""Used.""
Just the word itself conjures up images of teenagers crying in their bedrooms yelling, ""He/she never loved me!"" surrounded by white blankets of snotty tissues and doting friends.
However, when it comes to buying your textbooks for college, this word couldn't be more dynamite.
For me, purchasing a used book is like finally making it to the bathroom after guzzling a soda on a long car ride: what a relief. Suddenly, I realize that the $80 I was about to spend on a book I'll hardly read is actually (gasp!) slashed to half the price!
Ooooooh, yeah.
(cue psychedelic, trippy music)
It's at this exact moment that I enter a state of euphoria I like to call my ""Scholastic Fantastic I-Saved-Money"" state.
As I grab the used book off the shelf, the store morphs into a swirl of rainbow delight; reds, greens and yellows emerge from the exit signs and institutional floor tiles. The walls melt, like a cup of strawberry ice cream left behind at the Terrace as the room warps into a kaleidoscopic surprise.
The shelves turn sideways, and out floats every used item in the store. Like autumn leaves swept up in a breeze, the books fill the air and become weightless.
Of course, in such a sublime state, one can do nothing but dance! Recalling the ballet classes from my childhood, I start to twirl, leap and bound across the room, onto the tables and desks, cash register and overturned bookshelves. The employees and fellow shoppers join me in a dance that rivals ""West Side Story"" and a Beyoncé music video—combined.
However, like all highs, my Scholastic Fantastic I-Saved-Money"" state does not last forever. Seconds later, I am brought back down to reality; the swirls of color seep back into the walls, the shelves restore their upward position (books included) and the employees and shoppers return to their usual routine.
Leaving the store with several used books in my bag, I feel lighter and significantly more productive. Maybe I didn't write a paper, study for an approaching exam or save a person from drowning—but I sure saved money. YES!
But used books are more than just a couple of pages, words and bindings. Like the dollar bill, they pass from one hand to the next and from one home to another. They're like a form of currency. You never find out who owned that book last, what they did with it or if they even read it. All you know is that on one fateful day, it showed up on that shelf of the bookstore and yelled out in all its yellow-and-black-stickered goodness, ""TAKE ME! I'M USED.""
Sometimes, as I read/browse/consider opening one of my used books, I imagine all of the history behind it, all of the generations the book has passed through in its lifetime.
I think back to the days of our founders (cue stately trumpet music) at UW-Madison in the mid-1800s.
I imagine little Tommy Jones, just a freshman here at UW. Clad in a brown suit and ruffled shirt, he walks across Library Mall with my book in his hand. He sits on the lawn, reads several pages and takes out his pocket watch to check the time. Late for class!
Fast forward several decades and we're in the 1920s (cue jazzy tune). Sophomore Louise Day, adorned in a silver necklace and flapper dress, meets several friends at a nearby club. With my book inside her purse, she starts to dance. The book falls out, a guy nearby picks it up, they get to talking and eventually marry. Nonetheless, she sells it back. Smart little broad.
Fifty years later and it's the 1970s (cue the Beatles, baby). Juniors Stanley Michael and Stu Ferguson are sprawled out on Bascom Hill with their book bags, staring up at the sky and endlessly analyzing the lyrics to ""Strawberry Fields Forever."" Two hours later, they're hit with an unshakable case of the munchies and order a cheeseburger and fries at the Gritty. As the food arrives, Stanley gets overly excited, grabs for the ketchup and ends up squirting it all over his book bag—specifically onto the cover of my book. Nice job, stoner!
Hello to 2009, and here I am, a senior, with the book on my bed that is teeming with swirls of yellow highlighter and streams of blue and red pen along its pages.
Whether a used book is 100 years old or two, for such a reduced price, you get not just a book but also a history.
Want to join me in my ""Scholastic Fantastic I-Saved-Money"" euphoric state? Let me know at gleicher@wisc.edu.
