I worked at the Pleasantville Library Book Sale today. They realized quickly that I was bad at the cash register. And soon, my co-cashier's sorority sister from 1977 showed up and it was old home week. So I sprang myself to work on the tables.
This suited me.
Although the staffers / volunteers there had divided the books up into different sections, it was and always has been a mess. The book titles go every which way. Authors are scattered all over the place and the other volunteers are absolutely blind when it comes to genres.
Yes, I know P. D. James is a mystery writer, but she wrote Children of Men, which is actually science or speculative fiction. Over she goes to SF.
I was squaring away Robert B. Parker when something shoved against my butt. I stood and saw a man walking by with his kid on his hip. I thought the kid might have bumped me with his tennis shoe.
"Sorry," the man said, "I didn't realize my wallet was so thick."
He got a few paces away and I said, "I didn't realize my ass was so huge."
But it is. No more ube pie?? Say not so!
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