the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
12.30.2005
A Quick Trip to Barnes and Noble.
Yesterday, upon the insistence of my dad to go to the bookstore and try to "figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life" (the dreaded phrase of all 20-somethings with few solid plans for the future), I took a little trip to Barnes and Noble and purchased a few books.
I carried my two books to the register where a friendly gray-haired broad took them in her grisled hands to ring up.
To my horror, she held them up to her bespectacled face, one by one, scrutinizing the cover and looking at my face, back and forth. "Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm," she muttered, between glances.
Can I just digress for a moment and say to all of you retail people out there that inspecting a customer's purchases is perhaps one of the most embarrassing, dickheaded things you can do? For instance, I was on the verge of a panic attack when I was at Duane Reade one day buying lube, pantiliners, and anti-farting medicine not too long ago (a.k.a. most embarrassing shopping experience ever), and I kept trying to decide whether to avoid eye contact with the cashier or to just bolt out of the store. Having a 16-year-old Duane Reade cashier with hair extensions and acrylic fake nails exchanging giggly glances with a co-worker about my generic anti-gas pills is one of those things that makes me want to kick an infant like a field goal.
Anyway, this was, at least, a well-intentioned gray haired lady, so I really can't hold it against her. Plus, it's not like I was buying anything completely mortifying like Scat-Play: a Beginner's Guide to Shitting on Your Loved One or So You Have Hemmorhoids: Living with an Engorged Anus or whatever. Well, not this time, anyway.
The lady took the book, looked at the cover carefully, slightly nodding her head with each word of the title she read. She then slowly looked at me, with a "oh, you poor soul" look on her face.
"I like it," she said, reaching out to pat my hand. "Yeah, um, it looks like an interesting read," I replied politely, looking around to see if there was anyone staring. There was. I started to gather my typical nervous mustache of sweat that appears when I am in uncomfortable social situations.
Again, she took the book, scrutinized the title carefully, this time nodding her head animatedly. She grinned widely, holding the book up and waving it around to show everyone around us the cover in an "Ah-ha!" moment of realization.
"Ahh. Ah, NOW it all makes sense. I see now. Ha! Ha! Ha!" she said, as she laughed like The Count on Sesame Street ("One! Two! Three bats! Ah! Ah! Ah!"). "Yes, I guess it all follows a pattern," I said, sighing with a tired smile.
"Well, good luck with all of that," she said, wrinkling her nose while peering at me over her glasses, another classic pitying "you poor thing" look.
"Thanks."
I looked behind me and saw a tired, frazzled, fat, middle-aged woman holding the grubby hands of her three preschool-aged children (who had shortly before been chastised for running around, screaming, and throwing romance novels at each other). Even SHE shook her head in pity and gave me a look that said, "Well, I don't envy YOUR life."
I took my bag of purchases, went to my car, and drove away.
Later, when I was driving home, I looked back and glanced into the backseat at the other several books I'd taken out at the public library earlier that day, along with a "lawyer-ish" DVD I had taken out as well, in hopes that it would lend me some valuable career guidance:
[Peek-a-Foo]
