In the ever-turbulent economic climate, hearing about the demise of yet another big box store is not that surprising, or even that unsettling. In fact, seeing storefronts shuttered until the next box chain moves in and breathes recycled air in that space until its life cycle ends, is now more common — and more expected — than seeing a chain or department store last the duration of one’s lifetime.

Keeping that in mind, along with the knowledge from following their ups and downs in the news, I was not surprised to read that Borders had finally filed for Chapter 11. But it didn’t make it any less sad to see.

It’s hard to fully express the emotional connection that I have to this corporation. Some of the most important relationships from my early adult life were forged here: I spent about 5 years working for this company, first in the capacity of a summer/seasonal job, then as a full-time gig once I graduated college.

Borders was the first “real” job I landed that didn’t come by proxy of a friend or relative, and I felt proud to know I got it on my own merit (which apparently was worth a little more than minimum wage).

Since I spent most of the beginning of my adult life — 18 to 24 — employed by them in some capacity, it is not being dramatic to say that Borders played a large role in my formative years.

The first house party I ever attended was a Borders event. I sat in a coworker’s self-painted red-and-black living room, screaming casual conversation to other coworkers, the walls pulsating as Alice in Chains blared from the stereo. I sipped cheap beer that someone pumped from the keg for me and felt like more of an adult than I ever had before, more than I probably should have.

I learned more readily about the power of music — how it can become a currency in friendships. Music had always been important, but here it cemented bonds. One of the highlights of working the closing or opening shift was the opportunity to forgo the 6 CDs that played on loop throughout the store all day, dust off your own stash, and battle the other shift mates to determine what the soundtrack of the day/night should be (although, admittedly, this democratic privilege did not always lead to pleasing results, especially when the metal heads worked, and won).

Other life lessons were learned here, too, like heartbreak. I was working the morning my grandfather died: my brother and mother came to collect me that June morning, the heat already settled in by 9 a.m. I was pleasantly surprised to see them, thinking they has some kind of wonderful surprise (my birthday, less than a month away, was already on my mind). It was the first and only time I ever experienced the feeling of my body involuntarily giving out from underneath me (the bargain cart outside catching my fall before my brother could).

After I decided on a random whim (yes, there was a boy) to move to Houston after college, Borders was my familiar beacon while I blindly tried to stay afloat in a city too busy, too disengaged to notice I was drowning. My new group of coworkers took me in without a hint of hesitation, teaching me the customs of this new land: 2 a.m. tacqueria trips in lieu of diners; the joy of watching bad movies when you’re surrounded with good (and witty) company; and the beauty of Shiner Bock beer.

It didn’t end up working out with the boy I moved to Texas for, but my time there did manage to lead me to the man who is my husband today — or led him to me, depending on which one of us you ask. (He claims I followed him around, rather conspicuously, looking for excuses to chat. I know he had been conveniently checking my schedule to know when I’d be working in case he decided to “just drop by.”)

And I am certain that we are not the first — nor last — Borders marriage: among our friends alone, there have been at least 5 other couples who met and wed after doing their time with BGI.

To say that my time with Borders was strictly fond or even formative would not be true: it was still a job; it was still a corporate environment. There were plenty of stretches of monotony; there were countless times I just wanted to get O-U-T of there. And after I left, after my husband left, after most of our friends left, we all would spend countless conversations discussing “what went wrong” with the company, placing bets on the number of years, then months, then weeks it potentially had left.

But maybe a part of me never really believed it would fully give out? Maybe after they bounced back and restructured and restructured again, I began to think they might be “on track,” or at least more resilient than I gave them credit for.

Or maybe the simple truth of it is that even for all the bullshit — the crappy paychecks, the up-selling, the poor management — I never wanted to see this place give out. I wanted to love it and hate it every time I drove past it on the highway. I wanted to laugh out loud in celebration that I was no longer there, but silently mourn that period in my life was actually over. I wanted the brick-and-mortar building to remain forever, giving the ghosts of old memories a place to haunt outside my mind.

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Tags: books & writing, money // 8 Comments »