I found myself being carried out of a bar by two security guards in Berlin, Connecticut—my feet dangling like I was in a comedy sketch. This was, without a doubt, the craziest booksellers meetup I’ve ever hosted.
In 2019, I hit peak confidence. I had gone from living in my car the previous year to running a book business on pace to hit $100,000 that month with a 25% profit margin. That was triple what I would’ve earned if I had pursued a career as a physical therapist.
My journey revolved around sharing my success on social media. I traveled across the country sourcing books, creating content, and helping others build their own book businesses. This led to the launch of RestrictedInventory.com, a platform where sellers sent me their restricted textbooks, and I sold them for a 50% profit split.
It was during this whirlwind that I decided to host a booksellers meetup in Connecticut while visiting Steve Raiken—a connection that would later turn into a friendship.
We kicked things off at a local bar, where five of us gathered, bonding over beers and shouting words like “sales rank” and “eScore” at increasingly louder volumes.
As the night progressed, the vibe became more electric. At one point, a fellow bookseller in his mid-40s tried to impress some women by showing them my YouTube channel, only to ask me how much money I had in the bank. When I proudly said “5k,” the reaction was less than stellar. Let’s just say it wasn’t the flex I thought it was back then.
After bouncing to another spot, I danced with a Latina to merengue while the Connecticut crowd clapped offbeat. Things were still lighthearted—until they weren’t.
It all started with a clumsy bookseller named Bobby Finn, who spilled a beer that exploded all over me. I laughed it off, but the girls standing behind me thought I was laughing at them. Their anger escalated, and before I knew it, shots of vodka were being thrown at my chest.
The situation spiraled when “Flannel Shirt” (a guy mad at me for allegedly flirting with his sister) decided to involve himself. He bear-hugged me from behind, triggering my patience to snap. “Get the fuck off me, bitch,” I shouted, just as two massive security guards intervened.
Despite my protests and the absurdity of the situation, the guards believed Flannel Shirt’s accusations. They carried me out of the bar like a misbehaving toddler, depositing me outside.
The rest of the booksellers joined me outside, where emotions were running high. At one point, I even considered grabbing the bow I’d purchased earlier that day from my car (thankfully, cooler heads prevailed).
We eventually dispersed, but the adrenaline of the night lingered. In my post-chaos confidence, I invited Bobby to crash at Steve Raiken’s place—on the living room floor, no less.
The next morning, Steve woke up to a grown man camped out on his hardwood floor. Let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled, and he politely asked me never to do that again. Lesson learned (sort of).
This meetup wasn’t just a night of chaos; it was a testament to the camaraderie, unpredictability, and absurdity that often comes with the bookselling community.
To all my fellow booksellers: Keep sourcing, keep building, and maybe leave the vodka shots out of your meetups.
Much love,
Avery
