I managed to get stuck in my car a few miles outside of Boston during rush hour yesterday, and so when I saw a Barnes and Noble on the side of the road I figured I’d pop in and kill some time.
I walk in and take a look around. It’s a two-level store, with most of the interesting stuff on the upper level. I make my way towards the escalator. As I approach, a saleswoman intercepts me, smilingly pleasantly.
Her: “Can I help you find what you’re looking for today?”
Me: “No, I just thought I’d come in and look around - where do you have–”
Her: “–self-help books? Up the stairs and to the left.”
Me: “Err…no, uh… computers…”
Her, without missing a beat, and just as cheerful: “Oh! On the other side, near the history section.”
I thank her and scurry away, somewhat bewildered.
What the hell? I’m in a cheerful mood! Did I forget to shave this morning? Do I have stains on my clothes? Food in my hair? Blade marks on my wrists? Do I smell? Why would she assume I’m looking for self-help books? I wander around and find a bathroom with a large mirror. No, nothing obvious. As I leave the bathroom, and head through a column of shelves, I see the same woman coming up the escalator. She looks at me, and then quickly glances away and walks in the opposite direction. I look at the sign on the stand next to me - dammit! Self fucking help!
I spent the next hour hiding in the computer section, periodically taking furtive glances at myself with my cell phone camera.
I suppose it’s a good thing I wasn’t actually upset about something - she might have tried to have me committed.