RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,284
(sell them more than they can afford?')
Alongside everything else, Princeton was a
pretty town, though way too snooty and aware
of itself - in a way old towns aren't supposed
to be. They are meant to inhabit their 'grace'
silently and then follow it up without pretense.
It had plenty of old, protected, trees. And then
they began cutting them. It had the Witherspoon
District which, through the 1980's was pretty
much left alone, as a black ghetto. One with
memories. Then they started wrecking that,
tearing down the old, and putting up stupid
condos, wall-fronted window rows with rents
and purchase prizes sky high. For prestige. It
had a few really old pizza places, and then
they dwindled, taking a lot of that old charm
with them. An Army/Navy store that was truly
great. Some crazy guy who drove around town
in some Army surplus Jeep with a machine gun
on the rear pivot, still mounted and for all I
knew, live. I just figured (or hoped?) that it
was merely advertising for his war-surplus
shop. A few of the old restaurants and hotels
and drinking rooms were traditionally kept,
and with real awareness of their eras. The three
or four frame shops that I knew, even they
operated in old and traditional ways; nothing
slap-happy or goofy about them. Same with
the camera shops and their photo-finishing
annexes. The Post Office kept all of it WPA
styled construction...until some later fool
brought in a lobby television. Everything
degenerates; though I've probably said that
10 times before. The previous bookstore, the
one named Micawber, much better fit the
tenor of the town; in a way that bright,
whiteness and more plain and modern
assault of Labyrinth never did attain. It
was always too steely, too bright, and too
well-kept. A month or so after that 'soft'
opening that I'd mentioned, there was a
'grand opening' for the local town, Boro,
and University crowd. It worked out OK,
maybe a little heavy on the glitz and
ceremony. That was back when Shirley
Tilghman was the University President.
-
She left about 2012, which pretty much
also ended any terms of the old and the
graceful for the town itself. After, that, it
all got streamlined and made sleeker by
the newer attributes of today's mores and
culture being overlaid onto and over it.
It was past a certain point that I too simply
said, 'It's over now everywhere, and it's all
too much.' I mainly went by atmosphere of
the local coffee-shop. Small World, it was
called. Somedays, Small World and Labyrinth,
both combined to make me not want to do
a thing. Face it, I didn't care, and I was
unimportant too. High-falutin' talk about
the Marxist 'working class consciousness'
and some other form of an enlightened
labor class worth its rewards went by the
wayside. One day, my friend at Labyrinth,
from Italy, Sal, had some issue over wages
with the proprietor's wife, who ran the store's
day-to-day operation. She turned on him and
ended that conversation brusquely by saying,
'What do you think this is, Salvatore, Europe?'
He took it like one takes getting a black eye.
-
That 'grand opening' gala was a low-key,
evening affair. Wine and crumpets, and the
rest. The University President blah-blah'd
us all through it, as did the two owners, who
went on about their 'hopes' for the future, the
continuing work of the University, and all that.
There was even a band - small-scale rock,
with a member of the Princeton faculty on
bass. The band's stage name was 'Rackett'
and the bass player was a famed poet of
some grand renown. Now, there's a rating
for you.
-
I got home well after 11 that night, but
had spent the evening listening and
watching. All sorts of interesting
people and claimants to that name
had stroked there way in. I had been
appointed as a 'doorman' for the evening.
It was nothing at all, really, but it was
something to do - nothing to do actually,
since, truly, the doors both opened and
closed themselves, as people strolled in
and, later, strolled out. Cursory hellos,
and nods, to those I knew or had seen,
and an occasional official 'greeting' to
others. TaDa! And then, the next morning,
we were again open for real business!
-
Much of my defining Princeton time was
spent, when not with Labyrinth Books,
either strolling about campus, or the town.
Or at Small World Coffee. As did many
others, I used it as a homing base for my
free time. There was also a new library,
and it too was a draw, just down the street.
There was also a crazy-man, running a
sort of Asian Sushi place. He kept his
own hours, but it was cool, and he was
one of those proprietors who could be
rude and even cruel to his customers,
mainly to make that all part of its draw.
The group at Small World was great,
and I got to know a few of them too.
There was also a Starbucks along
Nassau Street, but for whatever reason
it never filled any need for me. Small
World had it outdone.
-
The University had a daily newspaper,
called The Princetonian. It was in the
news boxes, along the street, and as
each new issue came out (daily, weekdays),
I always, or mostly always, grabbed one.
Every so often some froth would rise to
the top, as a snide article or a saucy letter
to the editor, mainly and usually about
the shortcomings of the new campus
bookstore, or how crummy the newest
'coursebook' service-set-up was at
Labyrinth. Here were l9-year old brats,
privileged, and entitled, bitching about
buying books, waiting in line, the
tendency for long check-out lines.
Never about any of the dumb-assed
mob-manners of the damned students,
as they all flooded the place at one
time and demanded instant service
and satisfaction from us benighted
twerps serving them, as they chattered
and gurgled on their phones, paying
little attention to what they, or we,
were doing. For geniuses, they really
sucked. And then, a little while in, it
was all taken to the next level. The
complaints started being about the
expense of the books, as if WE had
anything to do with that. The prices
were printed on the books, but the
little dickheads didn't realize that.
So, over time and after some drawn
out negotiations and terms, etc., some
plan was brewed where 'Tiger Cards'
were to be used, as a sort of fake money,
for the purchase and then tuition-based
reimbursement of coursebooks I, of
course, had no part in any of this, so
my explanation here might be off some.
The point is, the huge endowment on
which Princeton University sat, even
in 2008 was looked at with gluttonous
eyes, and these rich-brats, by their
complaints and groundswell of new
discontent, got their way. Lest I
forget as well, the 'store' also
achieved some breathing room
about its own profit and pricing,
and thus was more able to concentrate
on retail bookselling. I always wanted
to tell someone, anyone, this quote
by Charles Everitt: "It is not much fun
selling books to people who can afford
to buy them. The real pleasure is in
serving the true students, those who
are hungry for books that cost more
than they can afford."
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