They are cleaning out the Reading Room at work. For those of you who don’t know, the Reading Room is a large conference room in a hallway that overlooks Government Center. It has all-around built-in-bookshelves. And those bookshelves are stocked. Granted, stocked with only with Hachette titles, which means mainly Grand Central Publishing and Little, Brown, and Company (the two powerhouses presses of the bunch), but still. They are free. For you to take.
One of my favorite things about starting at this company were the bookshelves every pod (aka cubicle) came equipped with. My little pod in Customer Service looks quite forlorn for a long time—I was too shy to go to the Reading Room and take books, and when I did, I surreptiously covered them with my jacket or tucked them beneath my arm, as if someone would stop me and say: “Hey! Where’d you get that?” My colleagues had shelves upon shelves of these free treasures. Some of the more senior staff members would have giveaways by their outboxes. Once I stopped by to ask a question, and I realized they were Phaidon titles. Art books. Worth fifty-five dollars and more. For free. Just sitting there.
One of my favorite things about starting at this company were the bookshelves every pod (aka cubicle) came equipped with. My little pod in Customer Service looks quite forlorn for a long time—I was too shy to go to the Reading Room and take books, and when I did, I surreptiously covered them with my jacket or tucked them beneath my arm, as if someone would stop me and say: “Hey! Where’d you get that?” My colleagues had shelves upon shelves of these free treasures. Some of the more senior staff members would have giveaways by their outboxes. Once I stopped by to ask a question, and I realized they were Phaidon titles. Art books. Worth fifty-five dollars and more. For free. Just sitting there.
That may have marked the start of my junkiedom. Now I’m obsessed. I stop by the Reading Room three or four times a day. I know to watch the bookshelves and see which are full, which look different, if there’s a shining spine that wasn’t there the day before. A few weeks ago I hit a windfall—the receptionist’s staff was cleaning out the front lobby bookshelves to make way for the new season’s titles. I snagged a stack of ten (yes! I’m guilty!) TEN books. Some of them I’ll probably never read: a leather-bound special edition of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a young reader’s book with a gorgeous cover (Tumtum and Nutmeg: Adventures Beyond Nutmouse Hall); some I’m holding onto for future use: think Amy Sedaris’ I Like You, A Guide for Hostessing Under the Influence, Cool Spaces for Kids (yes, okay, I don’t have kids. I just like the DIY projects!), The Encyclopaedia of Typefaces (It’s useless, I get it!). But I can’t help it. I’m addicted. Last Thursday I stumbled into the Reading Room shortly after my morning tea to find a brand-new 17th Edition Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations. What am I? Seventy?
But it looks mighty fine sitting on my desk beside a half-full cup of coffee and a pile of half-read manuscripts.
And to think I used to scoff at people who used books only as décor. I said to myself: I’ll never have a book on my shelf that I haven’t read. It looks like I’ve got an awfully large reading list to complete.
I think I’ll start off with Tumtum and Nutmeg. Best to take it slow.
