Ellen: March 2008 Archives

I must confess I've been dying to use that phrase in a blog entry because it sounds so, I don't know, self-important, like I have a life dangerous enough make a disclosure about. But recently a customer--a whole customer family--came in the store, and this phrase actually came up in conversation.  A sign from God!  I thought. 

 

The mother was enthusiastically walking her grown daughter around the store, pointing out all the highlights:  the chandelier, the displays, the fox prints, the kids' room.  It was clear she was proud of our little store and anxious to show it off to her daughter.  They wandered around oohing and awwing for a little while before I asked if they needed any help.  Then the mother blurted out: 

 

"My daughter works in a Barnes & Noble in Athens, and I've been dying to show her your bookstore.  I don't know why I feel like I have to tell you that, but I do," she added. 

 

"In the spirit of full disclosure," I answered.  Okay, maybe I brought the phrase up, but it was highly appropriate for the occasion, wouldn't you agree?

 

They seemed just the slightest bit jittery after that, probably thinking I would call the Indie Police on them or something.  But in reality, I was SO proud that a big box employee was clearly delighted with FoxTale.    I showed her some books that I'm excited about, books that she hadn't read, books that she didn't seem to know about, even if they were stocked at her bookstore.  I know--because I used to shop at her kind of store--that you rarely get that kind of personal recommendation from non-indies.  You don't often find people who can suggest a good book for your ten year-old son who likes monsters and doesn't read as much as you'd like.  You don't find owners who can give you the perfect book for a friend who's adopting a baby or visiting flea markets in Tuscany or making their own bread from whole grains.  You can't join a "Food for the Soul" book club or special order a book and pick it up the next day.  You can't call a chain and say, "You had a blue book with a woman on the cover, maybe a queen, that used to be sitting in your front display, and I'd like it for my wife," and expect anywhere close to a  positive outcome. 

 

In the spirit of full disclosure, there are caring employees, even some knowledgeable ones at our behemoth competitors, but none with the pride of ownership that Jackie, Karen and I have in FoxTale Book Shoppe.  It sounds corny to say that "we care about our customers," but it's the truth. 

 

Before ITSOFD family left, I gave them a tour of FoxTale's bathroom.  If you've been in our store and haven't seen the facilities, Jackie's really falling down on her job.  "Are you impressed?" I asked, and the whole family agreed that they were.  Whether they were impressed mainly with our selection of books, the décor, our events schedule or the bathroom, they didn't say.  And it doesn't really matter; they were impressed.

 

We're proud of our bookstore, and many of you are as well.  We know, because you tell us so, and you bring your friends and family in to visit and to see the kind of bathroom you'd never find at B&N or Walmart. 

 

And in the spirit of full disclosure, that's what inspires the "girls" at FoxTale.    

 

 

My Lobotomy

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I'm not making this up, MY LOBOTOMY is really the title of a memoir I just read by a guy named Howard Dully.  I guess the name's authentic, though it seems kind of a strange coincidence.  I had noticed this book months ago and got sidetracked from reading it until a customer came in talking about it recently.  It is absolutely chilling.  Poor Howard Dully had the most evil stepmother EVER, and she somehow managed to talk a demented doctor into doing an "icepick lobotomy" on the poor kid (at age 12) because he was annoying and complained about not getting to watch his favorite TV shows.  Really.  The deck was just stacked against Howard because he was big and clumsy and got bored in class and lost his jacket at school and did things to get attention.  So it was perfectly logical that he should have been tricked into having part of his brain destroyed to improve his disposition.  More chilling than what happened is that Howard's spineless father went along with it. Obviously, Howard survived, and with enough cells in place to co-author a book about his experience, so hurrah for the restorative powers of the brain and overcoming vast obstacles in life.  But the bigger story here is that such drastic surgery could take place without good reason, and totally without consent of the patient.  We're talking in the 1960's!  The unrepentant father is still around when Howard hits middle age and starts searching for answers behind his screwed-up life.  It's pitiful and moving to read because Howard never gives up, no matter what he goes through, and how old he gets.  He just never stops hoping for acceptance and love from his horribly flawed parents.  It's a story you've read many times, and yet you've never read anything like it.  I wouldn't recommend this book for everybody, but if you are intrigued by weird tales of medical malfeasance and parental neglect, this one will stay with you long after you finish the last page.   

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This page is a archive of recent entries written by Ellen in March 2008.

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