Tea in the Library Page 9

  I wasn’t to know (and neither was Ed) that he’d go bust. Well, almost. I’m not entirely sure what happened to him in the end, because it was a bit like an atomic blast when it happened, and I just got away from the epicenter as quickly as I could. But all in all, I wish Ed well and hope he survived to tell the tale (and pay his subbies).

  To begin with, I asked Ed & Craig if they used a designer, because I was anxious to have a high quality job that worked aesthetically. They were a bit unenthusiastic about this, and assured me that Craig could do up a terrific design with his CAD program. Some aspects of the resulting layout were a success, and others a bit dubious (e.g. the front counter placement — the subject of interminable discussion), but overall it seemed fine. The main issue turned out to be that Craig’s little furniture diagrams were not quite to scale, and we ended up with way more furniture than could actually fit in the floor space (there is a settee in my office right now, silent testament to this boo-boo).

  As to finishes and colour schemes, I hit on the idea of involving Danielle, the designer who had come up with our Logo, and who had since designed our stationery, bookmarks and wrapping paper. This was a great success. Ed and Craig brought their flooring man and we all went to visit at the designers’ offices, poring over carpet samples, hard floor samples, books of furniture, paint swatches, and discussing myriads of other details. I was rather thrilled when Danielle brought out the swatches and paint colours she had used to make the original “mood board”, and we matched up those. Talk about an idea becoming reality! It was fabulous.

  Danielle also came to the site and was involved in discussions about what kind of doorway to have, the finish for the bookshelves, the colour of wood stains, signs inside the shop and out, and how the paint colours would be used on the walls and trims.

  We chose a mid-coloured wood for the shelving, and much discussion ensued about the lower shelves having to be on a slope, in order that the books on display could be more easily seen (legacy of my crawling around in other shops on my bookshop research tours). Diagrams were drawn and examples cited. Trim was discussed. The layout of the shelves, with some at right angles to make little bays or nooks, and some free-standing shelves, were all decided upon. In the outcome, the shelves we had looked very good, but carried the design fault that the sides had a trim which encroached on the shelf space — which not only hid book spines, but was a potential cause of damage to books as they are pulled in and out of the shelves. sloping shelves also didn’t happen — this was an omission that I insisted be rectified at the end of the job, although it was only partly completed, due to the aforementioned nuclear holocaust.

  Our floor was partly carpet-covered, where the soft furniture sat, and partly hard floor — vinyl which looked like wooden boards — where the majority of the café tables sat. The front counter was faced in wood, and the top was a mid-green (the same colour as our Logo) and a massive object, sweeping in a curve past the kitchen exit and around the corner to the special order shelf. It was beautifully kitted with myriads of small cupboards and drawers (where no one could find anything), and was rather narrow, with the problem that its surface became very crowded very quickly. Of all the physical features of the shop (other than signage, which deserves and will get a chapter on its own) the front counter has been the biggest bugbear and the most discussed item.

  Retail theory has it that customers entering a shop naturally tend to walk to the left and in a clock-wise direction. Therefore, one’s cash desk should be to the right of the entrance, to catch ’em as they finish their clockwise circumnavigation, hopefully loading up with purchases on the way. Our front counter was indeed to the right, but some way back from the door, partly dictated by the floorplan, which had very little space by the door, and partly to take account of the location of the kitchen access. This was a drawback, and did have security issues. As to circumnavigating customers, ours seemed to go in all directions — right or left — and generally created a bottleneck in the entrance if there was more than one of them at once (which unfortunately wasn’t too often). As an alternative to retail theory, feng shui was also discussed. We didn’t do too well there either, as we placed a display table right in front of the entrance. As I saw it, it was a question of blocking the qi energy, or making sales. Or maybe if I didn’t block the energy, the sales would come? Hmmm.

  Our front door was not much bigger than yours at home, and was white woodwork with glass panels. We had about one metre of window on each side of the door, and that’s it for display space. This door was at the bottom of a flight of about twenty steps leading from our landing, and about ten metres back from the street. The landing had café tables, and at times some book display tables. When we opened, it was also home to the coffee cart.

  Our colour scheme was our signature mid-green, plus cream and a dark maroon. These colours were used in the paintwork, the flooring and the signage. It worked well and gave the ambience I wanted. And then there’s the fireplace. I mentioned this rather sheepishly to Craig — can we have a fireplace? — expecting to be sniggered at. But it was no trouble to produce one — we chose a wooden mantelpiece, a cast iron firebox with faux logs, and a small gas fire. It was flueless, needing no chimney. The first time we lit it — our first chilly winters’ day — an acrid smell had everyone gagging within five minutes. Todd promptly turned it off, declared it a failure, and was uninterested in having anything to do with it again. I thought my vision of a glass of port by the fire, with a good book in hand, was not to be. However, after some hassling, we managed to light it for an hour at the end of each day, after trading, until whatever it was had dissipated from the firebox, and we then had a gorgeous feature in the winter time. Of course, that’s really only about two months of the year in Sydney, but it’s the ambience that counts! The mantle held one of our “Tea In The Library” signature lamps, some beautifully bound classics (for sale, of course), and an attractive teapot. A gilt-framed mirror hung above it, and a couple of dark leather buttoned chesterfield sofas sat in front of it. If that vision doesn’t invite you to relax, then you are way too stressed!

  The kitchen fit out was a whole extra adventure of its own. Jo and I started with this method: first we listed the dishes we hoped/ expected to have on the opening menu. We then listed (a) the utensils needed to make those dishes; (b) the major appliances needed to cook them; and (c) the storage containers needed for the ingredient for these dishes. It was very scientific and well-thought through, and I must say that it produced a very comprehensive list of utensils and kitchen equipment. Maybe too comprehensive. There was a large rice cooker stored in the back room for some months, after risotto was only briefly on the menu.

  Ordering of the kitchen equipment was conducted over several cappuccino sessions with Jo, Craig and the shopfitters’ chosen kitchen equipment supplier, Jennifer. We pored over catalogues, listened to advice, compared our wish-list, and decided on a long list of items. Of course, fitting out a commercial kitchen is no small undertaking, and it is a miracle that we did as well as we did, ignorant as we were. We may have ended up with too many things, but we didn’t miss any essential items. The only extra fitting purchased later was an additional fridge. (We needed an ice machine, but hung out for that). As to surplus, the rice cooker was definitely overkill — we did a great risotto for a while, but that’s about all it was needed for; we also managed to later return a massive gas cooker appliance with a wok ring. We bought about 50% too many cups, chinaware and glasses. The stainless steel fittings in the kitchen were good quality, but not in a very practical configuration. We changed them around a bit after initial installation, and they eventually worked fairly well. We never had a deep fryer (no chips and Coca Cola at Tea In The Library), and the sinks and dishwasher seemed adequate (except for the latter breaking down intermittently).

  Beyond our office space, there was a small storage area which housed the fuse boxes and our stationery (bags, etc) and marketing materials. Beyond that storage area was an entrance t
o a low-ceilinged space that housed the gas metering equipment and other utilities for the whole building (an eight storey high residential block). We called this (very politically-incorrectly) “The Gas Chamber”, and strictly we were not entitled to use it as storage, because of the need to access the services. However, our “stuff” inevitably spilled over into this space, and there were many boxes of brand new china and glassware, as well as several high stools and small seats (no room for them — Craig’s CAD relativities again), and cartons of wine and beer, in The Gas Chamber at any given time.

  To complete all the minor kitchen gadgets needed, Jo and I arranged to meet at Jennifer’s warehouse one Saturday morning at Rhodes. I arrived a little early, found the warehouse, and parked my car. Shortly after, Jo arrived in her car, and tottered out. I use the word “tottered” advisedly, as she was suffering rather a bit from a great night out, and was still a tad hung over. She and I and Jennifer and a long list did the rounds of the warehouse shelves, selecting spatulas and colour-coded chopping boards and measuring jugs and all the paraphernalia that is needed in a kitchen. It’s certainly surprising how quickly a budget can be consumed. We left with the sense of a job well done.

  On the IT side, another contractor was needed, and quotes were exchanged, modified and eventually accepted, for a LAN (‘local area network’) with a server and five terminals — three POS (‘point of sale’) and two in the office. Four of these ran our book software system of choice, “BookNet”.

  So there was our shop — our neat little premises, with a stainless steel kitchen, lined food storage, ladies’ & gents’ refurbished loos, an office with benches for receiving books and the hub of our own computer system, and out in the shop itself bookshelf-lined walls, carpeting, a fireplace and cloth-covered tables with comfy upholstered wooden chairs.

  Of course it didn’t all appear in a day. The fitout took about four months. I signed the lease in August, with four months’ rent relief to enable fitout before trading. Ed and Craig began work. Louise, Todd and Jo were lined up to start work a few weeks before opening (Todd having ordered our first books for delivery in October), and all seemed on track.

  At this point I left for Everest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keeping focused

  Gorak Shep is a god-forsaken hell-hole, more than 5,000 metres above sea-level. One the one hand, you have to dodge the frozen turds (human and yak) at your feet. On the other hand, if you raise your eyes you are looking straight up at mountains so high you can barely see their peaks with your neck bent back. The few scrubby wooden lodges which make up the settlement are at the foot of Kala Patar, a stony, bare, steep cone of brown rocks that rises higher than 5,400 metres above sea level. I am told that from the peak of Kala Patar there are 360 degree views of the incredible Himalayas, up close, that are worth the excruciating climb in thin air. I will have to take other people’s word for that. When I arrived in Gorak Shep, after nine days of walking in ever-increasing altitude, I could barely stand. In fact, come to think of it, I couldn’t stand — only lie gasping. I have no memory of the day’s trek up from Lobouche, and my main memory of arrival at Gorak Shep is of lying exhausted, and refusing (yet another) bowl of instant noodles.

  So I didn’t attempt Kala Patar with my trekking companions. We had shed two of our number the day before, when Don was struck with a headache so severe that he needed a session in the Gamow Bag (a portable hyperbaric chamber used for artificially reducing the effects of altitude), and had decided to descend to avoid altitude sickness. His girlfriend Viv, who had also been suffering fairly severe headaches, decided to go down with him. We all had headaches, to greater or lesser degrees, and had been nursing them for most of the trek, as we gradually climbed higher and higher. Rest days, lots of water, trying to eat and sleep when you body doesn’t want to — these were the “cures”.

  In our group of about fifteen trekkers, I was by far the slowest. Despite a big effort at training, I was coming from a long way behind. I had only a little experience of serious trekking; but I did have a very strong desire to see the Himalayas, and especially to look on Everest and the other 8,000 metre peaks. With the support of the trek leader, John, and my terrific companions, I had made it up above 5,000 metres, and I had indeed seen those magnificent mountains. The sight of those giants, from their very feet, was absolutely awe-inspiring. So there was no reason not to stay flat on my back in my sleeping bag at Gorak Shep, right?

  The trek to Everest Base Camp was about three to four hours further on. When we woke pre-dawn the next day, the water in the wash-buckets was frozen solid. Breakfast was kerosene-flavoured chapatti and tea. The trail led out across rocky moraine along the side of the Khumbu Glacier, with the conical peak of Pumori and the incredible snowy slopes of Lhotse looming on each side. The glacier creaked and crashed out of sight. The trail dragged over small boulders, up and down, up and down. At that altitude, it took just five slow steps before my heartbeat was racing as if I had done a quick sprint around the block. So it was five slow steps, then a minute or two to allow the heartbeat to subside; repeat. Progress was excruciatingly slow. I fell further behind than usual (if that was possible.) The Sherpa boys in our party brought up the rear, carrying my day-pack and making sure I didn’t completely fall off the radar of the group.

  Shortly after setting out in the morning, the youngest member of the team, Karel, a big strong young man, sat down on a rock and announced that he couldn’t go any further. He had climbed Kala Patar the day before, and had become physically distressed. He seemed to have recovered, but the effort of climbing higher was now beyond him. He wisely decided to turn back.

  What was I doing here? I was far and away the weakest in the party. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Just another few steps. After about three hours, we trekked down a long, long rocky slope, heading to the snow field that roughly marks “Base Camp”. I despaired of ever being able to climb back up, but that thought was compartmentalized for later! I followed my friends onto the snow, where they were whooping and hollering with the thrill of having reached the objective after so long and so much effort. I stumbled over to a rock, sat down, and promptly burst into tears. Fatigue of those proportions is a weird thing. John, the leader, came over to bestow a hug, and the words “You made it!” I had indeed. Quiet satisfaction. Don’t think about the headache, the nausea, the climb back up that slope, the three hours back to the execrable Gorak Shep.

  On the return, John placed me and Ravi, the other slow guy (he was from Singapore — we were a long way from the equator!), directly behind him in a caterpillar line of trekkers. He paced us out of there methodically and slowly. Step after step after step, with every one of them a huge physical effort. But the mental effort to keep at it was even more important. We made it back; I promptly threw up, and then passed out in the sleeping bag again. The next day we began the descent, and every stage of the downward journey had us sucking in thicker and thicker air until we were jumping and grinning where we had been wheezing and groaning on the way up. The miracle of acclimatization.

  The point of this story — coming as it does right in the middle of the roller-coaster ride of opening the bookshop café — is that it illustrates my strong belief at the time that focusing intently on an objective that is passionately desired is the best tool for successfully achieving the goal. Our trekking party of good friends was of like mind. We were all there for different reasons, and some were doing it tougher than others. But deep and meaningful discussions along the trail and around the Sherpa stoves at night showed that focus and commitment to the goal were common to us all.

  This trip had been planned long before the shop project took on a life of its own, and there was no way I was going to cancel this long-held dream to pursue another. I was away about four weeks in total, and was hardly missed. I arrived back in Sydney to find the premises virtually fitted out. A few more weeks — and some books — and we would be ready to open.

  Chapter Seve
nteen

  We are launched

  Todd had been having a book buying spree. We needed about 5,000 volumes to fill our shelves, including new releases through to an interesting backlist. We needed books that were a bit unusual; we needed a variety of genres; we needed lovely books, cheap books, expensive books, paperbacks and hardbacks, children’s books, cook books, fiction and biography, dictionaries and art books, “mind body and spirit”. Our books needed to be quirky and interesting, and appeal to our demographic — the “baby boomer” women and men on whom we had pinned our retail hopes.

  I was also of the view that in a small bookshop with a relatively limited number of titles, we should recognize that we could never be all things to all people. We were not out to compete with the Borders, Dymocks and Kinokunyas of this town. So our selection should have interest, quirkiness, and reflect the passions of the owner — that is to say, me. Following this line, I asked Todd to seek out a particularly good selection of books on mountaineering and adventure. I gave him a long list of suggested titles. He did give this a good shot, and eventually we ended up with quite a respectable selection in this area, but never what I had hoped. It seems, in hindsight, that our book buying was rather overly influenced by what the reps were suggesting. Not that we could have done with out those guys — for a fledgling shop with a fledgling buyer, the experienced advice of the reps was invaluable.