Out of This World

#136: Get Me Outta Here

I flew past the reed-like women with perfect hair, almost stumbling on a midget. Ack. I needed to get out of the place fast to catch my breath. There was such a high concentration of pretension and I couldn't, for the life of me, bring myself to carry on for another second with small talk under a plastic smile. There are only a number of comments you can come up with about a drink you don't drink. And there are just certain things I can't bring myself to look at or see. And so I just had to flee.

Flee to the consoling arms of this bookshop. There are nicotine addicts who just need to light a cigarette. Like a nerd, I just needed to get a book. Now. Just one good book. Please. And maybe I could spend the night reading in Starbucks while waiting for my friend to get out of the suffocating event. Yes, that was a good plan.

And so I frantically scoured the shelves for one that would draw me. Nothing. Why is this suddenly hard? Is Nick Hornby any good? I picked up one of his non-movie-tie-up books and put it down just as fast. Ugly cover. No one wants a book with an ugly cover. Max Barry. I want his other book. Now. No stock. Fabulous. Just fabulous. What about Rupa Bajwa's "The Sari Shop" which got a good review from Fortune Magazine? (Yes, business dudes read these things too.) Nada. I was starting to have a seizure. I saw a clerk lift up the phone to call either security or the hospital.

Then I bumped into an officemate in one of the aisles.
"Hey Gladys! Who are you with?"
"Uhm. Just browsing around." (*Not exactly THE answer to her question but yeah, like I would tell her I was alone in a bookshop on a Friday night while my companion was at some party with supermodels.) "What about you? Are you with your husband?"
"Yeah. He's in the next aisle."
"Good for you. Okay, gotta go. I have to find a book." (*Which book, I still didn't know at that point. All I know is that it had to be worth the walk there and it had to be good enough to calm my superficiality-shocked nerves.)

My friend was already asking where I was. Not at the party, that's for sure. Drat. I can't leave Fully-Booked without a book. It's like going to a formal fashion show party wearing jeans. It's ridiculous. But oh yeah, I just did that.

Now get me my book and get me outta here too.