Wandlust
There’s nothing so smug-making as being an bemused observer at someone else’s marketing frenzy. It provides a good and nearly harmless wallow in your sense of detached superiority.
I’ve never been interested in the Harry Potter thing. You might argue that I ought to be, as a matter of professional curiosity, but nope, I’m not. Valerie is an avid reader of the books, though, so on Friday night we headed up to Book City on Bloor so she could collect her pre-paid tome at the Midnight book release.
The store’s narrow aisles were tightly packed with various line-ups to the cash counter. The sense of contained chaos seemed to be contributing to the anticipation. Many more adults than kids, as was to be expected from the downtown neighborhood. The big box chain stores were probably attracting more families, with their pre-event activities for the kiddies.
A mom stood with a sister or pal, both of them exclaiming excitedly as a 12- or 13-year old girl made her way up to the back table to claim her copy. “Here she comes! Here she comes! It’s happening! It’s happening! We should have brought the video camera!” The girl herself was clearly happy but not having a bird about it.
I got to see a dad and his maybe ten-year-old son get into a tug of war over their copy. The kid, who was on a Razor scooter, had his book in its Book City bag. Dad wanted to get it away from him, allegedly because he was afraid he’d wreck the book, being on a scooter and all. “You bought me the book! Why won’t you let me have it?” the kid asked, not unreasonably. Dad grabs onto the book. Kid grabs back. The likelihood of book wreckage increases exponentially as they struggle over it. Finally dad tears the book from his son’s grasp and puts it away in the bag.
Oh, the magic!