Strange booksale
So, I go in search of the book this morning. The plan - take She Who Might Just Hit Me If I Say Wobbled Again and a visiting friend into work, then drop into a bookstore and get a copy fresh out of the box. Simple enough, and I even had a Dymocks voucher for half the cost! But Wife and Associate want to be in town for 8-8:30 and Dymocks doesn't open till 9:00.
So, I wander the streets, looking in on the Star Mart (but labellementeuse obviously does not do the early shift (v. sensible IMHO)) and declining to buy coffee there or at Starbucks on Lambton Quay - got a moderately nice latte at Fuel on Willis St - this part of town is obviously not well served for decent coffee, unless I want to traipse back to Clark's in the Library. And I don't.
Wander down to Whitcoulls, just because I can - a young person is taking copies out of a box lackadaisically on the front display table. There seem to be about 20-30 copies available here. Wander back to Dymocks which finally opens - I'm the first customer in the shop, the manager is still shaking the rug at the door. Look around, can't see it, go to the counter. I should point out that this is like asking for directions - it's just something I don't often need to do.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'd like Nicky Hager's new book please"
"what's it called?" - What planet have YOU been on, sonny???
"The Hollow Men"
"I'll have a look"
The speed with which he operates the computer alerts me to the fact that this is a Trainee - even if they've got it, he won't be able to find it. But he has sense enough to ask his supervisor who a) has heard of the book and b) says "it should be out here on the stand. Wait a moment - I'll go find out".
By this time there is another customer looking hopelessly around the shop. As she comes back, she's carrying a book - A book. I say with a nervous laugh (I know he's there for the same thing) "only one left already?"
She looks confused, puts the book on the counter (and I can see it's not the one - she's playing with me!) and says that their courier hasn't arrived yet, but would we like to put our names down and they'll call us when it comes in (he's so transparent that she's sussed him as well)
For a fleeting moment, I consider trotting back to Whitcoulls but that voucher is burning a hole in my pocket so I submit and meekly offer my name ("2 m's in Lemming?") and phone number. I've wasted about an hour trying to buy this book and have nothing to show for it. Gloom, gloom.
11:30, the phone goes, the book's there and I race into town to buy it. By 12:10 it;s in my hot little hand and at last I can partake of the rich, rich scandal that is the Fall of the Brash. Except - there's a bunch of cupboards that need painting, then the ceiling and the bookshelves and...
Maybe I'll get to read the preface before I go to bed
So, I wander the streets, looking in on the Star Mart (but labellementeuse obviously does not do the early shift (v. sensible IMHO)) and declining to buy coffee there or at Starbucks on Lambton Quay - got a moderately nice latte at Fuel on Willis St - this part of town is obviously not well served for decent coffee, unless I want to traipse back to Clark's in the Library. And I don't.
Wander down to Whitcoulls, just because I can - a young person is taking copies out of a box lackadaisically on the front display table. There seem to be about 20-30 copies available here. Wander back to Dymocks which finally opens - I'm the first customer in the shop, the manager is still shaking the rug at the door. Look around, can't see it, go to the counter. I should point out that this is like asking for directions - it's just something I don't often need to do.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'd like Nicky Hager's new book please"
"what's it called?" - What planet have YOU been on, sonny???
"The Hollow Men"
"I'll have a look"
The speed with which he operates the computer alerts me to the fact that this is a Trainee - even if they've got it, he won't be able to find it. But he has sense enough to ask his supervisor who a) has heard of the book and b) says "it should be out here on the stand. Wait a moment - I'll go find out".
By this time there is another customer looking hopelessly around the shop. As she comes back, she's carrying a book - A book. I say with a nervous laugh (I know he's there for the same thing) "only one left already?"
She looks confused, puts the book on the counter (and I can see it's not the one - she's playing with me!) and says that their courier hasn't arrived yet, but would we like to put our names down and they'll call us when it comes in (he's so transparent that she's sussed him as well)
For a fleeting moment, I consider trotting back to Whitcoulls but that voucher is burning a hole in my pocket so I submit and meekly offer my name ("2 m's in Lemming?") and phone number. I've wasted about an hour trying to buy this book and have nothing to show for it. Gloom, gloom.
11:30, the phone goes, the book's there and I race into town to buy it. By 12:10 it;s in my hot little hand and at last I can partake of the rich, rich scandal that is the Fall of the Brash. Except - there's a bunch of cupboards that need painting, then the ceiling and the bookshelves and...
Maybe I'll get to read the preface before I go to bed