duck-shaped pain

27 June 2001
The Most Unwanted Sibling Of All

Tonight was Reading Every Magazine night. Something I do when I'm bored, broke or on Wednesdays, whichever comes first. I go down to the Enormous Chain Bookstore, buy some coffee, and proceed to read through dozens of magazines.

I used to buy magazines a lot. I still do, when I'm somewhere where zines or decent music magazines are to be found. But years of reading magazines at bookstores where they don't make you feel guilty for doing so and the free magazine exchange at the library have sort of turned me off of spending the money.

So I grabbed a bunch and sat down to read. There were four chairs surrounding this table. I was in one, and two others were occupied by pre-teen boys (both had just finished sixth grade, I later found out), both surrounded by stacks of books. One was engrossed in books about the German military, the other was reading about orchids. Sort of on complete different ends of the spectrum there -- I have no idea if they were actually friends.

As a whole, it seemed to be a theme night at the bookstore tonight. Bring in Your Precocious Child and Get a Discount or something like that. As I sat reading my magazines (the glory of magazines is that you can read them without paying attention at all), I watched one kid, clad in his karate uniform, torment one of the staff (this guy is sort of a jerk overall, so I was cheering for the kid). Mr. Employee was bent over one of the tables, straightening the books laid on it so that they were precisely square with the table's edge, flicking dust off of the covers, and other analities.

The kid wanders over. "Hey you," he addresses Mr. Employee, "Bonjour!"

There is no response. "Did you hear me? BONJOUR!"

The employee finishes his important and precise straightening duties, and turns around. Six-foot-four meets four-foot-five. "Sorry. I didn't hear you. I don't understand French," he replies, snidely. Don't I get enough shit working here? People leaving their magazines out and putting the books back wrong? People who ask me, "I don't know the name of this book, but I can tell you that it had a blue cover and was on TV. Can you look it up for me?" And now some kid in a strange pajama-like costume is yelling things at me. You knew he was thinking that. You could see it in his furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

"Everyone knows what "bonjour" means. Even my little brother. You're a big guy, and you don't know that?"

"Let's find your mother. Go see if you see her over there and leave me alone."

The kid scurries off. Vocal vibrations or just waves of sadness have caused some of the books to move slightly, so Mr. Employee went back to subduing them. Several minutes of silence pass. Then, exploding from one of the aisles, "BONJOUR!"

He looks up in gruff annoyance. He shoots evil rays from his eyes at the kid. "Hey, this isn't your playhouse. Now go find your mom or I will find her for you."

The kid doesn't budge. "Bonjour!" he says again, quieter this time. "Bonjourbonjourbonjourbonjourbonjour!" Then he kicks Mr. Employee in the shin and takes off again, screaming, "Bonjourbonjourbonjourbonjourbonjourbonjourbonjourbonjour!" It could have gotten uglier, but the books were out of place again. Mr. Employee seemed torn between two elemental urges: KILL vs. STRAIGHTEN. Luckily for the kid, the latter won out.

The third chair was now occupied, by a man and a woman, both in their early twenties. I really hate it when people decide to share the chairs. They're wide enough that people think sitting two abreast will work, but it never really does. Either one of them ends up sitting on the other's lap (which is not cute when people who can actually vote and buy beer do it, no matter what they think) or sitting with their asses half on the seat, half on the chair arm. Being in such close proximity to each other inexplicably causes the people involved to talk more loudly than usual, I've found. People who would completely ignore each other if sitting in different chairs now have a irresistible urge to Share, often reading things out loud to each other. It's also a good bet that people who share a chair will be reading very similar books for some reason -- house plans or wedding books, more often than not. Books which require Sharing.

These people had been in line in front of me at the coffee bar. The girl was sort of giggly and flaky. They seemed like crunchy granola-y people who had been forced to dress up a bit for work -- tucking things in and wearing the nice Birkenstocks. All the drinks are described on the menu board. Still, they had many questions. "Is a large twice as big as a medium? Does this coffee taste like Seattle coffee?"

They finally decided on tea. There was a big display right in front of them with all the teas on it. They decided on the basis of smell, which means that they both opened up and took a big whiff of every single container. Which took awhile. There was much debate. Finally, the clerk decided for them. "This one's my favorite�"

So there they were, sharing their chair, reading (yes) wedding books. They weren't Sharing too loudly, which was nice. Then the girl decided to talk to the boy reading the German military books.

"You shouldn't read that book."

"Why not?" the boy said.

"Because you should read something beautiful."

Blank stare.

"You should read my favorite beautiful book, The Celestine Prophecy."

Blanker state, followed by renewed interest in tanks. Much concentrating, as if he could make her go away if he just didn't look in her direction.

Talk about behind the times. The Celestine Prophecy was every nutjob's favorite book back in 1996 or so. I'm sure that en masse, the nutjobs have found something to take its place, but this girl was clearly pining for the good old days.

The last time I thought about that book was when this guy that I sorta kinda dated sorta kinda dumped me for this blonde, audibly tan girl who worked for the phone company and who claimed her life had been changed by that book. She also wore tank tops every day, even out in the snow. The relationship lasted two weeks.

Flaky Girl left her chair and disappeared, heading for the bathroom. She is gone a long time, longer than your usual bathroom break takes. She comes back, carrying a book wrapped in one of the store's bags. She had made a purchase.

She handed the package to the boy. "Now here you go, here's a copy of your own. Consider it a gift that will change your life."

He opens it up. Yes, you guessed it, it is�The Celestine Prophecy.

Puzzled, puzzled looks.

"Thank you," the boy says, handling it gingerly, like you would handle a birthday gift that consisted entirely of underwear. "I don't know if my mom will let me keep it. I'm not supposed to take things from strangers."

"Well, after you read this," she replied, "we won't be strangers any more. We'll be like brother and sister."

What did Flaky Guy do through this entire time? Nothing. He just stared at his book on wedding planning. I guess you learn to filter out some things about people early on.

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