People don't seem to want to buy books on Sundays. Our bookstore sits between a coffee shop and a restaurant, and down the street from several churches--First Presbyterian is a block one way, the First Baptist and First Methodist churches a couple of blocks the other way. Those who enter the bookstore are chronologically somewhere between church and lunch, and this is an in-between place for them while they're waiting for their tables to be ready. They come in to browse, but yesterday's shopping madness is ... yesterday's.
It's a beautiful day out ... sunny, a few clouds, and a temp of 63F. I've propped the bookshop door open and am playing some relatively tasteful holiday music on the CD player. I've been reading bits and pieces of different books, straightening out the shelves, checking to see if anything new came in on Friday that I haven't noticed yet.
I'm reluctant to write things like, "Oh, I love this job! It's perfect for me! I'm meant to work in an indie bookstore! I've always known it!" I wouldn't be lying, but ... I tend to have the same thoughts about every new job. I had it about teaching. I have it about freelancing. I had it about tech writing. I had it about social services. I get it every time I start a new writing project, fiction or nonfiction. But still ... I really do love working here. Even though it's only a part-time and non-permanent thing. Perhaps that's part of what I love about it.
Few are buying books today, but I've learned, from working various days during the week, that this is more of a Sunday thing than a Waterfall-is-a-terrible-salesperson thing. At least I hope that's what it is.
The store has become crowded. Perhaps someone will buy something. Perhaps not. Either way, I need to quit blogging and put my bookselling hat back on!