Have you ever stumbled upon a place that feels like a hug, no matter what kind of hug you are looking for? My local indie bookshop is such a place for me, as I am sure it is the same for many of their patrons. It doesn’t take long for the booksellers and baristas/bartenders to learn your name (proper spelling and pronunciation), your favorite drink, and what kind of books you are needing (yes, books are a necessity, a need, a requirement to sustaining life)– even if that book doesn’t align with your typical choice, it will soon become your next favorite– Murderbot, I’m looking at you. Everyone there genuinely gets to know who you are, in just the right amount, to not, a) scare us introverts, or b) appear unapproachable to the weirdo extroverts. Ok, extroverts are not weirdos, just a species of human which I will never understand. Each human in that place brings a different story, a different perspective, and a different expertise that seems to be purposely arranged by the universe.
Take for instance Tall Person. Tall Person is a relatively new bookseller (trust me, they’ve been there for probably over a year; this place has absolutely NO turnover — I’ve been trying to get hired for a while now… like, I will work one shift a month at lowest pay and be happy), who is approachable but slightly intimidating with the way they are quiet while listening to you. Their whole body is quiet, as if to give you and your energy the space it needs to do whatever it needs to do when you speak to them. It’s like they see you as a puzzle, not to solve but to get familiar with. I can see this in the way their eyebrows move, cheeks twitch, and mouth furrows when you speak to them — or rant to them. To be genuinely seen this way by an acquaintance is one of the best things to experience. And then there is Barista Manager. Barista Manager, no matter what they are doing, will say ‘hi’ to me (and any other semi-regular) when I arrive. There was this one time that I went there, didn’t see them but heard ‘hi —–’. Ended up they were stocking something behind the counter where I couldn’t see. How the fuck they saw me is up to the gods. They always ask how I am doing, not in the polite American way of asking and, not wanting to really know, it’s genuine. If you are having a shitty day, they are all ears to listen and commiserate with you. Barista Manager doesn’t try to ‘cheer’ you up or offer advice like bartenders often do, they just listen…and they always give me the extra shot of espresso in my Americano order, free of charge. Thank you Barista Manager.
It’s not only the humans working in the place, it’s the place itself. From the outside, it looks like any other city street storefront attached to other storefronts. Once you step inside, it usually takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and you are stuck in the front of the store making strange facial expressions as Smiling Human greets you. After the fifth or sixth intense blink, the outside world has vanished and you are seemingly transported into a bookshop from another dimension. From the old tiles that like to trip you from time to time, to the perfect lighting — cave-like but not too dark, just enough to melt the outside world away — everything just seems better. Even as the world outside is burning, this is place is something magical. Creativity oozes from the walls (duh, it’s literally filled with others’ creative endeavors) and the people inside bring with them a distinct uniqueness that often gets lost in the noise of the “real-world”. It is a place where community is found, a place where you can exhale, and a place where you can explore. It is a bookshop that challenges you to go outside of your comfort zone and find the places of yourself you never knew were there. For an indie bookshop located in an undisclosed city, it serves a purpose greater than curating books and stories for people to own. It is a community. It is a friend. It is a muse. It is a hug.
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