Who knew their 50th anniversary would be their last? We
learned this morning that
the best bookstore of all time ubruptly closed its doors yesterday. Our kids were raised in this bookstore. We would walk in with them, they would fly off to the kids section, and we'd rendezvous at the cash register. We've seen great authors lecture there. We ate at the restaurant next door. We
partied for the last Harry Potter book there. We were probably there once a week. I always felt like we were the personal sponsors of at least one employee. No more. So sad. It almost seems sacreligious to complain after watching the news about the hurricane aftermath. We are all going through the seven stages of grief, though.
- Disbelief. Maybe it's just not true.
- Denial. If we go down there, maybe the doors will be open.
- Bargaining. Maybe some collection of people will band together and keep it open.
- Guilt. I can't believe I ever bought a book at Borders.
- Anger. That damned Clark Kepler didn't know how to run a business! Roy Kepler wouldn't have let this happen.
- Depression. There is never going to be another Kepler's.
- Acceptance. Shit, I think this one is going to take a while.
Who knew their 50th anniversary would be their last? We learned this morning that the best bookstore of all time ubruptly closed its doors yesterday. Our kids were raised in this bookstore. We would walk in with them, they would fly off to the kids section, and we'd rendezvous at the cash register. We've seen great authors lecture there. We ate at the restaurant next door. We partied for the last Harry Potter book there. We were probably there once a week. I always felt like we were the personal sponsors of at least one employee. No more. So sad. It almost seems sacreligious to complain after watching the news about the hurricane aftermath. We are all going through the seven stages of grief, though.
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