Last month I went to the big winter sale at Beth David Synagogue. Saturday night is always fun. The small fee includes wine and cheese and yummy appetizers. My sister and her husband joined me there. This was the first year I made it early and stood in line with the other booksellers and aficionados. With almost a year of bookselling experience under my belt (preceded by years of bibliomania), I was determined to be pickier with my purchases.
As we poured into the large room full of books, I headed for the vintage table, first. Then I waded into the nonfiction aisles as people around me pulled out every book and frantically scanned each bar code. I couldn't help but be excited, but I felt like a comparative sea of calm as I perused titles and only picked up a book if I was interested in it (I even stopped to read part of one).
Nothing against the other booksellers, they just have a different business model. But, I thought, they looked like they weren't having any fun. Here I was, in a room full of books, and later I would have a glass of merlot in my hand as I chatted with people I hadn't seen since last year. What's not to love? :-)
I was proud of myself for getting just one box of books, although I did go back on Tuesday for bag-sale day to indulge in some less profitable books, like trade paperbacks.My best finds from Saturday night were a book of facsimile Civil War newspapers and an art book by Winston Churchill.
Competitive? Moi?
The Churchill book was next to the wall, buried in a pile of books, underneath a table, where I'd crawled to find it.
No bar code on this one, baby!
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