The Bookseller and the Hipster

“Stop right there!” The store manager blasted. The blonde wearing khakis froze. Her back stiffened and hair follicles tightened as she stood between her accuser and freedom. How did she get in this predicament?

Lacey worked at a hipster bookstore café. She loved the chill environment, talking to interesting people about speculative fiction, and all the coffee and biscottis her uninsured teeth could handle. The pay was decent, and the hours were even better: bookseller by day, changing the world by night.

Alberto, whose real name was Vincent Hawthorne of the Hawthorne fortune, donned all black clothes and thick square lenses, came into the bookshop café every day. He sat at the same two-person table in the corner, and read Kierkegaard, Camus, and Kerouac. Vincent shed his trust fund persona and put on “Alberto’s” hipster skinny jeans, but Alberto’s mask would slip and Vincent’s smug, rich attitude shone through. Alberto spoke of “changing the world,” but only got as far as crying at ASPCA commercials. His transformation was a process.

Vincent Hawthorne’s life was mapped out from womb to grave; he attended the most prestigious preschool and prep-schools, he was a legacy at Harvard University, and a semi-pre-arranged marriage (as if it was a company merger). All the Hawthorne’s knew their life plan, and it was the Hawthorne way not to stray from family tradition. His two older brothers, Trenton and Jackson, rebelled a little, were a little reckless with money, and had some legal problems—of the sexual harassment sort. Mrs. Hawthorne bailed them out every time; while Trenton and Jackson straightened up and went on to get their MBA’s, married socialite wives, and joined their father’s firm as executives, Vincent went left instead of right. He went to NYU, his dad still had to call in a favor, majored in philosophy, broke off his planned engagement, and didn’t accept the window office with an executive nameplate waiting for him after graduation.

While Alberto was attending NYU, Lacey was floating haphazardly from job-to-job, in and out of relationships until she was hired at Insomniac’s Bookstore “up all night from coffee and reading ‘one more chapter.’” Lacey loved books and the smell of coffee she thought why not? She took a risk leaving her $20 per hour secretary job for a $15 per hour bookseller/barista job. The smell of books was too strong to pass up.

“You should write a book,” she told the hipster.

“I should,” Alberto replied as if he never thought of it before. He already wrote two pages and stopped upon realizing he was plagiarizing.

“I would read it,” Lacey blushed trying not to make eye contact as she collected his trash.

“Uh-huh” Alberto responded not really paying attention not picking up on any of Lacey’s signals.

“Thanks. I mean . . . I’ll see you around. I need to get back to work. The boss is calling,” (he wasn’t).

Alberto went back to reading his existential book and sipping black coffee, while Lacy daydreamed about Alberto.

“Hey Lacey!” Todd, the manager, yelled.

Lacey jerked out of her fantasy to feel the mocha latte burn her hand. She dropped the cup spilling it all over the place. Her manager ran over pushing her aside.

“I’ll clean this up. Go run your hand under cold water.”

Lacey rushed to the back room and ran her scalding hand under the icy water. Todd cleaned up the mess and filled a new cup for the customer, then he went in the back to see how Lacey was doing.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” she replied “Just a bruised ego.”

“You should put some aloe Vera on that.”

“Yeah thanks.”

Todd rummaged through the first aid kit and found a tube of aloe vera gel. He gently rubbed it on the stinging burn and wrapped her hand with gauze.

“You look tired. Why don’t you take your break now, and get something to eat.” Todd said.

“Thanks Todd.” Lacey yawned, “I feel like such an idiot.”

“It’s ok. We all have days like this. I had my fair share of burns when I was a rookie. Just get something other than coffee in your stomach and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she sighed.

Alberto closed his book and sat there stroking his soul patch contemplating nothing. Trying to read Nietschze in English is like trying to understand theoretical physics, a string of words exploding on the page. Alberto made conscience efforts to look thoughtful, smart, and like a social activist, but fails to practice what he preaches, like wearing leather shoes at PETA protests. He also failed his philosophy classes at NYU. Alberto, Vincent Hawthorne, was unable to define utilitarianism—the greatest happiness of the greatest number—Alberto only measured happiness according to himself. Remnants of Vincent.

Lacey was immune to Alberto’s narcissism, so when she asked Alberto about what he read he rattled off some philosophical mumbo jumbo. Lacey didn’t know the difference, but Todd did.

Todd watched from behind the counter as Lacey fawned over Alberto, while he was oblivious to her sweetness.

“You’re really smart,” Lacey cooed.

“I know. I majored in philosophy.”

“I can tell,” Lacey replied nervously.

Awkward silence.

“So, I get off in an hour. Do you wanna hang out and talk philosophy?”

Two alarms went off in Alberto’s head, “She’s going to find out I know nothing about Nietschze” alarm, and “I’m hungry and don’t want to wait an hour for food” alarm.

Despite his alarms, the innocent Lacey wouldn’t accuse VIncent “Alberto” Hawthorne of being a hack because she doesn’t know much about philosophy to see through his lies.

“Uh… Well, I have… to go feed my dog,” he stammered.

“You have a dog?” Lacey asked falling more in love with him.

“Uh… yeah. I rescued him,” he said proudly with a bit of a nervous tone, “from a burning building. His owners abandoned him.”

“Oh wow! You’re so brave!” Lacey said hanging on his every word.

The lies were getting easier by the nanosecond. “Yeah. The firemen wouldn’t go inside. I also saved a little girl, and a beam almost hit me on the way out,” he had her hooked. Alberto could go on forever, but he wrapped it up. “That’s how I got this scar under my eye.” The scar he spoke of had fainted over passing years. He got it on a family camping trip, his brother Jack accidentally poked him in the eye with a hot stick he had roasted a marshmallow on.

“Oh. I see.” She didn’t

“So, I have to go home and take care of my dog. He gets really sad when I’m not around,” his imaginary dog could care less about Alberto, but Lacey could use some furry comfort as her heart sank with sadness.

“Yeah, I understand. Your dog’s been through a lot.”

“Yes. Yes, it has,” Alberto got up to leave.

“What’s your dog’s name?” Lacey stalled hoping to get a little more time with Alberto.

Alberto mastered using the “thoughtful” pause, while stroking his chin, a clever stall tactic that led people to the dubious conclusion that he was smart. However, this pause had him befuddled.

“Calvin. It’s name is Calvin.”

Lacey’s eyes lit up, “Like Calvin and Hobbes?”

“Yeah sure,” he brushed off.

Vincent “Alberto” Hawthorne never heard of Calvin and his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, that only came to life for Calvin and their wacky adventures. Not much of an ironic twist.

Alberto rushed out of there as if his pants were on fire from all the lies he told. He left his book on the table. Lacey ran after him.

“Stop right there!” Todd yelled.

Lacey froze thinking Todd was going to scold her for leaving work early.

“I was just . . .”

“Lacey, you’re not in trouble,” Todd reassured her. She blinked at him quizzically

“Are you busy tonight?”

She looked down at Alberto’s book thinking she was going to try to find the owner of Twilight of the Idols, or How to Philosophize with a Hammer. Poor confused Lacey.

“You wanna go get something to eat and maybe see a movie?”

What’s a girl to do?

He put out his hand and she blinked.

“Sure. Sounds fun,” she put her hand in his. It was as if she just woke up.

She looked at the book “He’s such an idiot. Nietschze never said “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That was Jesus, the best philosopher. Nietschze didn’t believe in God. He’s the one that said ‘God is dead.’ Wow! How did Alberto graduate in philosophy not even knowing that? I mean that’s Phil 101.”

“He didn’t graduate,” Todd interrupted her thoughts.

“What?” Lacey sounded as if she got hit by a missile.

“He dropped out his second year.”

“Huh?” Lacey was confused.

“Sit down. This might take awhile,” Toddy pulled out a chair for Lacey and they both sat down.

“I grew up with him. He was going to go to Harvard like all the other Hawthornes.”

“But, Alberto’s last name isn’t Hawthorne…” Lacey realized Alberto’s lie mid sentence.

Todd fell in love with Lacey’s naivety, “His first name isn’t Alberto. It’s Vincent. He’s Vincent Hawthorne,”

“Hawthorne…why does that name sound so familiar.”

“Because you may have stayed in a hotel named after the Hawthorne’s.”

“Oooh. Them. Hawthorne Inn Hawthorne’s”

“Yep. Them.”

“So why is he Alberto Giacomo?”

Todd chuckled, “He didn’t want to be associated with his family name because he didn’t want favors, or get ahead because of his name, but really it was about his indiscretions.”

“Really?”

“Yep. His family was disappointed when he got ‘waitlisted’ at Harvard, so his dad made a donation and he was let in, but he was put on academic probation after his first year, and then he got expelled.

“What for?”

“The story changes from Hawthorne-to-Hawthorne, but the real reason is he slept with a professor. I told him he could stay with me and go to NYU. There was a scandal there too, so he just quit school and crashed on my couch. His parents cut him off for a year hoping he would go back to school somewhere else or just get a job. Instead of looking for work he plotted his new identity. He started getting a monthly allowance, just enough for rent and food, but it’s pretty low budget considering what he’s used to.”

“What does he do, other than hang out here drink coffee and read Nietschze all day.” Lacey tried to hide her contempt, but even Nietschze felt the disdain.

“He works part time at a call center. He makes pretty decent money for just himself, but not enough to keep the ladies. He’s always complaining about how much he’s not getting. He was quite the player in the day. Ever since he grew that stupid soul patch and started wearing flannels and beanies girls seem to run the other direction,” Todd chuckled. He looked up to catch Lacey giggle along with him.

Lacey rested her cheek on her hand and earnestly asked, “Yeah, flannels are kind of a turn off.”

Todd smiled, happy to know that Lacey was starting to come out of the Vincent “Alberto” Hawthorne spell. “He’s not as bad as a serial killer, but I just never understood the appeal. He didn’t look like that in high school and still got all the ladies. No matter how he reinvents himself girls seem to flock to him.”

“Yeah, when you think about it, he’s really just another hipster tool,” Lacey said.

“Don’t feel bad. Everyone falls for him. I’ve been friends with him for so long that I’m numb to his stupidity.”

“Well I’m glad I found out before we went out,” Lacey said halfheartedly.

Todd didn’t have the heart to tell Lacey she wasn’t really Vincent’s type. Despite the fact that he was semi-cut off, he was still a tool and dated either socialites (Hiltons) or wannabe socialites (Kardashians).

“You’re too good for him anyways.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No. I’ve always thought that. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time, but the whole manager, subordinate relationship was not appropriate. I hired you because I wanted to have an excuse to see you everyday. You’re more interesting than Nietschze,” he let out a short awkward laugh.

Lacey leaned in and kissed him. They both backed away and stared in shock. Lacey broke the silence first, “Sorry, I just thought…”

Todd leaned in to stop her from talking. You know that moment in a chick flick when they play the perfect song and the audience sighs because the boy and girl finally get over themselves and realize they are meant to be together? Imagine that scene, and that’s exactly what happened between Todd and Lacey.

Todd and Lacey went to the movies and went on many more dates thereafter. Vincent continued to suck and pretend to be a hipster philosopher, which really wasn’t working out for him. He continued to make up lame excuses why he shouldn’t go out with girls that he thought were beneath him, but, in reality, they were the best he could never get.