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Life, actually…
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MISTER FIDGET MAKES MY DAY
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Mister Fidget skulks around inside the bookstore, picking up and examining items at random. He is always in motion, asking about this object and that object but never waiting for a complete answer from me.
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He is busy looking for the next thing before ending his perusal of the previous thing.
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Fidget is entertaining and annoying and restless. But he is a customer, and each customer is treated with respect and kindness. Each customer has something to teach me. I try to pay attention while going about the business of keeping the shop afloat.
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As he rambles about, never quite leaving each item at its original site, he talks and chatters and speaks in one continuous sentence. I can’t keep up with him but he does come up with oblique observations.
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“These pants are too tight.” He tugs at his trousers fore and aft. “You can’t get a wallet in and out of them, dammit!”
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He does go on.
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“Maybe they make these pants tight so that nobody can pick your pocket.” This idea might have some validity.
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“Boy, this is not a very good block here.” He refers to the Downtown streets where I ply my trade.
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“I can’t find any good parking places.” I wonder how he got to the shop without finding a parking place.
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“Wow! this bookstore must not have many customers down here, huh?” He is adding to the popular myth that the city is barren, a wasteland left over from the flights of the 1960s. In truth, business has never been better, and the urban township is sort of booming.
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He scattershots through the rows of vinyl records on display. “Wow, these records, some of them are broken, did you know some of these records are broken?”
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He carefully waves a chipped disc into the morning air to prove his point, never considering the fact that I, the little old storekeeper, handled and placed every single record on display myself.
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“Oh, look, here’s a record, it’s part one but there’s no part two, do you have part two?” I do have part two but he’s already on to the next shopping critique.
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“You don’t have as many records as you used to.” He immediately spies the next enormous rack and says, “Oh, look, you’ve got a whole lot of records.”
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Mister Fidget runs about the aisles talking out of earshot, not aware that he is his only listener.
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I go about my chores and help other customers. Eventually, Mister Fidget exits the establishment, promising to actually purchase a book or record when he gets his next check.
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Some store owners express annoyance at such folk, but not I. He is just as important as the next browser. That’s because he takes something valuable with him—he will tell others about his adventure. Others will tell others. Eventually new shoppers will appear, having heard something nice about this wonderful old museum of fond memories.
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Every fidgeter who comes and goes carries a message to the village at large. That’s why I do my utmost to engage with everybody, be they sightseers, tire-kickers, comparison-shoppers, curiosity seekers, explorers, readers, non-readers, tag-alongs, collectors, decorators, bargain hunters, wheelers and dealers, touchy-feelies, nostalgia ramblers.
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How they feel about the way they were treated at Reed Books will lodge in fond memory.
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And maybe, just maybe, they will mention us to others who care deeply about kindness and sweet reminiscence
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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed
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