I made a trip to the neighborhood mega-bookstore earlier today in an attempt to use a gift card I had received as a present (my family has given up trying to pick out a book from the multitudes on my wish list). Unfortunately, none of the titles I really wanted were on the shelves and I decided to make my purchase on-line instead. These weren’t bestsellers I was seeking out, but but they weren’t obscure bottom-listers, either.
I’m not sure why I’m still in the habit of going to bookstores. More often than not, I don’t find what I’m looking for. The aisles can be a hassle to navigate. It’s probably not worth the bother. But as with so many of the things we do that don’t make much sense, habit is to blame. A trip to the bookstore was something I looked forward to as a kid, especially during the winter months. Green Bay wasn’t a town with much in the way of literary tendencies (it still isn’t, as far as I know) and we had only a couple crappy Waldenbooks stores in desolate corners of the local malls, but a visit to one of these sad, harshly-lit places still constituted a treat for me. It was a way to pass the time. Even though the reward isn’t what it used to be, some subconscious part of my brain still does a bit of mental drooling whenever I think about making a stop at the bookstore.
Going out with friends to buy clothes had the same mental attraction to me in he past, whereas now it almost feels like working.
I think it’s age which is to blame.
And then, in those old times when we had less money, we seemed to enjoy the fewer things we could purchase with it.
It always seems to be like this: when you have a small amount of something, you use and enjoy it better and more.
I love going to the bookstore because I love to be surrounded by books; you can’t get that on Amazon… And I love the smell and crispy texture of freshly-printed books. You can’t get that at a library, where all the books are old and you can never own them! 🙂