There is no place in the world more gloriously satisfying than a good bookstore. There are also few places with a more depressed staff. A bookstore is a haven for bright people who are frightened of corporate life and bureaucratic academia but lack enough ambition to do anything else. Because of this, most bookstores can get away with paying a fraction over minimum wage and yet their employees have higher IQs and fancier degrees than any multi-million dollar board of executives.

A typical bookstore should run its help wanted ad as follows:

In need of slightly neurotic, socially awkward, unique and intelligent individual who has little family or friends to miss during holidays and weekends. Must be pacifistic yet passionate and preferably divorced and/or an ex-drug addict/alcoholic. A love of knowledge and the smell of ink on paper are absolutely required. Conservatives need not apply; the token Republican position is currently filled.

A bookstore should not have sections in which its employees find no interest. Not every geek is obsessed with Russian Literature or Occult Fiction, but if a store carries such sections they should have at least one employee who thinks B.B. King is a big lame-o compared to the wonder that is Ivan Bunin—even though any sane person should know that B.B. King is the coolest cat of all time. This is one of many areas in which stores like Barnes and Noble have pitifully failed. Most of the kids they have working behind the counter haven’t read a book in months and have little interest in anything they sell. To them, and to their company, books are just products; a way to make money.

Besides being ignorant and superficial, they have too much power. Even Borders, whom I like, tends to throw itself around and squash the smaller stores who actually care but just can’t compete with their prices and selection. When a business is as large as Barnes and Noble and Borders they are allowed to make too many demands on the publishing houses. They decide what gets printed in large numbers and what gets marketed proficiently because they, not the independent stores, are the primary sellers. If Barnes and Noble thinks Tom Clancy, or some other ghostwritten big shot, should be the biggest seller this season, they say, “Hey, publishing guys! We wanna buy an absurd amount of this book even though it sucks! What’s this? You don’t think you can print that many? It interferes with your other printing schedules? Pssh! We only want a small number of those other, good books anyways, so don’t worry about it.” And the publishing companies sheepishly comply. But don’t feel sorry for the publishing houses, they’re usually jerks, too. Ultimately, the authors and the public are affected the most; unknown writers get little representation and we’re constantly bombarded with crap.

Of course, independent bookstores are far from being perfect as well. Independents that are owned and operated by older personnel usually have a nice feeling to them because let’s be honest, old people rock! But here in the City of Stupidness, most independent bookstores are run by snotty indy-rock chic-geeks who are too esoteric for their own good. They’re so knowledgeable about abstruse facts, or at least they think they are, that they’re “hip,” (or at least they are by subculture standards) and hip people make un-hip people (i.e. independent bookstore clientele: reading enthusiasts and dorks) uncomfortable. The city is unctuously swarming with these self-consciously sophisticated and conceited people and I find it disheartening to find them on my most comforting of turfs. We already gave them all the coffee and tea houses and record stores; must they take this last priceless sanctuary? The owners should avoid hiring these people because even though they may add to the décor they encourage prospective customers to shop at one of the aforementioned giants; a friendly but unapprised clerk is better than a moody genius. Perhaps they only scare away nervous, easily intimidated, or reticent types—that’s only about half their patrons. I honestly don’t know how they stay open at all.

The most perfect example of retail establishments, the heavenly Queen of All Bookstores, is obviously The Elliot Bay Book Company. I almost drool just thinking about it. Elliott Bay has pooled everything convenient about big chains and everything magical about mom and pop stores, and has seamlessly smooshed them together. They’re a big enough company to get what they want but they’re small enough that they’re still human. And the building itself, mmm! The squeaky floor boards, the tangled staircases and lofts, the smell of dust, wood, old paper, and especially ink, and they have absolutely everything; spanking new and recycled. But most importantly, the people are gracious and quirky. They know everything the indy snobs think they know and more but they lack the self esteem to know that they’re better than practically everyone else.

In fact, I think we should disassemble our existing government and replace it with bookstore employees, excluding the hipsters and drones. Sure they have their problems, as mentioned in the example want ad, but because of their experiences as real people they would be much more realistic and empathetic than our current politicians; it would be nice to have representatives who actually represent the people. Also, a regime ran by sane and not retarded folks would really be a huge plus.

Or, we should hand the country over to my 10-year-old sister. She doesn’t know who Ivan Bunin is, but she does know that B.B. King is one rad brother.