Adventures in Idiocy, part 412.

As I am a good son, on Saturdays I take my mother traipsing around town running errands. Today, the errand was to take her to a beauty parlor. Suffice to say, I was not keen to sit in the waiting area of said parlor. Who knows what kind of eldritch rites I might have unwittingly witnessed? There are things no man was meant to see.
In consequence, I hied myself off to the Barnes and Noble located next to said establishment, to spend a pleasant hour among books.
Imaging my suprise at finding, in the "New Historical Releases" section, the latest La Haye and Jenkins end-times pot-boiler. I snickered, thinking someone in the store had an arch sense of humor.
I then went to the information desk, where I had to spell the name "Wilson" not once, but twice to the aged gargoyle there esconsed.
"Pardon me, can you check to see if you have a copy of 'The Keep' by F. Paul Wilson in stock?"
"Who is the author"
"Wilson, F. Paul Wilson"
"Spell that?"
"W-i-l-s-o-n, Wilson"
"One more time please?"
"W-i-l-s-o-n, Wilson, as in 'Woodrow Wilson'"
"OH..Biographies are over there"
"No, that's not what...never mind, thank you"

I am now home, weeping silently.


-EDIT-
BTW, I bought
"The Anubis Gates" - Tim Powers (I needed a new copy having sent mine to a friend)
"The Doomsday Book" - Connie Willis
"The Clerkenwell Tales" - Peter Ackroyd

(no subject)

Middle-aged white people might run the world, but they shouldn't dance in public.


-End Transmission-