Melvin's blog

Nshima & Curry

Melvin's  Blog

Nshima & Curry

GOING CRAZY AT THE BOOK SALE

Every few months, my local library has a book sale, offering
thousands of used books for as little as $1 apiece. I like
going to the sale, partly to search for literary
masterpieces, books by the likes of Toni Morrison, V.S.
Naipaul, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. They're not only
critically acclaimed books, full of exquisite language and
deep meaning, they look good on my bookshelf. And who knows,
I may even read one of them someday. Especially if my
television blows up.

I pay $10 a year to become a "friend" of the library, which
entitles me to attend a special preview sale on the evening
before the public sale. This might seem like a great
privilege, allowing me to corner the used books market, but
as luck would have it, the library has more friends than a
lottery winner. Hundreds of them, in fact, all intent on
getting their hands on some books, paying no attention to my
warning that these books have been read multiple times,
touched all over, in the bathroom. I try to be more
specific: "One of my friends once caught something from a
used book. I'm sure you've heard of a book worm. Very
painful."

The message falls on deaf ears, for when I show up at the
sale 15 minutes early, the line is already so long, I find
myself standing under a tree. With a turnout like this, I
can't help wondering if the library has gotten hold of a
bunch of Harry Potter books. But no, the people in line
don't look young enough, unless J.K. Rowling has penned a
thriller called "Harry Potter and the Disappearing Social
Security."

People are checking their watches, tapping their feet,
shifting their weight around, eager for the sale to begin.
It's refreshing to see people so excited about books, in
this era of abundant technology. But I'm getting a little
nervous, wondering if I'm about to be trampled in the
world's first book riot. Especially since some of these
people look like they didn't sleep the previous night,
thinking about the book sale. "Despite what you all think,"
I try to tell them, "books are not one of life's
necessities. You can survive with just food, water, oxygen
and television."

As soon as the library doors open, people rush in and I
follow suit, trying to keep ahead of the book-crazies behind
me. Once inside, they fill bags and boxes with books. It's
like a food distribution during a famine, except these
people will devour anything: paperbacks, hardbacks,
quarterbacks.

I head for the children's section and grab any books my
two-year-old daughter would enjoy, trying not to injure too
many people in the process. But a few get in my way and I
suddenly realize how books can serve an important purpose,
especially the ones with sharp corners.

Within a minute, I've gathered enough books to give my
daughter hours of pleasure, scattering them all over our
living room. Then I head to the adult fiction section, where
the book frenzy has begun to subside. Men are walking around
with big smiles, like they're about to spend a few hours
alone with Jhumpa Lahiri. And women are excited, too -- now
they can take John Grisham to bed. Authors are such sex
symbols, you know.

I'm soon smiling ear-to-ear myself. For half the price of a
new hardcover book, I've picked up an armload of fine
literature. I may never read any of it, of course. But hey,
at least I've got good taste.

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