Mind Picker : Between the Stacks

Funny things do happen in the book store all the time, and while I understand that most of my stories have an "I guess you had to be there" vibe, I'll share a few here anyway.

One day, I was passing by the horror section, and as a Dad was obliviously scanning the titles on the top row, his little boy (maybe three) was face-to-face with the Stephen King lower down (and as far as I could tell, he was eye-level with It, as pictured). The little guy said to his big sister (maybe five), "This is really freaking me out." She grabbed his elbow and tried to pull him away, saying, "Then you don't have to look at it." And the little guy stood his ground, and in a low and trembling voice said, "But I can't stop looking at it."

I took a call one day from a woman who said she was looking for The Longevity Diet by Leslie Beck, and when I looked it up I discovered that while we don't have it in stock, it is available to order. The woman then asked me if I needed her Mastercard to order it for her and I had to regretfully inform her that we don't take phone orders -- she would need to either come into the store to order it or do so from a home computer. She proceeded to scold me, "I've earned the right not to have a computer. I'm eighty-six years old." And then she laughed and said that she'd find someone with a computer to give her Mastercard to, and we ended the call pleasantly. But I smiled afterwards at the whole notion of an eighty-six-year old looking for a longevity diet book.

Just yesterday I took a call from a man who wanted to confirm that we had 18 and Life on Skid Row in stock before he drove out to get it. When I confirmed that we did have it, he said, "You want to hear something ironic? I live in Guelph and it's not in stock here, so I have to drive all the way to your store." That is maybe the least "ironic" thing I've ever heard. Dave said I missed a real opportunity by not replying, "And will you be needing a dictionary today as well?" (I would never say that, but I did smile at the customer's definition of "ironic".)

And a strange story: We have many regular customers who come into the store, and sometimes this familiarity breeds discomfort. One man (likely in his sixties) is one of those close talkers whose mind pings around from topic to topic, his speech punctuated by laughter at unlikely intervals. I do like to see him and can offer him a few moments of chat, but sometimes he gets going on tangents that lead everywhere and then I'm stuck listening to him for ten minutes or more, when I should be off doing my job. He waved me down the other day and asked me if I've read the book Solitude, and when I said I hadn't, he said that when he first saw me that day he was reminded of that book. (He never did tell me why I reminded him of Solitude and I didn't ask, because as I said, he makes me uncomfortable and I'm not looking to make it more personal.) He was talking about this and that and then he said that when he reads, his mind is always making connections to memories or other books, etc (when I told this story to Kennedy, she said, "Yeah. That's just called reading.") So, he says (and from here it was pretty much a monologue, so I'll report it as such):

As you know, I live out at the farm alone (I didn't know that), and for the first twenty-four, thirty-six, forty-eight hours, it's okay. I talk to the dog and the chickens and the horse and it's all okay. You know how I know when it's time to make a trip into town? (When the animals start talking back?) Yeah, yeah, when the animals start talking back (guffaw, guffaw). But when I'm out there, you know, every morning when I go to milk the cow, the first thing I need to do is warm the titties (he's rubbing his hands together, and I decide this is just meant as farmer talk). Before I put, you know, the machine on, I need to warm the titties, and Wanda -- I'll tell you in a minute why I called her Wanda -- she'll look back at me and...well, you need to know that cows are beautiful animals. Horses will bite you and kick you, but a cow, with those big brown eyes, they're just sweet and beautiful when they're looking at you. So whenever I warm up Wanda's titties, she'll look back at me and just go (moaning noises), you know what I mean? (odd laughter) So, why did I name her Wanda? Back when I was working (he described his job in a rush that I didn't quite catch, but it sounded vaguely agricultural and vaguely scientific), I made a visit to (some office) and they had a new manager and she put out her hand and introduced herself as Wanda Hardcock. And I had had my hand out, but once she said her name, I pulled it back real fast and said, "What? What's your name?" And, honest to God, she said, "Wanda Hardcock", and I was thinking that was too much like "Wanna Hardcock", and honestly, wouldn't you change your name? If that was your name? (Do I really want to know, therefore, why you gave the name "Wanda" to your sweet cow with the beautiful brown eyes who moans when you warm her titties? No. I don't.)

And right then, someone was buzzing in my headset, asking a question not necessarily directed at me, but I got to tap my earpiece and say, "I need to get back to work now". And the funny thing is that in the moment, this just seemed like the strange ramblings of a lonely old man. And it wasn't until I told the story to Kennedy that I realised he might get a weird kick out of telling shocking stories to strange women, and going over the kinds of stories he's told me before, he has often had to soften a story with, "You don't mind me telling you this, right? This is okay? Can I curse?" 

I should probably remember to record more of his strange tales. More tales from the stacks in general, even if it does seem like, "I guess you had to be there".