This fine morning/afternoon I went to Barnes & Noble, the bookstore chain. Perhaps you've heard of it? ....srassin, frassin, rassin, mehssin....
Well, I went with the idea of asking them to carry a few samples of my book.
Note: certain elements are... uh... 'overstated' ever so slightly. You'll know the ones.
To the Customer Service Person I asked confidently, "Hello, can I speak to the manager?"
"Manager to Customer Service," he spoke into the intercom.
To the Manager, when she appeared, I said, "What's your policy on carrying new books? I've recently published this novel," I held the spectacular specimen aloft, "and I wondered if you wanted to have a few."
"Does it have an ISBN?" inquired the mean-looking woman.
"Why, yes, indeedly it does," I said, chipper as a squirrel.
"Is it returnable?"
"Beh... I dunno," answered I, taken aback.
Clickety-clack went the keyboard keys and soon enough I had my answer: a painful and resounding "no". And, as a side note, I found that under the ISBN and Title was the name 'Jennifer Leigh'... who was my editor at one point. Bah, humbug! That will have to be dealt with later.
So-- dammit-- I had to leave no richer than I came. And I don't like leaving that way.
I blurted my thanks like a choking fish and dived back into the salty waters of obscurity. To home, to home I went. And here I bloody well am.
Another day, another dead-end. But hey, it's the Age of Information, baby! Who needs bookstores when I have you guys?
Salute!
Julian
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