She decided to do things a bit differently this time. She'd saved up a nice bundle from her job at the Crafts Chest—Juniper's answer to bigs like Michaels and JoAnn—where she helped customers find and buy artsy-crafty supplies. And now it was time to treat herself and splurge. Especially since she'd be hanging out with her friend the next day. She picked up a basket at the entrance and began packing it with whatever merchandise struck her fancy. Normally she wouldn't plan such an involved spree, but again, she felt she'd earned the right to indulge herself. Besides, behind Millicent's doors, she didn't have to shell out cash on anything she decided against.
Right; let's see
... thought Sophie, traversing the second floor, surveying the se(le)ctions it had to offer. This level was all nonfiction books: Geography, Travel, Culture, Language, Reference, Religion, Politics, Sports, Music, Entertainment, Medicine, Pets, Animals, Nature, History, Science, Maths...basically pure and concrete facts. Nothing wrong in learning about the world and everything in it, but the bulk of Sophie Trimble's shopping dollar was usually spent elsewhere. She supposed she just preferred literature that allowed her mind to be touched, her emotions to run free. Sophie lived a pretty peaceful, normal life, and didn't expect a book—or really even a short story—would ever be written about her, which was fine; she very much enjoyed reading the varied, diverse adventures and escapades of others, both fictitious and real. Having her own wild adventures, while exciting, might intimidate her.
Nevertheless, she found a couple interesting informatives here in the middle floor to occupy space in her basket. There were checkouts on each floor, so it didn't matter where she ended up. She entered, as all did, on level two, and so it was really a flip of a coin which to choose next. One and three both had their niceties to offer. Sophie was usually inclined to go down to the bottom floor on the second leg of her journey, saving the top for last. She couldn't really say why; if questioned about it, she'd answer, "Because...reasons. That's why." But while she didn't fully realise it, Sophie liked to settle down and rest on the top floor, which was where the developers had placed the café and juice bar, surrounded by tables and chairs. After filling the first two levels with printed bound pages of words, the books left over occupied floor three, as did the refreshments, snacks and bevvies. So as in the majority of her past visits, Sophie finished combing level two, worked her way to the centre hub, and hopped on the down escalator.
Here below-ground, level one was called home by a completely different assortment—as well as the children's area, restrooms, and media centre, where one was to find CDs and DVDs. As for the parchment, on these shelves Sophie was greeted by Fine Arts, Painting, Crafts, Architecture, Horticulture, Fiction, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, Poetry, Philosophy, Manga, and the little cubby hole devoted to Erotica, which Sophie secretly liked more than she'd admit. These were the sections that really stimulated her (in more ways than one). She truly did love stories in the narrative form. She adored letting them take her away, escaping the world, her imagination running wild. She couldn't wait to turn the page and see what happened on the other side. They made her laugh, they made her cry, they made her glad she was alive. To complement the passion, she was blessed with the ability to read swift and rapid, while absorbing every riveting word. It went without saying that she devoured truckloads of books—more than half of which were novels. Most she merely liked. Some she
loved
, feeling the need to purchase, to enjoy over and over again. Then there was the occasional gem she'd unearth, and wind up treasuring so much, she went online to find the author and write him or her, to say just
how
much.
She giggled again with giddiness, giving a few excited hops in place as she remembered sharing childhood literary adventures with her dear mate Nigel, and how she'd actually be getting to relive those happy moments tomorrow. What a magical, marvellous time they would have. It made her want to just buy up the entire store. Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to spend quite
that
much.
Her basket grew fuller and fuller as she combed level one's aisles. In searching for novel(la)s to tickle her fancy, just about anything went. Sophie boasted a wide open mind which welcomed new experiences and new friends found on the printed page. Very few tics browned her off or made her wish to stop reading. Oh, to be sure, she had her pet peeves like anyone else, and it went without saying that not every book would so greatly enchant her. But that was fine. If every book was as equally appealing as the next, there would be far too much to read in her meagre time, and she'd be robbed of the joy of digging up those diamonds in the rough.
Sophie found no CDs or DVDs that she'd want and didn't already own, but she did find an audiobook. Books on CD were a fantastic invention, she'd always felt. They allowed her to be entertained by a real speaking voice—likely one she was already familiar with—and to lie back, shut her eyes and ever more vividly imagine the story. They were also good for listening to on short or long road trips, such as making her way to Millicent's itself. She might just listen to this one on the way back home. They made Sophie feel special, as if she lay in bed hugging her teddy bear while a famous voice personally blessed her with a lovely reading.
Indeed on floor two, she'd only filled about a quarter of her basket space with new material for her eyes' pleasure, but down on one, it bulked up to more than half. Oftentimes such as this, Sophie felt like Matilda, the little girl and title character in Roald Dahl's children's book. Matilda was also quite the bibliophile, borrowing literal wagonloads of books from the library. The library too suited Sophie fine when she was small, but alas proved less than ideal now. As an adult who worked for a living, and slept much of the time she wasn't at work, Sophie hadn't all the free time in the world to devote to her hobby. By this point, it might take her longer than granted by the library to make her way through borrowed—and even renewed—books, thereby rendering the act sort of pointless. Sophie liked to take her time to really sink her teeth into a read. Besides which, she preferred up-to-date editions. She relished that new parchment smell.
Done with floor one, she rode the escalators up to three. Here alongside the lounging and dining areas were all the books that weren't found in the levels below. The biblio-setup here was a mishmash of different things: Business, Psychology, Self-Help, Love And Sexuality, Relationships, Computers, Puzzles, Games, Humor, Comics, Social Studies, Cultural Studies and (Auto)Biographies. She saw only a couple of folks sitting at the tables around the café, reminding her that she was running out of time. She dug out her cell to check. Dead.
Oh, bollocks
, she thought. It hadn't been fully charged to begin with, and the call from Nigel must have drained its remaining battery life. She looked for a clock or an employee, finding neither in eyeshot. So she approached a fellow standing from one of the tables.
"Pardon me, mate," she waved. "Have you got the time?"
"Oh. It's, uh..." He checked his own cell. "...9:32."
Sophie had just under a half hour remaining. She thanked him, made a quick reassessment of the third floor sections and determined that she had done enough shopping. Her timewise friend with the undead cell departed. She performed a quick mental calculation of how much she'd racked up. Most publishers were thoughtful enough to print their book prices right inside or on the backs of their volumes. Sophie roughly totaled them, arriving at a number she'd more or less expected.
She'd best be getting to the register to pay. Factoring in Minnesota's high sales tax and her audiobook, she was looking well into triple digits here. Oh well, this was why nifty little plastic cards had been invented, after all. She trotted to the checkout, lugging the basket along with both hands. She could almost feel her muscles getting bigger carrying all this around. Finally, she reached it.
There was only one person in front of her, a short, older lady buying a single book. Perfect, Sophie thought. That was perfect. Just enough time to set the basket down and give her arms a rest, and not long to wait at all. She wrung out her arms and wrists for a bit of relief and studied the little gifts and knickknacks surrounding the checkout area. She heard the cashier's voice.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, your card didn't go through."
Sophie arched her brows.
Uh-oh
, she thought. She always felt bad for a person when this happened.
"Oh," said the lady, taking the card back, "It does that sometimes. It's an old card. You just kinda gotta..."
She gave the magnetic side a breath, rubbed it on her sleeve and handed it back. "Here, try it again."
The cashier obliged, to the same result. "No, ma'am, I'm sorry, it still didn't go through. Do you have another card?"
"No, no, I'm telling you, it's fine," the woman calmly insisted, performing the same touch-up again. "I promise, I'm nowhere near my limit. This really is just an old card. It's just kinda temperamental, 's all."
Sophie now felt slightly less bad for her. She considered heading off to checkout on one of the two lower floors, but she didn't want to appear rude...or carry this basket too much more. Then again, rudeness was in the eye of the beholder...then
again
again, she was also British, and polite almost to a fault. But none of the three of them had all the time in the world left here.
