kathryn ratcliffe-lee

in a rare occurence last friday i arrived at port authority before my brother. i was early enough that i could walk at a very non-new-york pace around the transit center, purchasing some overpriced food and checking out the wares (read: books). it’s food or reading material in there, not much else in between.

so i walked into the book corner and immediately hunted down our books, scrolling through our two seasons in my head. i still get giddy when i see them on the shelves. once i thought i found them all, i went back to the front of the store to see what has been placed on display, and if anything caught my eye. i was reading the flaps on one book when a clear voice rose up from hip-level at the door.

“excuse me sir, how much is diary of a wimpy kid?” i looked up to see a young boy leaning into the store, pointing to the shelf next to me. one of the clerks walked over and picked up the yellow one.

“13.95.”

the little boy took a moment to memorize the number, then ran into the lotto shop next door. i put my book down and continued perusing.

“excuse me sir, how much is the blue one?” the boy returned, again not stepping across the threshold but leaning as far in as he could.

“12.95 boss.” and he was off. the clerk turned to his colleague and chuckled, pointing to where the boy had been seconds ago, as if to say in disbelief, are you seeing this kid?

“excuse me sir, how much is the red one?”

“8.95 boss.”

“that’s my favorite,” he said, in a slightly quieter voice. he pondered the price for a moment before rushing off again. i stopped thumbing through hardcovers and waited for the little boy to return, watching (along with the clerks) for him to appear in the doorway again.

he came back one more time and walked right up to the shelf where the diaries were on display. he looked at them for a moment, then asked the clerk how much the batman comic in the window cost.

“oh, you’re too young for that boss,” he said, while he walked over and pulled down the comic book.

“no i’m not! my mama lets me read them!”

“how old are you?”

“nine.”

“that’s too young boss. this not for you.” the clerk teased the boy, pretending that he would actually withhold merchandise from a customer. he let the boy hold the shrink-wrapped comic, but dealt the final blow: a price that still was too high. the little boy spent a few more minutes in the store before being collected by his mother, leaving empty-handed. i left soon after, also empty-handed, but with a very full heart.

you can argue about ebooks vs. pbooks and pricing and drm until the cows come home, but underneath all of that is the little boy wanting a story so bad he would have spent all night asking for something he could read if it weren’t for that freakin’ 6 o’clock bus. that fire, that desire for the story…ooo, that’ll getcha.

watching that boy pine for the wimpy kid series was possibly one of the best hand-sells those books will ever get.