It's the holiday season and life in the bookstore tends to be a little more colorful than usual. People come in looking for "Theasasauruses" (sorry, ma'am, they've been extinct for years) and "the blue book that was on the front table this summer-you know the one by that guy who wrote that other book. I think he was on TV & it might have been a bestseller." There are the usual complaints that books are expensive and we don't discount enough (and for those of you that aren't familiar with the book industry, let me assure you, the margins suck and that's why we're not giving things away) and that when Sam's club has this in stock, they sell it for 42% off. The liberal customers complain that the conservatives have more books on the front table, the conservative customers complain that the liberals have more books on the front table and both sides are convinced that there's a conspiracy afoot. It's the time of year where we encounter many people who can only be compelled to set foot in a bookstore because a book is the only Christmas gift that'll make weird Aunt Tilly happy & since they don't read, how would they know what she likes to read? Fortunately, booksellers are endowed with nearly psychic powers and can usually extrapolate from a series of vague answers about Aunt Tilly's interests that, instead of a pile of romance novels & some chocolate, she'd probably prefer a Talking Heads CD and a book about Amish Quilts. And then sometimes you get one of those odd ducks like Kat had last night:
"Hey, can I get, like, a library card for here? Is this a library? Nah, this ain't no fucking library."
You're absolutely correct, my dear customer, this ain't no fucking library. Bless you for your clarity.