On Being a Collector of Books (a short story)

Short Summary: I was sitting in my car thinking about hobbies and somehow ended up inside a bookstore pretending to be a serious collector. I bought Edward Newton’s The Amenities of Book Collecting for twenty bucks, convinced for a few minutes that I had discovered the secret world of bibliophiles. Newton’s book led me to Alexander Pope, which made me feel briefly intellectual, and then to the story of Harry Elkins Widener—the young millionaire book collector who died on the Titanic at twenty-seven. Widener treated collecting books like gold mining, digging through dusty piles to find hidden treasures. Inspired, I kept reading, turned a few more pages, and there it was, a treasure. But was it the only treasure I found? A handwritten note from Widener himself to Edward Newton, dated April 1912, just days before he boarded the Titanic. Excerpt from the story: I’m sitting in my car in the Walmart parking lot wondering if I should go inside. I know there are Pokémon cards in there, but I also know there are people. And not just normal people. These are the people who know exactly when the card vendor restocks the shelves. They walk straight to the aisle without looking up. They scowl if anyone is near them. They aren’t afraid to box out a child for the cards.To get a pack I’d have to compete with them. These middle-aged men. These monsters. These vultures.I stay in the Civic with the heater on and watch them come empty handed and leave with boxes of pokemon in their hands. I’m just thinking about what a petty life this is.I scroll.Humans are the most interesting things in the world.I just don’t enjoy being around them very much.I need a hobby. I do enjoy reading.I read a book, or maybe it was a movie that said, “Young man, go West.” Now people tell me, young man, get a better job, or young man get a wife, or young man find God, or Young man, get a hobby. I want to just say, Old Men, die.