A Half Price Schnook

The books were beginning to take over my living space. The Half Price Books (HPB) ads on the radio were starting to register with me.

I average somewhere around 75 books a year. I forward a good deal of them to friends who are also readers. Of course, there is some inflow from them. The inventory was getting out of hand.

I called to see what HPB paid. The lady told me it depended upon condition of the book, demand for the title, yada, yada, yada.

Just give me a ballpark so I know if it’s worth my effort. What would some price points be in the range? It depended upon condition of the book, demand for the title, yada, yada, yada. Okay, message received.

I set aside books I would use for reference or would read again (yeah, right). The rest I saw no hope for. A few had been sent to me by the authors and were autographed. If I had actually completed them, I probably would’ve comprised a quarter of the audience. Just to be sure, I did a little web surfing to see if any of the writers had since made it big. Or, at all. I didn’t want to toss an original, personalized Hemingway or something that would eventually fetch a king’s ransom on ebay. No. These guys were probably writing product disclaimers somewhere, now.

I boxed them up and did some quick calculations. Of the 125 exiles, about 20% were so esoteric or just lacking in merit that they had no value. Of the rest, I put the average cover price at a conservative $8. If you can go by the name of the store, they’ll retail for $4. Factoring in a 100% markup, I’d be walking out with $200.

Didn’t seem likely. I’d been in the greeting card business and sold excess inventory to the big clearance shops. They bought cards by the pound. Imagine how my editors and artists felt about that. The HPB model was probably along this line.

So, cut it in half and I still reap a c-note. That would be worth the effort and I’d still clear some shelves (and floor space, if you must know). I’d reward myself with a burger at Five Guys, which wasn’t far from HPB. I’d tried it once and didn’t get it. For over ten bucks, I expected more of a burger and fries. I was willing to give it another go after spinning paper into gold.

I arrived at their front door, found the buying desk and was told to bring in the books. The minicarts were pointed out, should I want to avail myself of mechanical advantage. It was a very active weekend and I had visited the gym that morning. I’ll gladly take the cart.

Except the cartons didn’t fit into the tiny baskets. You know, the whole idea of the cart is to handle volume loads, so you’d think…

I balanced the first carton on top of the cart and wheeled it in. After that, I decided it was faster just to lug them in.

The lady asked for a photo ID. Is there a nefarious ring out there fencing paperbacks? Then she said it would take about ten to fifteen minutes for her to come up with an offer. I could browse their racks or whatever, but was not permitted to leave the store. Why was that? Because it’s company policy. Oh, and I thought she might not have a logical reason.

I ambled around and found one hardback that drew my interest. I had to overcome the desire to leave with a 100% net profit, but ninety-something would still buy a burger and then some.

Finally, I was paged and beat down the anticipation that was compelling me to sprint to the desk. Would it be the $100? Maybe $125. There was some good stuff in there. Okay, $50, at worst.

Nope. $25. Take it or leave it.

Crash time. And, the book in my hand would take a bite out of that. Salt in the wound.

I trudged back out to my truck. Maybe the burger would pick me up. Not.

So, all that for a net of about eight bucks. And, some empty shelf space.

But, they do donate excess inventory to worthy recipients. I get the warm feeling that, thanks to me, within a few weeks some nonagenarians in nursing homes will be boning up on Krav Maga and how the states got their boundaries. It’s a beautiful thing.