A week in the bookshop

Below is the diary kept by Jo during her work experience week (last October, sorry Jo!) Jo was 15 at the time, and this is a lovely account of her time with us.

The Bookshop – My Experience

Monday

Leaving the house, the cool air greeted me silently, finding its way between the gaps in my scarf. The air was slowly beginning to wake; a gentle breeze rolling the brittle leaves, the sound of car engines rumbling on the road nearby. The grey pavements, looped between high buildings leaning protectively over the narrow streets, led swiftly to the bookshop.

Walking along the street opposite, I spotted Anna, both of us homing in on the small store. A warm smile, a soft welcome. She led me in. I was struck with an immediate rich contentment to see the cosy winding rooms, inviting shelves, low arching beams. The building was old, and this pleased me. I was shown around. The morning was yet quiet, no traffic noise from the street, no voices to be heard except our own. The shop felt like its own universe.

“I’m so sorry, but could you start with the washing up? It doesn’t seem to have been done from the meeting on Saturday.”

I obliged, manoeuvring the cups and plates around in the tiny kitchen area with as much grace as I could muster – I was terrified of dropping one. What a way to start my job placement that would be! Depositing three staling biscuits into the bin, I imagined the meeting. Where had they sat? Perhaps round the circular table on the middle floor. In my mind, Anna, another worker, and two austere gentlemen sat in businesslike conversation, sipping tea, and smiling polite social smiles…

After the washing up, a spot of hovering was to be done. Presented with two mats and a Henry Hoover, I concealed an amused grin. My school friends had a mild fixation with the creature-like red tools; possibly in subconscious reminiscence of Noo-Noo from the Teletubbies. Mats cleaned, the shop exterior was to be dusted, the pavement swept, and calendars arranged. From outside through the window, the shop had a warm orange glow, the inviting look of a well-loved personal library.

“Here you go.” Back inside, I was handed the shop chequebook, and a stack of notes held together with a bull clip. A speedy description, and I was sent off to count the money, write the cheques. I had never done it before. I stared, nonplussed despite the explanation, and flicked back to other cheques to confirm what I had to do. I felt anxious to please, the urge to do everything perfectly was strong inside me. Taking it very slowly, I navigated my way through the task. Piles of shining coins were counted into bags, stacks of crisp notes carefully accounted for. Content I’d done a satisfactory job, I returned to Anna.

“That needs to be popped down to Barclays then.”

I think I gulped. “Okay.” More new things. I’d never gone to a bank on my own, either; the prospect was mildly daunting.

Turning right out onto the street, I saw the bank a few doors down, which I hadn’t noticed earlier that morning. The street was busier now, shoppers and elderly couples out for gentle strolls, dotting the narrow high street. The bank transaction was easy – cheques and money over, chequebook and receipts back. I felt a bubble of pleasure well up inside me, and burst on my lips as a smile. Returning to the shop, the ancient crafted buildings of wood and plaster looked even more beautiful.

I was instructed on the use of the till, and demonstrated how customers should be served. I watched intently, and tried to take it in. However, next I was sent up to the top floor far from customers, to update the invoices, between the folder and computer. This took time, but wasn’t challenging. Every now and then, I’d glance up and appreciate the attic-like room, all exposed beams and sloping walls. I felt at home in a room like this. The silence was calming, only broken by the soft murmur of browsers the floor below.

Once invoices were complete, I was kept fiercely busy. The only pauses were when Anna was busy with a customer, on the phone, or ordering books, and I’d completed a task. I enjoyed the busyness, I felt useful. There were several boxes to be unpacked, customers notified of orders arriving. Suddenly, it was lunchtime. I immediately felt starving hungry, and went to find food.

Conscious of time slipping away, I hurried back from my lunch hour. After making tea and documenting my morning, there were small odd jobs and errands to run. I was beginning, slowly, to feel a part of the shop. I returned from an errand down the street, to find Anna’s daughter visiting holding a plump baby, with watery, saucer-blue eyes, overlarge for his face. He had that flawless, soft, pinkish skin, that only babies are blessed with.

Though there seemed to be more customers in the early afternoon, I felt less busy than in the morning. In fact, I cannot clearly recall how the hours were so speedily used up. I met Claire, a bookshop assistant, and Sam; an assistant only three years my elder. He’d done work experience at the shop, himself. This feeling of continuity pleased me. Once I understood the technical language, the task I was shown of booking in items was easily performed.

Soon it was approaching 5pm, and Anna departed. The light had faded to a washed out dusk, grey darkness starting to take over without me noticing. I realised at some point someone must’ve put more lights on, for the shop was bright and glowing. No more customers appeared, and I quizzed Sam curiously about the nearby sixth form. I wondered what it’d be like living here, in the town forever caught in confliction between the old and new.

Half past five crept upon us, and, gathering my scarf and bag, I left the shop contentedly in the dwindling light.

Tuesday

This morning, it was bitterly cold – leaving the bungalow, and stepping quickly towards the bookshop was an effort of will. I could see rays of morning sunlight hitting the very tops of the browning trees, but it hadn’t condescended to shine upon the streets yet. Relief and warmth flooded through me in equal amounts as I entered the shop, my fingers stung from the welcomed rise in temperature.

However, the relief was short lived, as my first job was to again sweep the shop exterior, and lay out the calendars/cards. I performed the task as succinctly as I could, and dashed back inside to open boxes. This completed, and my previous afternoon recorded on the computer, I returned down the rickety flights of stairs to find Anna deep in discussion with a man from Harper Collins.

Adam was tall and slight, middle aged, with narrow glasses and spiked hair. He carried an air of sleek professionalism, hand in hand with a friendly open nature. He was eager to please, eager to mention the merits of each title. Anna flicked through the books displayed on his laptop, swiftly judging each, and either rewarding it benevolently with a place on her shelves, or sending it down to the hells of the unwanted.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, clicking past a novel. I felt an odd lurch inside me, almost regret. I would’ve ordered that book.

Anna was called out for a sick young relative, and Molly took over. Very few customers appeared, and I spent the remaining time dusting and organising shelves, acquainting myself with the stock. Several books caught my eye, and I wondered whether anyone would notice if I stopped for half an hour, and quietly read one… But I refrained. A creased spine or bent page, would cause me too much guilt.

Returning to the book shop in the afternoon, more stacks of boxes had arrived. I sat down and worked through them, making small talk with Molly on the till. Books, books, and more books needed small sticky note labels…. Eventually, they were ready to be shelved.

It started to rain, as I came back from the Spar bearing bourbon creams. Settling into some creative writing, the downpour grew heavier and heavier. The skylight looked fragile beneath the hurling grey torrent, as if any moment the glass would crumble, and the heavens would pour in. The clatter of raindrops was loud in the attic room. Strange, how simultaneously the shop seemed to be in meditative cocooning silence, sheltered from the outside world, caught in peaceful limbo.

“What did Anna say about the poetry group, then?” Sam asked, tentatively moving up the stairs, perhaps cautious not to intrude upon my isolation.

Anna’s continued absence, meant Sam and I were to run the children’s poetry club. Sure enough, half an hour later, I heard the bubbling exclamations of primary school children, gathering at the round table. I felt my energy levels rise - they were infectious.

A round of poems commenced; sometimes painstaking, sometimes funny, sometimes strangely poignant when wise words were uttered by such young lips. Looking at each kid in turn, I visualised them as adults. I wondered where their lives would lead.

Anna returned, took over from Sam. At request, I sang two songs with my guitar. The children were an excitable bunch, but kept attention rather better than I expected. More poems, and joyful giggling followed.

As they left, I glanced at my watch. 5:40pm. The elusive nature of time once again surprised me. Gathering my things, I said goodbye, and left.

Walking down the high-street (dry once again, luckily), I realised I was in a weirdly buoyant mood. I never usually liked working with younger children, found myself impatient and irritable… but today, had I really enjoyed it? Very odd.

Wednesday

I hadn’t thought it possible for October, but Wednesday was even colder than the previous day. The skies were wide and blue, the sun deceptively bright, my body shivering. My nose felt alternately numb and sharply painful, as if it was going to fall off at any moment, if given the chance.

Routine morning jobs of sweeping/arranging/washing up were done. Next, out came the Henry again – Gordon had been putting up new shelves, and there was a “tremendous mess”, as Sally exclaimed. I watched the suction pipe steadily, inexorably, pull every particle of dust towards it to be consumed by its gaping mouth. It looked as if it were some giant creature in slow motion, swallowing its prey into the merciless black hole of its stomach.

Following this, the new shelves had to be arranged with cards. There was much umming and aahing, and deciding on their placement for the best aesthetic value: it took up most of the remainder of the morning.

Much of the early afternoon was spent re-alphabetising the shelves of the teen fiction, and poetry sections. Quietly, I worked my way through. I attempted to arrange them pleasingly to the eye, and this seemed to go successfully.

Scanning needed doing, and I was prevailed upon to serve the occasional customer. This, I found, was my least favourite part of the job.

“Anna, which button do I pressed for cards?” I whispered frantically, only too conscious of the judgmental thoughts that would now be writing themselves in the customers brain. I saw an impatient look cross the woman’s eyes. Damn it! Appearing incompetent was something I couldn’t stand – the apprehension for publicly messing up was hot and potent inside me.

Quick as possibly, I scuttled to the back of the shop again, to continue with less public jobs.

Shortly after, Sam and I were sent upstairs to organise the book returns. These volumes were the ultimate unwanted – having been on the shelf so long, they were no longer deemed worthy to take up the precious space. It made me imagine what sort of dismal characters these books would make, if they were people… A crowd of plain-faced, halting eccentrics wandered around dazedly in my mind.

Packing up these books in boxes, we hauled them down the narrow flights of stairs to be taped up, and sent off. As half past 5 rounded the bend towards me, I took my leave. I’d got used to the longer day now, and the extra 2 hours from the length of school days had ceased to feel strange. Strolling down Sheinton Street, the evening sun shone yellow and white in my eyes.

Thursday

Today, I was back at home, so was driven in at 9 o’clock. As I arrived out of the cold, it felt natural, right. I was starting to get used to the routine, felt part of the shops mechanics.

Sweeping, stacking, hovering, dusting. I brought the ground floor back up to its spotless norm. More new shelves had been put up, and they were to be arrayed with attractive cards. The majority of the morning passed slowly.

The change came, when a man burst through the door bearing armfuls of boxes. Suddenly, we couldn’t move for teetering piles of expectant cardboard packages. Each individual mug I removed and placed in the window display, weaving apologetically between ambling browsers, that the warmth had brought in from the street.

At a convenient moment, I disappeared for my lunch break. A short walk to the windmill hill with my father and his office slowed down my internal clock once again, and by the time I returned I was ready for anything.

The rest of the boxes were eventually all unpacked, and I occupied myself with labelling the new books, shelving them, and serving some customers.

Wait. Serving customers…? Finally, finally, I had grasped how the till worked, and could manage the desk almost with confidence. I found myself enjoying making small talk with the people making purchases, and waving them cheerily out the door. Progress!

Working through routine jobs, the afternoon passed mostly in a blur. Memories of it, though only a few hours ago, have succeeding in fading, leaving one collective impression in my mind. Warmth; the smell of coffee and new paper; the murmur of Sally’s classical music, and musing customers; soft orange light; the creak of wooden stairs; a cold rush of air when the front door was swung open; the feel of a hot mug in my hands.

Today when I left, I didn’t want to go.

Friday

Turning up promptly in the morning, I waited on the street for a minute or so, until Anna noticed it was 9am, and opened the door. Luckily, she didn’t take long, and I stepped in from the cold quickly. Domestic cleaning tasks were first on the agenda, and I spent the first half of the morning sweeping, hoovering, washing up, and dusting the stairs. I quickly warmed up. There’s something pleasing about repetitive physical jobs.

Once the cleaning was done, there were displays to be moved and rearranged, shelves to reorganise. I enjoyed this, though got a little frustrated when a shelf refused to look right. After a ponder with Anna, we finally came up with a more agreeable layout. With the half an hour left, I started sorting out the children’s books, removing the unwanted that had been there for months. When lunchtime arrived I was surprised – time had been fickle once again…

After an excellent pie and a walk, I finished sorting out the children’s books. I stood back, took a look, and felt satisfied with my work. It really is the simple pleasures in life, don’t you think?

Pots of tea were made, customers were served, and Sam and I were instructed to move certain structures such as card stands upstairs, to make room for the evening’s “event”. Some more stock arrived and I unpacked it, wondering what to do about the fact I couldn’t find an invoice, when the box irritatingly stated “invoice enclosed”. I nervously checked through the bundle of brown packing paper that I’d chucked in the bin, hoping it hadn’t got scrunched up in there, but it thankfully wasn’t. However, we managed to scan and book the volumes in on the computer anyway.

I tilled a customer’s books, and he handed me his card. I stared at it with dread. Oh dear… I’d never had to use the card machine yet. Once we’d successfully put the card into the machine, I stared at the machine screen blankly instead. What on earth had Anna told me to do with these, all the way back on Monday? I panicked slightly. Thank god Anna happened to be on hand, to save me. Soon everything was flowing again, and I retreated once again to the safety of unpacking boxes…

Small pottering jobs were done during the next hour or so, a quick dash down to the Spar supplied us with more bottled water. Walking back up to the shop, I felt oddly traditional. The bottles may have been plastic, but striding up the road with a large container of water swinging in each hand, I felt timeless. Some things never change!

Friday drew to a close quietly and gently. I updated my writing, drank a steaming cup of tea. I couldn’t believe the week was over. I was caught in the odd juxtaposition of feeling like the days had gone by in a flash, but thinking back to the first Monday morning, it seemed an age ago. I’d grown to like very much the people I worked with, and the tall, undulating building we belonged in. With a sense of regret, I departed for a final time.

Did I say final? Well, if I choose to go to the William Brookes Sixth Form next year, Anna might find herself receiving a hopeful phone call, asking eagerly for a job…