A sad way to turn the page

Reader Amy Wahl lives in Medford.

Now I know what it would feel like if the kids in the 1985 movie "The Goonies" failed to save their homes from those evil golf-course developers. This month about 11,000 Borders employees in 399 bookstores around the country and I found out that our "homes" will not be saved.

Despite the closing of hundreds of other stores earlier this year, those still left hoped someone would find buried treasure to keep our company afloat. Since that pirate financier never showed up, we now know that in a few short weeks Borders will cease to exist.

In the spirit of those Goonies who refused to say die, I am choosing to spend my last few weeks enjoying the company of my comrades, my co-workers. As we close the Borders in Stony Brook, I smile through misty eyes and try to hide that my heart is broken. Many people have wrestled with the loss of a job before, but in a way I am also losing a piece of myself.

I was only 19 when I applied for a job at the Stony Brook store seven years ago. I signed on as a part-time cashier, excited to ring up customers and recommend favorite books. The first two years were a blur as I juggled work, college and social life.

Soon I had grown out of wearing graphic T-shirts, was hired full time and learned how to apply makeup and wear dresses. I went on to fill many roles -- helping run the kids department, acting as training supervisor, doing the payroll -- but always in the same store. I watched colleagues transfer to other Borders stores or leave, but I stayed. Family and friends would ask, "Why not go somewhere else? You have enough experience."

"They're short-handed," I'd say. Or, "I won't find a job that pays as well."

In truth, I had fallen in love with my job. Well, really the Borders family. I loved spending time with co-workers and helping customers find that book whose title they couldn't remember, although the cover was blue and the author's name ended in y.

Borders was a place to go every day where I could share my knowledge and passion for literature with other people who appreciate books. I made many friends, led book club meetings, ran events for teen customers, and once was the store's holiday elf. I started out as a meek teenager studying to be a teacher and eventually became the store inventory supervisor with a master's degree in library science. My job taught me that although I loved working with children, I could better serve them by being an advocate for reading, independent learning and exploration.

This may seem like a sappy love letter to a corporation, but it's really a farewell to a way of life. With the convenience of online shopping and digital readers, bookstores are becoming obsolete.

While this does mark the end of Borders, it does not have to be the end of the book community. Visit your local bookstore, ask for recommendations, relish the experience of pulling a book off the shelf.

Just as the Goonies faced being separated by the demolition of their neighborhood, we too stand on the brink of the unknown. If we go quietly without a fight, the only bookstores left will be the virtual kind.