10 Oct 2012 6 Comments
I have therapy on Tuesday nights and often, after I’m done, I swing by the liquor store for a six pack or a bottle of wine. An Indian, or possibly Pakistani, couple runs the place; it always smells of some lovely incense and there’s always an Indian soap opera playing on the television. The couple is always smiling and seem very happy to work alongside one another.
While I’m sure running a business isn’t all hearts and flowers, I always leave that place with my favourite fantasy running thru my head, of opening a small book shop somewhere, that I would run with my partner. It would specialize in something, probably Tudor history, but would carry all kinds of books, new and used. There would be warrens of bookshelves and comfy places to sit, in quirky little corners, where you could leaf through a book to see if it was something you really wanted to buy. There would be coffee and pastry that you could take with you as you wandered the shelves, and a few tables in a sunny window, where you could take your time and drink your drink as you perused your purchases. We would have tchotchkes and bibelots for sale, perhaps works by local artists and once a month we might do a showing or a reading or wine-tasting to bring in more people. There would definitely be a cat.
I don’t know why the thought of running a small business appeals to me so much. I don’t know a thing about it, other than a lot of them fail and fail quickly. But I’ve always wanted to run a book shop, since I was a small child. Something cozy and welcoming and interesting. A place, other than a bar, where locals could hang out and chat, maybe play chess or checkers, maybe host a book club meeting or two. And I’d love to do it with someone I cared about, who also loved the idea of running a shop like that, where we would play to our strengths and support each other and just make it all work.
Ah well. A girl can dream, right?
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