The shop on the corner

It's bigger on the inside ... and other delights

I open the shop on a rainy Saturday. The street behind our shop is closed for Open Streets Lancaster, a pedestrian- and family-friendly event highlighting community, physical activity, and social services. I can see some of the booths from the Sun Gallery window as I straighten books on shelves and prep for the day.

At 10 a.m. on the dot, an extended family walks in, excited about books and the shop and all things reading. They are asking questions about Yesteryear and we’re talking about Meet the Newmans and I’m Glad My Mom Died. They wander to the back where a large insect scurries across the floor. I gently put a cup over it. I should find a way to free it, but I’ve been in the shop less than an hour, and I’m already feeling frazzled.

Then it’s story time, and Kristina is here with Is Your Mama A Llama? and a craft involving a card for mom and a wildflower tea. At 10:45, we talk about whether we should call it a day because no families have come in for story time. The rain is coming down harder, and it’s Mother’s Day weekend, so who knows what the plans are for families on this day.

At 10:52 a.m., a family with three little ones walks in, and I ask if they want to have a story read to them. They follow me to the Children’s Nook, and then another family comes in and I say, please join us!

It is a small gathering, but I smile as I hear Kristina animatedly read the story that I used read to my kids so many years ago. Afterwards, the kids are coloring and playing, and I’m glad we decided to wait it out for a little bit longer.

//

Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Maybe you want to believe that working at a book shop is a dream of a job, that every day is perfect, that we are a raging success. It is. They aren’t. We can only hope. (How do we measure “success” anyway?)

Maybe I shouldn’t pull back the curtain, but I need you to know the reality. I need you to understand that we are humans, doing our best to bring you books we love, books you love, books that are worth talking about. And some days, that involves trapping insects in the Sun Gallery.

//

Speaking of the Sun Gallery, I want to mount a camera and capture the expressions as customers round the corner and see our main event room for the first time. Jaws drop. Mouths form an “o” shape. Voices speak “Wow.” Smiles all around.

What a great space.

Can I live here?

I don’t want to leave.

We encourage people to linger. To talk to each other, read, and rest for a moment.

On a busy weekend, I verbally guide people to the Sun Gallery at least a dozen times in the course of the day.

“It’s bigger than it looks from the outside,” I tell visitors as they enter the shop. I can’t help but think of the Tardis and Doctor Who when I say it.

The Sun Gallery is by far the highlight of the shop, but then I feel like a mother choosing her favorite child. Each room is a delight in its own way.

//

“You can tell there’s love here.”

I overheard a woman say this to the others in her group while standing in the Children’s Nook. I stopped what I was doing at the front desk. Smiled to myself. And let it soak in. Later, I texted the Nooks team because I want them to know when the vision for the shop becomes reality to someone visiting.

And there is.

Love.

Here.

Love for books. And stories. Love for people. And community. Love for conversation. Even disagreement.

//

When we meet as a staff, Shawn often asks us what we’re loving about our work at the bookstore. And more than one of us has said that we love recommending books and seeing people go home with them.

Like the grandmother who came in on a mission.

“I’m looking for the book Pierre,” she said. A friend had shared it with her and she couldn’t wait to share it with her grandchild. I took her right to it, and she was so happy.

Or the couple who came in to celebrate a birthday. They bought a Moomin journal and confessed how much they loved the comic/cartoon.

I showed them our collection of Moomin books in the Children’s Nook, and they added a Moomin and Friends set and a collection of comics to their purchase. They were almost giddy to find their interest so well represented in our shop.

//

By mid-afternoon on that rainy Saturday, the shop had been steadily busy. Music from Open Streets pulsed through the windows. I talked with regulars who brought friends or family to the shop for the first time. I warned a man buying Brawler that the stories were a gut punch (in a good way). He’d read most of Lauren Groff’s other books, so he knew what he was in for. He told me he lived in Brooklyn, New York and was visiting a friend. I asked him what he thought of our city, which is sometimes compared to Brooklyn. Our block, and our store, especially, he said, had that Brooklyn vibe.

I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told out-of-towners about that comparison.

The rain let up. The sun peeked through. And the shop on the corner continued to welcome its guests for however long they wished to stay.