Bookselling

I will admit, being a bookseller did not always require me to wear an apron. If I worked in, say, the stock room, sometimes I'd slip on an over-the-shoulder number and meander through the stacks, trying to make order out of the chaos. God forbid I make a trek out of the stock room and onto the sales floor in my apron; I was like a beacon for all the browse-weary shoppers lost in a sea of books.

I could not make it ten feet without being accosted.

"Excuse me, I need help finding a book," Customer asks. Mind you, this is not asked with a casual calm but rather a repressed panic that shimmers with serial killer qualities -- customers who want something want it now.

It also doesn't matter that I'm carrying an a stack of books to my chin.

"Let me just get these books out of my way," I say, "and I'll be right with you."

Customer shakes her head, as if I'm spouting gibberish. "I just need to get that new book from the author who wrote...gosh, what's that one book? The one about the dragons?"

"I need a little bit more than that to go on," I say politely as my arms start to shake under the weight of my book stack.

Customer is snapping her fingers to herself, looking at the ceiling, trying in vain to remember the title or author of the book she's jonesing for. If my experience tells me anything, she's going to say she heard about it on the radio.

"I heard about it on the radio," she spits out quickly, rather proud of herself, as if this would be the one piece of evidence I'd need to know exactly what she's talking about. Customer is still oblivious to the stack of books growing precariously heavier in my feeble arms.

"Miss, I'm really sorry, but I'd need a title or an author to know what it is you're looking for."

Faster than a junior high school girl vying for a boyfriend, Customer turns on me. "Don't you guys know about the books that are advertised on the radio?" she barks at me.

"Not every single one," I answer as politely as possible, given my situation. The books in my arms feel like I'm carrying a dozen sandbags; they are on the brink of spilling from my hands. "Especially books about dragons. They're not exactly high on the list of Must Haves."

Customer curls her upper lip in disdain or disgust, it was hard to tell with my vision blurring. "This place is called Bookstore Galore Booksellers, right?"

"The last time I checked," I answered.

"It's imperative I find this book. It's for my son. He'll just go crazy if I don't find it for him."

As sympathetic as I am to wanting to read the next book in a series about dragons, I can't help but sigh, pray to the heavens that what is about to happen next doesn't get me fired, and I allow the stack of books in my arms to tumble to the floor. It was quite the spectacle. Customer jumped back as if I'd dropped a bucket of sewer water at her feet.

"Shit," I said under my breath.

"Oh!" Customer says emphatically. She leans forward, grabs a hardcover book from the mess at my feet, and says, "Here it is!" Without even a "thank you" she is gone.

Frustrated, but not unused to being treated like a piece of bellybutton lint, I get on my knees to start collecting the books that have fallen this way and that. It isn't long before I hear the inevitable, "Excuse me, can you help me find a book?"