulfilling jobs (dishwasher, car washer) I decided to apply at a couple of bookstores in hopes that I could spend all day at a place I loved; talking literature with people, guiding customers to the perfect book, opening a fresh box of new releases. Alas, at 17 I was still considered to be too young/inexperienced to even get an interview. It was disappointing, but I moved on.
In my mid twenties, I applied again to the 2 remaining booksellers in my region. I now had a resume that I thought proved my ability to handle the job, and I even included a cover letter detailing my love for books and desire to be a great bookseller. Again I never even managed to get a call back. I figured “Damn, this is a hard job field to break into, but I’m not surprised, bookstores are amazing, I’m sure they just get tons of applicants; people much more qualified than me.”
Fast forward to now: I’m 33, I’m a great worker with a nice resume and I’m a semester away from completing my Associates degree at the local community college with a 4.0 GPA; I’ve made the Dean’s List every semester since I decided to go back to school. I’m no dummy, I’m a people person with lots of customer service experience now, and I still have a fiery passion for books.
I recently saw that the lone bookstore in my hometown, the very one I used to frequent with my Dad all those years ago, had posted a job opening for a part time bookseller, and I’ve noticed the past few years their employees trending younger and younger; the book displays looking worse, and the volume of books in the store slowly dwindling. I figured I could take on a second job if it meant I could spend time doing something I love until I finish my Bachelor’s degree. So I did it; I applied again.
And I got a call the very next day!
My heart was racing while the manager was describing job duties over the phone, parts of my early life spent in that very store flashed behind my eyes with a golden hue over them like some montage at the end of a beautiful drama.
The woman on the other end of the line asked if I wanted to come in for an interview, to which I immediately obliged. I know it sounds dumb, but I literally had butterflies in my stomach. After nearly 20 years of trying, I was about to get a chance at working at my favorite place in the world.
And then, the woman said, “Before we set up a time for you to come in, just to be up front, I’d like to let you know that the position pays $8.75 an hour.”
My heart sank. I stood silent for a moment, and she filled that silence with “I know it’s not much, that’s why I always mention it over the phone.” I told her I was sorry but that wage does not justify me spending my time there, and that I’d be looking for a more reasonable wage as someone in my mid-30’s. With a laugh she said “I totally understand, thanks for your time.”
We both hung up.
I fell back onto my couch and my heart just felt so heavy. I knew that was my last and only chance; with bookstores all slowly going out of business over the past decade, I knew any offer I would ever get from a bookstore again would be, understandably, similar. So I had to let go of my dream job.
My Dad remarried and moved 3 hours away years ago; soon thereafter he developed cerebral small vessel disease, a type of dementia that has ravaged his once brilliant mind. He was a doctor for 35 years and now he can barely talk, can’t walk, can’t even use the bathroom on his own or bathe himself anymore.
My connection to books was cultivated through a relationship with my father; hours spent escaping the rest of the family and heading to the bookstore after school, flipping through pages, trading passages, falling asleep in the big comfy chairs with books in our hands, and waking up sometime later, laughing and wondering if anyone around had heard us snoring.
When I go to a bookstore even now, I always think of him. When I smell the fresh pages of a new book, he often comes to mind. For some reason, when she told me the pay was $8.75, I felt that somehow the last piece of my relationship with my pre-dementia’d father had wilted away. A final nail in the coffin. I’d never work at a bookstore, and they wouldn’t be around much longer anyways. Who knows how much longer my Dad’s got either. It was a heavy, heavy feeling.
He can’t read anymore, but I decided now that I will not let this be the end. Just as he read me to sleep as a baby, every time I visit him from now on I’m bringing a book to read to him. I won’t have my dream job, but I’ll be damned if I let the gift he gave me slip away just because I can’t get paid for it. I can still share my love of books, as I always have. I won’t let this ruin that.
$8.75. Nobody should have to work for $8.75. Fuck slave labor wages. It’s sad that I love a place so much but at the same time understand why they must close their doors at once if they refuse to pay a decent wage, or can’t afford to because it’s cheaper to get books off Amazon or Thiftbooks.
This government takes care of corporations, not people. There’s been a fight for a $15 federal minimum wage for a decade in America, and even if that is achieved someday, it’s still not even close to a livable wage. We need to change that, together, somehow; we need to let our frustration pour out into the streets. We need to demand a righteous solution so that the next kid down the line doesn’t have their dream slip away because it doesn’t pay enough to keep the lights on.
Books are treasures. Words are important. These pages, they carry something in them that is truly timeless. To me, they are just as important as the people who wrote them, if not more so. Bookstores are amazing places, and they are going extinct. Do yourself a favor and visit one before it’s too late.
Love you Dad.
Thanks for reading.