This last week, I was on a mission. To buy one book, and one book only - Phil Jenkins's An Acre of Time, a lovely book about the history of Ottawa as seen through an abandoned acre in LeBreton Flats. And I live in the South End, so I took the bus downtown, planning to head down to Collected Works, where I knew it was most likely going to be on the shelves. But it's a long way on the #2, so, despite my better instincts and the whispering of the good consumer citizen on my shoulder - I decided just to zip through the Chapters on Rideau and check to see if it was there. Just to save myself the ride out to Westboro and all. I know, you can smack me later.
I walked into the Chapters past the smell of the Starbucks, dodging the pyramidal stacks of Books You Should Read Right Now Because Everyone Else Is arranged by theme that try to trip you up at the door. Headed straight for "Local Interest." Nothing. The store smelled antiseptic - and the sheer size of the place. Stacks and stacks of glossy books. An unpleasant smell. Fluorescent lights, escalators. Employees in vests. You know. This is obvious. I decided to cut it short and check the computer terminal. The book wasn't in stock (although I could order it on line from the service desk and get it sometime around Easter of next year if my past experiences are any guide.)
I ticked the "yes, I would have bought this book if you'd had it in stock" button on the self-serve computer, walked out, and caught a #2 out to Westboro, where I got out at Holland, and headed into Collected Works.
Where people were browsing and talking, there was a pot of coffee on a hotplate and some bakery-type stuff for sale, and comfy chairs, space to sit out front in the sun, the light was warm, the ceilings were comfortingly un-monumental, and the small tables and shelves were piled with selected books. I walked into the warm and bright back room, where the children's books are, and was instantly hit with a memory of some of the best children's bookstores in Canada, because my parents religiously sought them out when we were young. I discovered a new Charles de Lint book and suddenly had the perfect birthday gift for my niece as well as the book I'd come for. And when I asked the guy if they had An Acre of Time, he went straight to the shelf and handed me my copy.
I know, you know all this. I just thought the contrast was striking enough that it bears reminding. It's occasionally easy to decide not to take the extra bus, and to hit the superstore. But every so often, I'm reminded that it's not really worth it.
