The last few minutes of Borders
So, CD and I figured we stop in the closing Borders after the movie today, just to see what might be still available. They still had a store closing sign up, if nothing else. As we drove up, we saw the LAST DAY signs.
Not just the last day, as it turned out.
When we entered, at about 1:30 pm, the manager was shouting, all books now left, just two for a dollar. Two for a dollar. People were walking out with lighting and bookcases. One of the cashiers was crying. Three tables still had some books -- mostly, I'm sorry to say, speculative fiction, and a few romances here and there. "Two for a dollar," the manager shouted again, to the very few customers not looking at bookcases. "Magazines four for a dollar."
CD grabbed a couple and went to the cashier. I hung around the table, looking at what was left.
"We're closing in five more minutes," said the manager, voice breaking. "Five more minutes. All books left, two for a dollar." After a more few minutes. "Two for a dollar. We're about to close." And then in a softer voice, "I don't want to toss them."
I added four more books to the two I'd grabbed. It didn't much matter which ones at that point, I thought. I couldn't have them end up in a landfill, and at least this way I could get them to a library or the used bookstore if I hated them.
"Two more minutes," he called out again.
I made it to the cashier. By that point, both cashiers were crying. She rang me up -- the books rang a little more than two for a dollar; she hit the keypad a few more times; the final charge, with sales tax, was considerably less than the three dollars I should have paid.
"Thank you," I said, which just sounded so inadequate. I couldn't remember if I'd seen the cashier before or not. "I really loved this place." What an asinine thing to say I thought then, but I couldn't take it back, and I had wanted to say something.
She managed a nod.
"We're closing," said the manager.
I took a look over to what had been the coffee area -- now stripped of its counter, with only one small table left, where every once in awhile, I'd been able to hang out with a friend or two, sipping coffee, chatting about books and gaming, or lusting after netbooks. (Ones carried by friends, not Borders.) To the other areas, where I'd explored to see the bookstore could offer. It had, like so many Borders, devoted more and more floor space to things other than books (and this particular Borders sold almost no music or DVDs), but it had still had stuffed bookcases.
We waited for two people to take a bookcase out.
When we stepped out, the three tables -- still with a few more books and magazines -- were still there, along with a few -- very few -- other bookcases, most marked with names, and people removing lighting fixtures. And the manager was taking the steps to the entrance, to close the door.
As we drove away, we saw one employee outside still waving the LAST DAY 90 PERCENT OFF sign. I don't think he wanted to go back in, even though by now, no one else could use that discount.
***********
Goodbye, local Borders. And may your fellow still living Borders bookstores rebound, whatever their management may do.
Not just the last day, as it turned out.
When we entered, at about 1:30 pm, the manager was shouting, all books now left, just two for a dollar. Two for a dollar. People were walking out with lighting and bookcases. One of the cashiers was crying. Three tables still had some books -- mostly, I'm sorry to say, speculative fiction, and a few romances here and there. "Two for a dollar," the manager shouted again, to the very few customers not looking at bookcases. "Magazines four for a dollar."
CD grabbed a couple and went to the cashier. I hung around the table, looking at what was left.
"We're closing in five more minutes," said the manager, voice breaking. "Five more minutes. All books left, two for a dollar." After a more few minutes. "Two for a dollar. We're about to close." And then in a softer voice, "I don't want to toss them."
I added four more books to the two I'd grabbed. It didn't much matter which ones at that point, I thought. I couldn't have them end up in a landfill, and at least this way I could get them to a library or the used bookstore if I hated them.
"Two more minutes," he called out again.
I made it to the cashier. By that point, both cashiers were crying. She rang me up -- the books rang a little more than two for a dollar; she hit the keypad a few more times; the final charge, with sales tax, was considerably less than the three dollars I should have paid.
"Thank you," I said, which just sounded so inadequate. I couldn't remember if I'd seen the cashier before or not. "I really loved this place." What an asinine thing to say I thought then, but I couldn't take it back, and I had wanted to say something.
She managed a nod.
"We're closing," said the manager.
I took a look over to what had been the coffee area -- now stripped of its counter, with only one small table left, where every once in awhile, I'd been able to hang out with a friend or two, sipping coffee, chatting about books and gaming, or lusting after netbooks. (Ones carried by friends, not Borders.) To the other areas, where I'd explored to see the bookstore could offer. It had, like so many Borders, devoted more and more floor space to things other than books (and this particular Borders sold almost no music or DVDs), but it had still had stuffed bookcases.
We waited for two people to take a bookcase out.
When we stepped out, the three tables -- still with a few more books and magazines -- were still there, along with a few -- very few -- other bookcases, most marked with names, and people removing lighting fixtures. And the manager was taking the steps to the entrance, to close the door.
As we drove away, we saw one employee outside still waving the LAST DAY 90 PERCENT OFF sign. I don't think he wanted to go back in, even though by now, no one else could use that discount.
***********
Goodbye, local Borders. And may your fellow still living Borders bookstores rebound, whatever their management may do.