Some guy just walked in and asked where the bathroom was, and then went into the women’s. He came out and I told him he should read the sign next time. Ha ha ha, he said. I really had to go. So, you selling books here? No, I’m providing bathroom services for idiots. I’ve already served you, now get the #@$& out.

“My name is Oleg Thimchyshin. I am writing you a letter with a small request.
Please, if possible, send me gifts, such as: markers, shirts, caps, candy, balloons, child's play, etc.
My address is…..”

In my country, we are so poor that a pedophile cannot even buy his own supplies.

…..I have about six boxes of medical books from the ’60s. Who should I contact about doing something about them?

Me: Um, your garbage man?

…and got really upset when I told her I would love to answer her question, but I didn’t understand what it was:

“I am Looking for more information. I found quite a bit about Aqua Book’s Webside as I found or saw? Sorry, however, I thought I simple enough with why I was asking—?”

Sorry, I not simple enough, apparently.

“Hi. I wanted to drop off some music again for you to listen to and see if you wanted to book our band. I’m hoping you’re in a little bit better mood than you were last time.”

And that’s supposed to put me in a better mood? I had my fill of passive-aggressive punch at Christmas thanks.

I looked up the old dude from his day job website.

“I have been a therapist for 45 years …  counselling burned out, over worked, under empowered and extremely distressed people.”

I guess he was trying a tactic on me. Too bad he lacks experience with the over-empowered. I might book his band of merry old jazz cats anyway. I feel like I’m in a bit of a better mood.

…from someone I don’t know.

The subject line was Info on Venue Rentals. The body of the email contained this:

Thks
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone on the MTS High Speed Mobility Network

I replied with:

Hi,

A subject line isn’t an email.

Thks
Kelly Hughes

Soon we’ll lose all of our words, and be back to cave paintings. I guess the Internet is kind of one giant cave painting, isn’t it?

Her: Hey, is your restaurant closed?

Me: Yes it is. I’m very sorry.

Her: How’s the food at The Garrick?

Me: They have a restaurant?

Just had a delicious tuna sandwich on dark rye with a Caesar salad from The Fyxx on Albert.

Sorry, we’re out of Caesar salad. Is the garden salad okay?

Sure.

Ohhhh…..no more rye bread. Corn bread okay?

What other kind of bread do you have?

Just wraps.

Okay, corn bread is great.

Great. Alex, where’s the tuna? Uhhh, looks like there’s no tuna. I’m sorry.

No problem. How about egg salad?

Mmmmmmm……Tuna on rye with a Caesar salad. Nothing like it.

Just had someone walk in and say, “These books are $1? Will you be giving them away soon?” Then the phone rang, and “Do you have anyone there who can write a book for me? I have a great story, but it’ll take me too long.”

Him: What time are you open today?

Me: We’re open until 10pm tonight.

Him: What time do you open?

Me: We’re open 11am to 10pm.

Him: And you’re closed between 1 and 3?

Me: No. We’re open 11 to 10.

Him (getting insistent): But you’re usually closed 1-3, right?

Me: No.

Him (thinks I’m lying): You used to be closed from 1-3.

Me (mad): No, we never close during the day. We’re closed Mondays, so maybe that’s what you’re thinking.

Him (whatever): Yeah, okay thanks. Well I have something to drop off.

(Later on, he walks in. Looks at me suspiciously.)

Him: You change these?

Me: What?

Him: These signs on the door (he indicates the three year-old signs that don’t say we’re closed 1-3), you change these?

Me: No.

Him: No?

Me: No.

Him (sick of my bloody lying): Yeah, okay. Here’s your package.

(He walks away, shaking his head in contempt at having to deal with liars and cheats.)

….and this time I won’t bother with my end of the conversation because it was just a rambling crazy call (from Toronto btw). All the crazy is not here because I only started writing it down halfway through.

“Write this email address down [he spelled it out several times]….if you look this up without the Facebook, you’ll see that I have three kids and six grandkids [he named them all]…look this email up and you’ll get all the information about me you need…you work in a bookstore so you must have high intelligence…look it up and you’ll see that I’m the legal Prime Minister of Canada, but I will not be recognized as such until the four Ukrainian families that own the NHL, the four families were taken hostage in 1987, including my mother, and I will not be recognized as the legal Prime Minister of Canada until the four families are set free. Show my email address to any treasonous bastard police officer in Winnipeg and you’ll find out…”

I hung up somewhere around here. Word on the street is that this dude will be running for Mayor of Toronto when Rob Ford is done. 

Some guy just came in and complained that we have no German history in our history section. I almost told him it was all in the war section.

[usually a sign that I’m about to stop enjoying it.]

Me: Yep.

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?

[touché]

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.

Me: [nothing]

Guy: Do you look at writers’ stuff?

Me: Not sure what kind of stuff you mean.

Guy: Like, what they’ve written.

Me: Sorry.

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?

Me: No.

Guy: I don’t why that guy told me to come here…

….when this guy walked in the store. A little background first. It was almost 10pm on the evening of our biggest single event of the year so far. Playwright/pianist/national treasure Tomson Highway was performing in our theatre upstairs, and there were 120 people up there listening. (We had to turn away about 40 people at the door.) Ariel and I were sitting at the front talking, waiting for things to wind down.

The guy walked in and made one of those friendly (and insincere) comments someone makes as an opening line when they want something. I wish I could remember what it was, but it blew by me. I answered non-committally. Then this guy produced a book. (Let’s call this guy GG.)

GG: Do you have a copy of this book?

Me: (I look at it.) Uh, nope, I don’t think so.

GG: Do you want one?

Me: Are you [insert author’s name here]?

GG: Yes, I am.

Me: Yeah, we don’t really sell new books.

GG: (With a five-dollar smile) Would you sell it if it was used?

Me: Probably not. Did you publish the book yourself?

GG: Yes.

Me: Well, I assume you’ve had your launch at McNally and sold your forty copies, and they’re stocking it now. Am I right?

GG: We have the book at McNally and a number of other places in town, and we’re looking for a few more places to sell it.

Me: That’s about all you can do with it. Honestly, the people that will be most interested in it are your friends and family. If I put it on the shelf here, it just wouldn’t move. Price point and subject matter, and all that.

GG: That’s your opinion.

Me: Uh, I’m just telling you that it’s not going to move here. I’ve been doing this for twelve years. I know my store.

GG: You’re really brushing me off here, aren’t you?

Me: I’m just telling you that we don’t sell self-published books. Winnipeg is the DIY capital of Canada, and as such, the city is crawling with self-published books. Your book just isn’t anything we can sell here.

GG: You may think I’m some local guy, but I didn’t write this book in my backyard you know. I’m a trained psychologist. I’m on the radio, you know. And my book is really good, and people are going to buy it. I thought Winnipeggers supported the efforts and success of one another, but I guess I was wrong.

Me: Uh, okay, well best of luck then.

GG: Yeah, thanks.

Now on further reflection, I realize that I should support the efforts of this author. He is on the radio after all. His name is Gerry Goertzen, and his book is called, Relational Tri-Umph: Solving Relational Stress and Building Relational Success. For the money ($18.64), Gerry’s advice on relational success is pure gold. I can personally vouch for his ability to steer you away from relational stress and into relational success. He’s an expert.

Unfortunately, we have no copies on our shelves, but it is for sale on Amazon.