[usually a sign that I’m about to stop enjoying it.]
Guy: So, what’s good to read in here?
[He’s sashaying around the store.]
Me: There’s lots of good books. What kind of book do you like?
[He’s also grinning like the village idiot.]
Guy: Oh, I don’t know. Have you written a book?
[I confess I’m starting to get sick of the sashaying/grinning.]
Me: Are we going to do this all night?
Guy: What, me asking you a question and you not answering?
Me: Are you drunk?
Guy: Me? No, no, no. Why…? Oh, I guess you must get a lot of drunks in because you’re across the street from that place.
Guy: Do you look at writers’ stuff?
Me: Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.
Guy: Like, what they’ve written.
Guy: Well, I’ve written a book, and this guy told me to come down and talk to you about it.
Me: Has it been published?
Guy: No, not yet.
Me: Then there’s nothing I can do. We sell books, not printouts.
Guy: I wonder why that guy told me to come here then.
[Probably because he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.]
Me: I have no idea.
Guy: So how do I get it published then? Actually, how do I get them published. I’ve written most of a second book now too, so I guess I need both of them published.
Me: Well you either submit it to a publisher, or you pay to get it printed yourself.
Guy: Do you have an email, or a phone number or something? Someone I can contact?
Guy: I don’t why that guy told me to come here…