My favorite philosopher is Winnie-the-Pooh. If I were to paraphrase Pooh, last Friday was oh-bother sort of day. My loyal husband was out front trying to steam clean the walks. Water hoses and cords were snaking through the store. I had just made it up the rickety ladder in order to replace a spotlight that seems to burn out every two weeks. And then the phone rang.
Should I flounder down the rickety ladder, skip over the cords and hoses and answer? I made the decision that I would, and I'm still a little sorry. It was a newspaper reporter from the Denver Newspaper Agency. Was I going to carry the newest Harry Potter? Well, no, I said, staring at the spotlight that I'd carried down the ladder with me. Well, why, the young man wanted to know. Because I'm a used bookstore, I said, and it's not really in the budget.
I didn't say -- because the market is glutted with Harry Potter, because I'd rather carry books that you newspaper reporters overlook, because maybe the Harry Potter phenomenon isn't all that it's cracked up to be.
I hung up the phone and started back up the ladder.
Today, I open the paper to see that Miss Prothero's is choosing not to carry Potter because it's just too durn expensive. Poor little independent bookseller me.
Heck, it wasn't really a conscious choice! But then if I'm going to be talking to newspaper reporters, I'd better be a little more conscious about what I'm saying.