Too bad there are none of those, I checked. I knew all of our regular customers, where each book was kept, and would have won any contest that involved speed packing and shipping. I entered my own scores of customers to the records (their names usually corresponded to my favorite Redwall characters), and would spend endless hours pretending to answer the phone and take orders from customers with names like Freedman the Warrior. When I was about kindergarten age I entertained myself by imagining there were different worlds through each crack between bookshelves. Some people get chills going through antique stores and thinking of.

About fifth grade, I started to get interested in the business itself.

The sight must have been entertaining me at five years old with a little blonde bob, one eye glued in between bookshelves and murmuring quietly to myself. By the time I got tired of that, I was old enough to do it for real (funny how that works). My parents had a book business they ran from home, so I grew up amidst shelves of merchandise and me sized shopping carts they used to pick orders.

I suppose all of this has contributed to my strange love of office furniture.