This is a story that children may not want to read.
There are a great many things that occur on a daily basis at Booth and Noble that may have readers of this blog scratching their heads with dazed wonderment. How on earth can this happen? Who does this?
For instance, take The Masturbator .
Here is a man who will spend nearly an hour in the one stall in the men's room. How do I know he is yanking his baloney pony and not just filled with one giant constipated mass?
He is standing facing the toilet, with his pants around his ankles.
He is not urinating.
It may occur to you now, dear readers, that I know too much about this man. That I have, sadly, spent time in the rest room waiting for this man to spurt his last spurt, to jettison his homunculi, into the water system of the city.
You would be correct.
At Booth and Noble, even we Grunts have to use the facilities from time to time. And when I have to wait an hour to release my inner demons, because some man is Jean-Clauding his Van Dam, I am not in the least bit annoyed.
Today, for instance, I was standing there as this man grunted and shunted his way towards the inevitably anti-climatic end. His feet faced the toilet and his pants were all the way down. I heard the charmingly rustic ripple of the toilet paper as he pulled reams and reams of it out of the holder. This went on for a number of minutes, which actually means he pulled almost an entire roll of toilet paper free from its moorings.
The toilet flushed.
It flushed again.
It flushed one more time.
I, bravely, stepped forward.
[Knock Knock].
Pause.
"Sir are you ok?"
Pause.
No answer.
[Knock Knock].
Pause.
"Sir," a little louder now: "ARE YOU OK?"
And then, with the flourish of a man who has been told that the OCB is now open for business, I hear:
"Yeeeeessssss...."
And then, (I am not making this up), the distinct sound of a "blip!" in the water. As if he were spitting in the bowl.
He exited the stall, nodded at me, and then left the bathroom. He neglected to wash his hands.
The Moral of the Story
The next time you are at a Booth and Noble, be very careful what you touch.
From a story of a man who found pleasure in the most discrete of stalls to a story of a man who did not:
After this incident in the bathroom, I am wandering through the cafe area of Booth and Noble, doing my rounds, collecting the books like washed up literary driftwood from the beach of commercialism.
It is 6pm: the dating hour.
A young man and a young woman slyly approach each other. He is short-haired, muscular, and tanned. She is verging on supermodel: thin, buxom, with tight jeans and a barely-there top. In any other situation they might be confused for the top 2% of attractiveness. They glance, meet, and shake hands. They sit at a table and the man offers to buy her a coffee and a delicious bakery item. He wants her: most of the rest of Booth and Noble, glancing over, do as well.
It is a first date: young love.
I swing by the cafe every 20 minutes or so, intending to pick up books and other detritus as I make my way through the story. But eventually, I start to walk by not to find extra books, but because I am so fascinated by this first date.
He: slumped in his chair, eyes glazed like a donut, staring into his coffee like he could see The Secret to leaving (hint: think really hard about it).
She: Talking talking talking talking talking.
A snippet of her babble: "I don't like my one sister, but I do like my older sister because she doesn't like my other sister. My brother is ok, but not my cousin who is not like me at all. She likes my sisters."
Every time I walk by, every 20 minutes, he is slumped lower and she is talking faster.
Every time I walk by, he looks at me, as if to ask me with his eyes to find an excuse to kick them out: a foot on a chair, perhaps? Spilling coffee all over the place? Masturbating in the bathroom?
If only he knew that such activities are not only permitted, but seem to be encouraged, at Booth and Noble.
They finally leave at 10pm, when the store closes. He walks out, slowly, followed by her. I hear her say, as they leave:
"This was really fun. You are a great listener. We should do this again!"
And he turns to walk into the bathroom.
4 comments:
Anyone who can squeeze one out while standing up should be applauded, sir, not ridiculed. I think you're jealous. God knows I am.
This comment doesn't really have anything to do with the post, though it was a good one.
No, sir, I just wanted to say that I honored you in spirit the other day. I had travelled to a town with a B&N, and needed to ask the information desk person about a book. I promptly stepped up and asked for "that book by that guy about the thing."
She played along and we had a laugh, but it would have been much more rewarding had she not gotten the joke. So I came away disappointed.
But at least I was thinking of you!
holy crap! this bathroom situation happens in my store almost daily. don't they know we're all onto them? and why do they always take maxim in with them? why not one of the other fine periodicals, like king or cosmo?
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