That One Time I...

…Went To The Bookstore

Despite a touch of a sore throat, I drove a topless Miku across the county to Barnes & Noble. I hadn’t visited this location since President Biden was busy packing a U-Haul with his belongings, and I looked forward to catching up with a former coworker that now toils here part time. Yet again we miss each other like the Yellow and Blue Line trolleys that rarely arrive simultaneously at the same Downtown San Diego stop. While I’m still quite functional, he’s down for the count with whatever is being passed around like a bottle of Jack Daniels at a poker game.

I browse the magazine racks for the latest reading materials, but the selection is about as appealing as the frozen dinners I now avoid like they’re gold diggers and sugar babies. Half a rack is all things firearms and hunting, and another is Taylor Swift sans the Kelce brother that’s playing tomorrow. None of my regular reads have new issues to take home, so I make a bee line for the Sports books section with a family of three tailing me as if I’m The Pied Piper leading them to victory.

I find the Ken Dryden book I’ll finish tonight on the shelf, but nothing else on Canada’s game. Everything is either baseball or football, and there’s only so many books and news articles on Pete Rose and Tom Brady you can read before you know more about them than their ex-spouses ever did. I then peruse all of the other sections in the store. Mystery & Thriller is ruled by The James Patterson Gang, the author plus a dozen cowriters that now include Dolly Parton in its ranks. Romance and its pastel colored covers remind me that all male protagonists must be at least six feet tall. 

Then there’s that other Romance section hidden in the back. It's the one stocked with only paperback books that no one dares to disturb. I then assume the Kindle versions of these tomes sell like gangbusters.

I think I find a safe space in the Current Events section, but then I'm trapped in the crossfire of The War of Ideas. Hillary Clinton and someone I recognize from MSNBC duels with Jesse Waters and a generic, clean cut guy in a suit posing with the American flag. I find it odd, even ironic, that they’re on the left and right sides of the same shelf. There I stand in the middle of these two extremes with Greg Gutfield, Lawrence O’Donnell, and someone I’ve never heard of documenting Tang Satan’s last year in office. 

I then flee that fox hole to the Biography section, where even the cover pictures of the subjects look as apathetic as the people milling about. At this point, even the optimist in me nearly gives up. One hand holds a folded, nylon reusable tote bag while the other clutches my hip in hesitance. Nothing in the store induce me into action. Not even the tall fortysomething blonde in athleisure wear that flashes me a smile when we nearly bump into each other. I’m just not in the mood for banter today. I barely muster the energy to say, “I’m sorry,” as I scoot aside to let her through. 

I resign myself to buy something from the Classics section so I don’t go home empty handed like today’s young men visiting the club. I already have the novella The Great Gatsby waiting in the wings, and now I have A Tale of Two Cities and All Quiet On The Western Front to accompany F. Scott Fitzgerald on my literary journey. 

By the time I pay for today’s purchase, I no longer have the stomach or the will to enjoy my usual chai latte at the Starbucks Cafe. I put the book bag in Miku’s trunk and then head home. Today’s shopping trip wasn’t a failure by any means, but with the way the world is acting and reacting to current events everything just seems so… insipid. 

Maybe that’s the real malady that’s making the rounds lately?