I first worked at a bookstore when I was a senior in high school, volunteering for a weekly shift at the Friends of the Library shop. LOVED IT. Found some really great stuff. They liked me because during my shifts, if there weren’t new donations to shelve, I went through everything and alphabetized, checked to make sure books were in the right categories, and in the process always found books to purchase.

That year I also had an antibiotic-resistant sinus infection for eight months. The doctor finally decided allergy tests might be a good idea. The result? I have a severe mold allergy. The type of mold to which I am most allergic? The kind that grows in old books. I am something ridiculous like 35,000 times more sensitive to it than the average person. “Are you ever around old books?” the doctor asked. I laughed and said, “How much did my mom pay you to say that?” The shelf above my bed was lined with old books because I loved the smell, the musty odor, that slight (sometimes more than slight) moldy scent. I would regularly open old volumes and inhale deeply. And I bought so many books I would hide the purchases from my mom, but she noticed, obviously, the overflowing shelves, the stacks on my desk and dresser, the piles in my closet. (Some things never change.)

“Seriously,” he said, “go home and take every antique book out of your bedroom before you go to sleep tonight. I’m not kidding. If you keep breathing in that mold, it will eventually kill you.” I thought he was overreacting, but a few minutes after we got home, the nurse called my mom and said, “The doctor asked me to follow up and make sure you understand how serious this is. Get those books out of her bedroom NOW.” We were already in the process of doing exactly that; I’d been shocked and disbelieving at the news, but my mom wasted no time in finding a spot in the family room and helping me carry stacks of books out there.

It is not an exaggeration to say that my life and career path would have been different without this allergy. I’d been thinking about library science; obviously that was out. I fantasized about working in a used bookstore while I went to college; that was out, too. I did go to to graduate school for literature, but library research was difficult. There were times I would spend 45 minutes in the library, deep in the musty stacks, then go home and sleep for 12 hours. I could say that had an adverse effect on my grades, but I was kind of a slacker anyway.

Because this isn’t a coughing/ wheezing/ sneezing allergy, more the “starting to shut down” type, people often think I’m making it up or exaggerating it. Believe me, I wish I were.

I got a job in a mall bookstore the summer before my senior year in college. LOVED IT. Loved each of my five coworkers, the customers, the work itself. Spent way too much money on books. The store was part of a small chain owned by a much larger chain, though, and at the end of the summer they closed our shop and opened a big-box store nearby.

In grad school, I had several close friends who worked at and later owned a coffee shop attached to a bookstore. I was there so much that customers would confuse me for a bookstore employee and ask for help finding titles. I practically worked there even before they officially employed me. Again, loved the coworkers, had a blast, made great friends. And again, spent way too much money on books.

My first office job, which I started within two months of leaving that shop, was as book section editor for a trade magazine. I charted and wrote about trends in publishing, chatted with publicists, met authors. My company even sent me to work in one of our member stores for three days; it was good PR for them and fun for me. Best of all? I got free books all the time.

Later I found myself downsized, a casualty of the dot-gone era (unfortunately, a casualty whose stock options did not vest before the 25% “reduction in force” of which I was part, but then the company never went public, so no one ever made a cent on those lauded stock options). I lucked out and got a job at a huge independent bookstore where I had always fantasized about working. LOVED IT. So much that it sometimes felt like we shouldn’t be getting paid to have so much fun, but then I didn’t always bring paychecks home anyway because, you guessed it, I spent them all on books. It was fun and crazy and inspiring. I was there for a year before a combination of life circumstances and the need to earn a livable wage (and the fact that I lacked the self-control to resist the allure of that 35% employee discount) led me to another office job.

Four and a half years ago, I quit my full-time job to freelance. I figured if money was short, I could always work part-time in a bookstore while I built my client base. Yeah, apparently not so much. I have filled out at least seven bookstore applications since then and not gotten a single interview.

When I moved back to Colorado, I started going to thrift stores and, for the first time since I was 18, buying used books. I probably look like a freak; often I’ll hold a book to my nose and inhale deeply, trying to detect any trace of allergens. I also started finding some collectible and rare titles, and I got really excited about becoming a bookscout. I opened an Amazon store and fantasized about selling enough titles to open a brick-and-mortar shop, a cute little place with gently used books that didn’t smell like mold, maybe some new titles, a few CDs, pieces by local artists, poetry readings, a resident cat. I have always wanted to open this store, and I hoped the online business would take off.

It hasn’t. Last night I spent several hours going through my inventory and was disheartened to see how much prices have dropped on many titles, in some cases even in just a couple months. I recently found a first printing of a title I’d been looking for; research had indicated it was worth between $100 and $500, depending on condition. When I went to list it on eBay, there were other copies, allegedly pristine first printings, for $10. Often, prices are so low that I can’t imagine how sellers don’t lose money.

I have an acquaintance who used to have an Amazon store. “In my first year, just doing it as a hobby, I made $7,000,” he told me. “Then everyone started doing it and competing to have the lowest prices, and it just didn’t pay anymore.”

So I’ve moved some of the collectible, allegedly valuable titles from my inventory into my personal collection. Someday I hope I’ll be able to actually sell them for what they’re worth on paper. And maybe someday, somehow, I’ll have enough money to open that little shop, and I’ll find a place where it’s needed, where it will thrive.