The Book Lender

Let me start off with this: I don’t know the Book Lender. The Book Lender is just someone I met while doing the most trivially boring job in the history of jobs—inventory.

I got into work today more or less on time. I hadn’t had to buy an actual parking pass because it’s between terms. You see, I work at the Bookstore. Not a bookstore. No, that would be heaven. This is the Bookstore. The college bookstore that sells overpriced text books you could easily buy off Amazon for so much less—but don’t tell my boss I told you that. I love my job, I do. I especially love my job when I am given tasks to do instead of having to wait around all day in case some hopeless soul walks in, looking for something they’ve probably already found, and asking them if they, “Need help finding anything?” to which they always smile politely and say, “No thanks, I think I’ve got it”. Which to be fair, they probably do. Our bookstore isn’t that big. It’s no bigger than an average, one story house.

The job I was given was to check prices on everything in the store. Literally, everything. If the item was exactly the same as the one next to it, save its color, I still had to price check it. My supervisor, who is actually a really nice lady, explained to me that inventory day was coming up so we had to go through the store beforehand and get as much prep done as possible. It was my job, as a seasoned veteran, to go around with a shopping basket and systematically take, and price check, one of every item we owned to date—which is fine by me because it makes me look like I am actually doing something with my time, which I guess I am.

Because today was so slow I was able to bless a newbie with the gift that is manual labor. He was actually one of my old conversation partners from last term who had applied to work here without telling me. It’s great to have him around because he will sometimes talk to me in Japanese or Korean to test me. I am also one of the only people that understand him when he speaks because I am so used to him, which is probably why he, more or less, follows me around while we work.

While I shopped and scanned he would come by and, basket at a time, start to put stuff away. It was good for him because he got to figure out what things were and where they went, which is much easier to do when you actually need to find things instead of just aimlessly walking around like we always do. This went on for hours. I pulled and scanned, looking only at the tiny yellow pricing stickers and the computer. Back and forth, up and down, hand them off, start again. It was rather tedious, but in a way it was kind of fun. I didn’t notice how much time had passed until I looked up and saw a coworker, slotted to come in two hours after I had arrived, walking through the door and snickering as I dropped my first item of the day.

“Sorry,” he said laughing. “I know I have that effect on people.”

You wish, I wanted to say. I held myself back, he was a jokester and a flirt. He was my friend. He was Mike.

He walked behind me, as I continued to scan art supplies behind the counter, and I followed him with my eyes. It was the first time since I had gotten to work that they had done anything besides going up and down. It felt good to stretch them. At the end of the long counter, where Mike was punching in, stood a new boy.

“I don’t know that one.” I murmured, quietly.

“Huh?”

I looked in the direction of the voice. In front of me stood Brian, the nerdiest thirty to forty year old man with two daughters I had ever met.

“Him. I don’t know him.” I corrected.

“Connor?” He asked, in the loudest, inconspicuous voice possible.

“Yeah.” I took a chance and darted my eyes in Connor’s direction. He was answering the phone. Though his back was to us, I was pretty sure he’d heard. How could he have not?

“Oh, yeah. He’s new.” Thank you Captain Obvious, you’ve been a great help.

“Oh.”

Back and forth. Beep. Price tag. Beep. Hand it off.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point I began to realize there were people next to me. Mike and Brett, another supervisor of sorts, had been standing next to me for some time now. I am sure that at some point I had offhandedly contributed to their conversation, but at the moment I couldn’t remember a single thing. They were talking about some video game I had probably never heard of, or some movie I didn’t care about when out of the corner of my eye I saw Connor walk up and join them. He said some words and they laughed. I wanted to laugh too, though I don’t know why. I wanted to turn around and join them but Mike was standing, as he always does, too close. If I turned around he would be in my bubble. I don’t like it when people are in my bubble, so I stayed in my spot.

Brett drew me into the conversation at one point and I was forced to half turn and reply. When I finished, Connor stuck his hand out.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.”

I took his hand.

“Connor.”

I looked into his face, his clear blue eyes and his hipster blond hair. I looked into his smile and I made the same snap judgement everyone else seemed to have made: he was alright.

I smiled, hoping it didn’t look too awkward, and tried to project a sweet demeanor into my reply.

“Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

From that moment on he was blessed with manual labor and he helped put away everything I was through with. I reasoned that I was helping him learn the layout of the store as I handed him a bucket I had filled with tools from the pottery shelf and told wished him a happy birthday, as if I were handing him the greatest present of all time.

“It actually was my birthday!” He called back, walking away with the bucket.

“Was?”

“Yeah, a few days ago.”

“Oh? How old are you now?” Smooth. Real smooth. That wasn’t creepy at all.

“Twenty,” he laughed.

“You’re older than me.”

“Oh yeah? How old are you?”

“Nineteen. I turn twenty in a few months.”

“Really?”

I nodded as I walked over to help him find the home of a sculpting tool he’d been holding for way to long.

“Birthday?”

“Yup.” I say without thinking and point to an empty container.

“No,” he laughs, putting it down. “I mean, when. What month?”

“Oh.” Dumb. So dumb. At least sound like you’re competent. “August. The seventeenth of August.”

“Sweet!” He puts his hand up and smiles.

As absent mindedly as I can, I bring my own hand up to touch his in a sort of high five.

The rest of the day I watched as he butterflied his way around various jobs with various people. He laughed and smiled when appropriate and never stayed in one place too long. He was happy to help ring up the few people who came in, and he even conversed with Satoru—which not many people can do, or choose to do because of his thick accent. My snap judgement seemed to be correct. They talked a lot over the next few hours while Satoru stayed and helped me and Connor wandered helping others.

In the middle of another scanning session I looked at the clock. It was five minutes past four. I was done. Free. Had been for five minutes. I could put down everything and just walk away! But I didn’t. I was told not to delegate but to finish as much as I could before I left, so I finished my basket and put it away. By the time I got to the back room to get my things Connor was already on break. I contemplated leaving, but for some reason I stayed.

Brett was there, he mostly supervised the back room because he was in charge of checking in books and getting them on the shelves, and Mike was just finishing his own break. I wiggled around Connor and Mike in the small space around the break table and grabbed my bag. I pulled out two brownies and gave parts of both to each of them, taking only a small bite for myself. People tell me I am a pushover because I do this kind of thing, but really? I am a pusher. Not like a drug pusher, gosh no. I mean I basically force my politeness on other people. Even if they say no, I will force them to take what I am offering them. You don’t want a piece of gum? Take it for later. Don’t make me look like a fool because I was being nice, take my dang piece of gum!

Once Mike and Brett left to do other work I thought sitting with Connor would be awkward so I was prepared to go. Strange as it was though, he struck up a conversation about books. Said the last book he read was about some German town that may, or may not, have been a horror book. He wasn’t sure. Said he’d rather give the book to me so I could read it instead of try to explain it. I humored him, it sounded like an interesting story at least.

“I’d read it.” He looked surprised. I wonder now if it was because he didn’t think a girl would be interested in it or if it was because he didn’t think he was explaining it well enough that someone would actually want to read it.

“Really? Because if you do, I mean… I don’t have it on me right now. A friend is reading it…but I mean, I could get it back for you, if you want to read it.”

“That would be great, but only if you want to, and only if they are done.” I smiled. “Well, I should be going.”

“Me too, I just finished my break.”

As I made my way to the front door I waved goodbye to everyone. The nice thing about working in the Bookstore is that you can actually do that. Most people will wave back, the others just didn’t see you.

“Hey, when do you work again,” he asked from behind the counter.

“Thursday,” I said walking backwards towards the door.

“Oh! I work then too! Maybe I’ll see you? I work from…uh… sometime to some other time?”

“Sometime to sometime,” I laughed. “Got it. I’ll see you then!”

“It was nice meeting you!”

“It was nice meeting you, too!”

“It was nice meeting you!” Mike called from restocking the candy. I rolled my eyes.

“It was not nice meeting you.” I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out.

My manager, who had overheard everything, decided that right then would be a good time to scold me.

“Sarah,” she drew my name out in mock exasperation, “you didn’t need to go so over the top with that last part.” She sighed and I twirled, trying to look innocent. I wouldn’t look at him, but I’d bet money that Mike was looking as hurt as possible to try and get me in trouble.

“They know I like them because I’m mean to them.”

“I know, I know. It’s that thing little girls do to boys when they like them,” she laughed. “Don’t worry, she likes you guys.” I like to imagine she winked at them as I walked out of the store, but you know what? I don’t think I will ever know.