Used

This morning I decided to take Olivia to go explore Old Town Humble - that is, Main Street in Humble. I'd heard that there were some shops and it was supposed to be the town's historic district. (Puh-snort.) It turned out to be one of those sad, sun-baked streets lined with crippled store fronts that become occupied intermittently either by unrealistically hopeful boutiqueurs or disappointingly pragmatic bail bondsmen. Most of the shops wore blank expressions and boasted the single accessory of a faded "For Lease" sign.

We ended up strolling down past the railroad tracks (we did get to see a train crossing, the highlight of the morning) and looking around a Latino grocery store before we turned around to walk back on the other side of the street. Being in areas like that always makes me ponder and theorize on ways that one might possibly invigorate the area. What would it take; what kind of store or business or initiative could one possibly bring in to resurrect it? Part of the problem is that people need to have money in order to spend it, and then they need to feel an impetus to spend it, and to spend it in a specified location. And a big problem with me taking on the role of savior for this area is that I don't believe in forcing people to spend money on things they don't need, and I'm no Music-Man-type salesman who wants to create those needs. I look at old shops and houses and feel sad and wistful that they aren't occupied, but the only worthy solutions I can think of are schools and charities and stores that sell useful things, not knickknacks.

We ended our journey at a used book store. It was actually open, so I decided to go in and look around. My mental journey during our walk had almost convinced me that I had to at least try to spend some money in this area, and books, at least, are worthwhile.

Alas, upon walking in I was reminded that only SOME books are worthwhile. Basically, the store's inventory consisted of rows and rows of shelves and stacks of tattered paperback smut. I steered Olivia through hundreds of thousands of bodice-ripping covers to the back of the store, where I sifted through maybe 100 thinner volumes to find a few worthwhile paperbacks: The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Henry Huggins, Shabanu, The Cay, and a few others. All of them were very well worn; several had "DISCARD" stamped on the front covers.

I took them up to the front of the store, where I was informed that the store sold all its books for half of their original publisher's price. All of them. Meaning that I could get my 20-year-old, badly used, DISCARDed copy of Henry Huggins for a mere $2.

I thought about informing the lady that I was absolutely certain that I was the first person who had been in her store all day and could very likely be the only customer she would see all week, and she would be lucky to GIVE me the books just so she could record a transaction. I thought about telling her that her profit margin on these books would exceed just about anyone's if she gave me the whole bunch for a dollar. I thought about telling her that she could bribe a local hoodlum (or a community-minded Boy Scout) to set a match to the whole place, and she could gain almost as much from the insurance company as society would gain from the disappearance of her inventory.

Instead, I told her kindly that thank you very much, but I wasn't interested in paying that much for used books. She replied that if I brought in some of my own books, I could have them for 15%.

I smiled and left. No thanks.