Some notes from the front line on Black Friday: In a much appreciated decision regarding my beauty sleep, the boss had me work the late afternoon/night shift on the year's biggest shopping day, as opposed to the early, as in 6 a.m., shift, so I missed out on the doorbusters madness. Happy to report, though, that there was no pepper spraying, trampling/trampled customers, or other such ugliness. It seems that the only casualty was the toilet paper dispenser in the men's room. It was busy but not crazy, and the only real difficulty I had was with a customer over the intricacies of the words "may" and "shall" (trust me, too insipid even for me to expound on any further). My best interaction, besides seeing a good old former bookstore colleague I hadn't seen or talked to in years, came early in my shift when I asked a woman, who had the undeniable look of someone looking for something she couldn't find, if she needed any help. "No," she replied, "just tell me where you put my husband." Not as quickly as I might have hoped to qualify as a true witticism, I said, "Antiques?" She chuckled.
Which made me think of a great philosophical question, of the parlor game variety: Where would you be shelved in a pretty comprehensive bookstore? The possibilities are myriad, and I realize the answer for most of us might be subject to change at anytime, given all sets of circumstances, but think about it--if ten of your friends were asked to shelve you in a particular section, what would it be? Self-help? Psychology? Ancient History? Crafts? Science Fiction? Humor? Mystery? New Age? Auto Repair? Clearance? Meditate for three days and get back to me.
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