Book Smell

All through high school whenever I went out with friends we would usually end up in one of two places; a coffee shop or a bookstore. Call me a beatnik, I don't care. Yes, I used to write poetry and love to sit and discuss philosophy over a cup of a hot whole milk mocha latte, an Irish coffee, or a cappuccino. We thought ourselves to be so cool as we perused the isles of books always stopping to give a careful look in the classics section. Even my last 2 years of high school were spent working at the local library; doing everything from shelving books, dusting, and checking books in and out. I loved it, I love the women I worked with, I loved the regulars who would frequent the library to read the daily paper or peruse the DVDs. More than anything I loved the smell; quirky, I know. The smell that radiated the walls of the library, outside of the random bum who would wander in every now and again, was the smell of old paper and cloth bindings. The smell of books that held a history, a story, and a secret.

The women at the library tried so hard to get me to stay and get a library science degree at the local University but the need to get out on my own and make my own life pushed me to stick with my college of choice, 3 hours away from everyone and everything. Yet, even in college I ended up in the library working through my financial aid program. I spent one year in the Acquisitions department and one year helping to catalog. I loved it. I loved the people, I loved the work, I loved the smell.

After finishing an Education degree and teaching for a little over six months I knew I wanted back in a library. I wanted to be surrounded by books and by that wonderful smell. Although I love my job as an Executive Reference Assistant, where I spend my days cataloging, I miss being surrounded by books. Just last night I visited the library, a first in months, and I walked in with nothing particular in mind but just wanting to take pleasure in slowly walking each isle and looking at each book in turn. I inhaled deeply as I stood in the non fiction section taking it all in: the quite chatter of the library patrons, the little beep as a book was being checked out, the slight rustle of a page being turned or a book being opened, and the incredible smell of old books and cloth bindings.

I miss working in a library. Last night, more than ever, I missed working in a library. The people are always different and yet you always have a few regulars that can always make you laugh or smile. The opportunity to care for each book as if it were my own, shelving each one with tender care. Unfolding page corners or taping up a book cover so that it will last just a little longer.

Call me a nerd, call me a dork, I don't care. Bookstores and libraries are my happy place. They calm me when I'm upset and make me happy when I'm down. A quick trip after a long day can melt my stress away quicker and better than any bubble bath. It had been a long time since I had step foot in one before last night and that one trip made me yearn for my old job back in a library in a way I didn't know was possible.

I love being a cataloger but I miss working in a library.
I miss the smell of books.