A Lesson in Unmasking
The case study of Sol
There was a bookstore owner whose store I regularly frequented in my old hometown where I used to live. It was on a major thoroughfare in a bustling corridor with heavy traffic. But I didn’t care. It was worth the hassle. He had over 30,000 books, and he was always getting new ones.
The owner, whom I will call Sol*, was someone who I think was probably on the spectrum. There’s no term I am aware of that describes autistic people who have an uncanny ability to spot other autistic people, such as gay people who utilize gaydar to identify other gay people. Shall we call it “audar”?
Anyways, my audar pinged wildly for Sol from the first moment I walked into his used bookstore to the dozens of times I went back over the years. (Note: I don’t know that Sol was on the spectrum. But I strongly suspect he was.) He was quite the character. Every time I went into the store, there he was, wearing his long sideburns and professorial glasses, with a very intense gaze on his face.
I liked Sol, and I appreciated his complexity.
One could tell that Sol’s bookstore was his castle; it was a home away from home. In his bookstore, Sol was the master of his domain. If there were customers who wanted to trade in books that Sol didn’t want, he would bluntly say so. If customers pushed back against Sol to take the books he did not want, he could get brazen in his response.
“I already told you, I have enough Malcolm Gladwell. Do you have a hearing problem?”
Yes, Sol had a temper. He did not suffer fools gladly.
But Sol was also a genius. He was a polymath. My educated guess is that he read most of the books that came into his store because he seemed to have a comprehensive knowledge and almost a photographic memory of picking out where every book was placed. And he could wax eloquently about most of the books on his shelf.
So far, you might wonder what differentiates Sol from the ordinary used bookseller. After all, many used bookstore owners are somewhat eccentric. But from my perspective, there was a difference.
When I was the only one in the store and was browsing, Sol would begin to verbally stim by talking to himself, making noises with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. I hated it, but I must admit that I also loved it. Yes, it interrupted my train of thought in reading enough of the book to make an informed purchase, but I appreciated Sol’s quirkiness and need to stim. There was even something endearing about it. Yet his stimming would immediately stop when other customers came into the store. It was almost as if he was comfortable stimming around just me. And maybe he was; it’s entirely possible his audar was turned on, and he sensed I was on the spectrum, too.
Sol was a libertarian who leaned heavily to the right. The political section of his bookstore was filled with Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity, with no Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn, or Naomi Klein. One did not have to be Sherlock Holmes to determine where he stood on the political spectrum. Yet Sol had enough of the kind of books I liked to get me to keep coming back. He had authors I could not find in mainstream bookstores, like Theodore Reich, Foucault, Erich Fromm (a Marxist, Humanist-Freudian), and other rare books at reasonable prices.
I’m sure many customers misunderstood Sol. In fact, I know they did when I read the Google reviews of his bookstore.
How do I personally view Sol? He ran a tight ship because his work was also his blissful abode, and he was not about to let anyone disturb it. He would flat-out tell you that your question was naïve if you asked about something that he felt you should have already known. But while being notoriously cantankerous, he was always willing to help. Sometimes, this assistance would take the form of info-dumping on a cornucopia of subjects because…well, that is just who Sol was.
Why did Sol make an impression on me? Because he refused to stay masked. He unmasked himself every day on the job. Because he was someone who I strongly suspect was autistic and simply loved being at his job. He was wholly and authentically himself, whether you liked him or not. He let his bookstore and the quality of his products speak for themselves.
Now, Sol was white, and he obviously was male. He had the privilege to act this way. Sadly, I do not think a “black Sol” could have gotten away with some of the rudeness he displayed toward customers. Nevertheless, I was always happy to see Sol’s business thrive in an age where ebooks threatened to put him out of business. He was always getting new books in and was an aggressive trader. This is why people kept returning to his store — every two months, his shelves were always replaced with different books.
Some might view Sol’s unmasking as rude, privileged, and unwise as a business person. But he’s still in business, and as we speak, I think he is most likely sitting behind the book counter ringing up a purchase. (Sol would write each book, author, and price into a paper-filled database longhand when he rang you up at the counter. He did not use computers.)
Reflecting on Sol’s world, one can’t help but ponder the broader implications. His unapologetic individuality, coupled with the unique rhythm of his store, poses a question to the sanitized uniformity we often encounter. What if our daily spaces were more accepting of the unconventional, more celebratory of the myriad ways of being?
I dream of a world where we can all be ourselves while still being kind and courteous to others. If some of us are just “a little too honest” at times for other people’s good, let the neurotypicals of the world appreciate this as being part of one’s neurological makeup and not as a character defect — especially when it comes to autistic employees.
In a capitalist society where fitting in is often the price of success, Sol stands out like a defiant, colorful mural in a beige office block. His bookstore is his unmasked self, laid bare for the world to see. It’s chaotic, but it’s also a breath of fresh air.
The Sols of the world should have a place to call home.
