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An Outlook

Through my years in the bookstore here on the peninsula many memorable customers have come through my door. And this past week, a customer – who I didn’t wait on – called to mind two of the more memorable.

In late July of 2001, I was working one of my full days in the store. Shortly after 8 pm I walked back to my office to pour a fresh cup of coffee and to print out the weekly order I intended to place that night. There were several customers in the store at the time, but no one seemed to be ready to check out, and everyone seemed content browsing; so, I felt safe in assuming that I had several moments before I was needed.

No sooner had I poured my coffee, however, than I heard a new, rather loud, voice coming from the front of the store. I hurriedly poured my coffee and then went to glance out the window in the office that allows me to see the sales floor. Not spotting anyone at the counter, and with the voice now silent, I went ahead and sent my order to the printer.

When I glanced out the window again, though, I noticed a rather attractive, very agitated blond woman in an exceedingly bright turquoise pants suit pacing throughout the store. Making sure that my order was indeed spewing forth from the printer, I grabbed my coffee cup and headed for the sales floor.

As I began walking to the front of the store the blond in the overly bright turquoise pants suit stopped, put her hands on her hips, and – after one more frantic survey of the store – caught my gaze and held it.

“Can I help you find anything?” I asked, as I continued to walk to where she was standing.

“Yes,” she replied, almost breathlessly. “Where are your magazines?”

“Other than a few literary publications, I don’t carry magazines,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”

Now folks, over the course of my years in the store I have heard many, many reactions from customers who learn that I don’t carry magazines, but nothing prepared me for what happened next: the blond woman, in the screaming neon turquoise pants suit, standing at the approximate middle of the main sales floor in my store, surrounded by a myriad of books, exclaimed in a voice that was loud enough to capture the attention of everyone in the store (and several people out on the street), “You don’t have magazines! Doesn’t anybody in Door County read?”

Now we skip ahead to August of 2003. In this case, the hour is late afternoon before people start returning from the beach and thinking about dinner. I’m behind the counter doing some paperwork when two women enter the store. No one else is in the store at the time, and I greet them when they come in. When I see that they are heading to the shelves to browse I return to my paperwork, glancing up now and then to make sure they don’t need any assistance.

After about ten minutes one of the women looks like she could use some help so I leave my work, come out from behind the counter and offer my assistance as I approach. She smiles appreciatively as she holds up a book and asks me whether I have read it. I explain that I have not personally read the book, but that my mother has, and I proceed to give her a summation of my mother’s take on the book.

The woman seems to listen but then cuts me short and holds up another book. “What about this one? Have you read it?” she asks.

Now matter how hard I might try, folks, there is no way that I could possibly read all the books I have in my store, let alone all the books I would like to read. However, I do personally select (with the exception of the occasional orders my mother places) every single book that appears on my store’s shelves. So even though I was forced to confess that, no, I hadn’t read that particular book either, I was, once again, able to tell her something about the book and the author.

Well, guess what, once again she only listened to a portion of what I had to say before interrupting. The fact that she interrupted me again, however, seemed rather insignificant when she said, “You haven’t read this one either. Do you read?”

Lastly, we turn to last week, when Melanie Johnson was working the bookstore. In front of both windows are gardens that are filled this year with pick mallow plants, some daisies, and sundry other flowers. Primarily, though, it is mallow, and this year they are quite tall. Through the years we have had many compliments on these flowers and oodles of people have – when the time of the year is right – asked us if they could take some of the many, many seeds these flowers produce.

Consequently, when a gentleman entered and came to the counter and told Melanie that we “had nothing but weeds in front of our store” and that we should “cut them out” or “dig them out,” she was quite taken a back. Melanie is a very patient woman, though, and explained the nature of the flower and how popular the seeds were, but nothing was going to appease this man short of a clear cutting.

So there are a few memorable customers from recent years. All I can say is bless them all for coming and sharing their unique view of life.