The Back

I know what you're thinking. It's Tuesday, October 13, the stores have been opened for an hour or two, surely Mr. Spitoutyourgum has already purchased the new Bob Dylan Christmas album (yes, you heard me right, Bob Dylan has a Christmas album--Christmas From The Heart) that comes out today, listened to it once or twice, and will now give his (undoubtedly) five-star review. Well, no. I have heard some snippets, and I know I'll like it, though I foresee three, maybe three-and-half stars (it's a Christmas album after all).

It's just that I'm not ready to bow to Christmas just yet. You see, in my line of work at the bookstore, it's been coming on Christmas for about two months now. No joke: calendars, kids xmas books, sideline junk people only buy at the holidays, and massive shipments of product for the "holiday build-up" have been pouring in for weeks. Coupled with the chilly temps here lately, it feels to me like Christmas should be next week, and because it isn't, I don't want to think about it. Soon enough I'll be hearing holiday music round the clock at work, so as much as I love Bob, I know his soothing voice will still be there for me when I'm in the mood (probably next pay day; a full review will be forthcoming next week).

In the meantime, while the thought of holiday shoppers is making me cringe, I thought I'd pass along a little nugget of holiday shopping advice to all of you, whether you'll be doing your shopping today or sometime over the next 72 days. The advice concerns that mirage called "the back," the place every customer assumes is filled with everything they want, as opposed to the junk on the sales floor. I don't want to preach, so I'll attempt to show and not tell, hoping you get my drift. The following little passage is from Fine Spines and Dead Dollys, a knee-slapping murder mystery spoof I have written (alas, the novel is unpublished; agents and people with connections to the publishing world take note, and contact me). To "set up" the clip, all you need to know is that the narrator, Guff, has recently switched allegiances, leaving his longtime job at a small, independent bookstore, Fine Spines, and gone over to the dark side, taking a job at the national chain mega-store, Tomes. Roll tape (and take notes, consumers).


“How can I help you?” She was about sixty, and the only pertinent description of her is that she looked very insistent.

“I noticed you had only one copy of this on the shelf.” She held out a large paperback, How To Wash Your Face. “But this one is a little ruffled. Could you check in the back to see if you have a better copy?”

"I'm on it.” What the hell, I thought, I could use some exercise.

The Myth of the Back. Every Goddamned Customer thinks the Back is some mega-Xanadu of goods, merchandise, product; as excessively American as Gatsby’s shirts, Babe Ruth’s hotdogs, Oprah’s Midas smile; a mass-consumer Shangri-La with regional offices in Kalamazoo, Colorado Springs, Flagstaff, and Little Rock, with corporate HQ in Trenton; an omnipresent shrine to our crass hopes and national motto—More For Me. Well folks, there is no Back. It’s filled not with merch for you and you only, but with packaging popcorn, unrepentant smokers, pop-up books some little fiend has destroyed, honor-system snack packs stocked with peanut butter cheese crackers and obscure candy bars. It’s the place where the music department geek is hitting on some underaged overworked espresso girl who’s just trying to take a break, and three clerks are playing chicken with box cutters for five minutes before emerging with a shrug, “Sorry sir, I didn’t find a copy for you.” I didn’t know any clerks well enough to engage in swordplay, so I took the opportunity to send out a page for customer service to the men’s room and clock in everybody who was out.

"Sorry, ma'am, no extra copies."

The Replacements-Customer

Amy Rigby-Knapsack