It was cold and rainy Monday. October was gone, November was here, time for winter in the north country. The furnace was broken, but a repairman from the gas company came out early and as the apartment is small, by 10:30 it was warming up nicely.
I went downtown around noon; the Democrats were holding a pre-election day rally on Church Street, in front of city hall. I’m not a Democrat, but as Chauncy Gardner said, “I like to watch.” I’d seen the Republican rally on Saturday and figured I may as well subject myself to the whole course of treatment.
There was a middling group, more placards than people – the crowd didn’t even spill over the curb. The wind picked up, driving a light rain before it. The last orange maple leaves of autumn blew down the street, along with trash the wind had scooped from sidewalk bins, still full from the weekend.
The public address system didn’t work very well, muting and slurring the candidate’s words. The party faithful, clustered at the foot of city hall steps, cheered or chanted at the appropriate moments. From where I stood across the street, it sounded like the same old blah, blah, blah. My ear caught the occasional phrase about working for the people and making Vermont stronger and better than ever before.
Deciding I had fulfilled my civic obligation, I walked around the corner to Everyday Books, a tiny bookstore and newsstand. Elizabeth, who owns the store, was pacing up and down, obviously very agitated.
“I’m mad,” she said. “Mad as a hatter.” I wasn’t sure if she meant angry or insane, but her story soon tumbled out. It seems a local company had ordered fifteen hundred dollars worth of textbooks through her store. Elizabeth had done her best to attract their business; she offered a 25 percent discount and offered to pay for half the shipping. She had gotten a call that morning canceling the order, because the big Barnes and Noble, the one out by the mall, next to the interstate, had underbid her. They sold the books at cost and offered to pay for all the shipping.
“So they must be losing money, or they have a special deal with the publishers,” Elizabeth said. “I know fifteen hundred dollars isn’t a lot of money, but it’s a lot to me. And this happens over and over again.”
Everyday Books has been in Burlington for seventy-one years. On the day it opened, Elizabeth, it’s current owner, was born in England. Everyday Books, as the name implies, is open every day. Elizabeth is seventy-one years old. She works seven days a week, twelve hours a day. Let me say that again. Elizabeth is seventy-one years old. She works seven days a week, twelve hours a day.
And for some reason, Barnes and Noble feels it needs to go to extraordinary lengths to take fifteen hundred dollars out of her pocket.
I had gone into Everyday Books for newspaper; instead I bought a $25 book, but it didn’t help much. I went back to city hall, but the candidates were gone, off barnstorming somewhere else, promising that, if elected, Vermont will be stronger and better than ever. You can never find a politician when you want one.
I know that among you listening are the social Darwinists and the economic theorists who will shake your heads and grumble that I’m not living in the real world and neither is Elizabeth, but if there is no place in a stronger and better Vermont for a 71-year-old bibliophilic businesswoman willing to work 84 hours a week, what hope is there for you or I?
But it’s a lot to me…
It was cold and rainy Monday. October was gone, November was here, time for winter in the north country. The furnace was broken, but a repairman from the gas company came out early and as the apartment is small, by 10:30 it was warming up nicely.
I went downtown around noon; the Democrats were holding a pre-election day rally on Church Street, in front of city hall. I’m not a Democrat, but as Chauncy Gardner said, “I like to watch.” I’d seen the Republican rally on Saturday and figured I may as well subject myself to the whole course of treatment.
There was a middling group, more placards than people – the crowd didn’t even spill over the curb. The wind picked up, driving a light rain before it. The last orange maple leaves of autumn blew down the street, along with trash the wind had scooped from sidewalk bins, still full from the weekend.
The public address system didn’t work very well, muting and slurring the candidate’s words. The party faithful, clustered at the foot of city hall steps, cheered or chanted at the appropriate moments. From where I stood across the street, it sounded like the same old blah, blah, blah. My ear caught the occasional phrase about working for the people and making Vermont stronger and better than ever before.
Deciding I had fulfilled my civic obligation, I walked around the corner to Everyday Books, a tiny bookstore and newsstand. Elizabeth, who owns the store, was pacing up and down, obviously very agitated.
“I’m mad,” she said. “Mad as a hatter.” I wasn’t sure if she meant angry or insane, but her story soon tumbled out. It seems a local company had ordered fifteen hundred dollars worth of textbooks through her store. Elizabeth had done her best to attract their business; she offered a 25 percent discount and offered to pay for half the shipping. She had gotten a call that morning canceling the order, because the big Barnes and Noble, the one out by the mall, next to the interstate, had underbid her. They sold the books at cost and offered to pay for all the shipping.
“So they must be losing money, or they have a special deal with the publishers,” Elizabeth said. “I know fifteen hundred dollars isn’t a lot of money, but it’s a lot to me. And this happens over and over again.”
Everyday Books has been in Burlington for seventy-one years. On the day it opened, Elizabeth, it’s current owner, was born in England. Everyday Books, as the name implies, is open every day. Elizabeth is seventy-one years old. She works seven days a week, twelve hours a day. Let me say that again. Elizabeth is seventy-one years old. She works seven days a week, twelve hours a day.
And for some reason, Barnes and Noble feels it needs to go to extraordinary lengths to take fifteen hundred dollars out of her pocket.
I had gone into Everyday Books for newspaper; instead I bought a $25 book, but it didn’t help much. I went back to city hall, but the candidates were gone, off barnstorming somewhere else, promising that, if elected, Vermont will be stronger and better than ever. You can never find a politician when you want one.
I know that among you listening are the social Darwinists and the economic theorists who will shake your heads and grumble that I’m not living in the real world and neither is Elizabeth, but if there is no place in a stronger and better Vermont for a 71-year-old bibliophilic businesswoman willing to work 84 hours a week, what hope is there for you or I?