So I walk into a bookstore today, and first of all, THERE’S NOWHERE TO SIT. How am I supposed to read 200 pages of a book, not buy it, and saunter out two to three hours later and request the book at the library? Well, despite this gross shortcoming, I decide to browse the shelves anyway, skimming books that look interesting, while supporting myself on my own feet (preposterous, I know). As I’m leafing through pages, I let out a violent sneeze. Then, a saleswoman shouts from behind the shelf “BLESS YOU.” I respond “thanks,” as a reflex, she walks to me, stands uncomfortably close, and asks me if she can help me find anything. Now, that’s all well and good in a clothing store, but in a bookstore? I am no stranger to bookstores, and in bookstores (at least in the ones I’ve visited), there are not only chairs that you can sit in until your butt goes nicely numb, but there are employees who leave you to your own devices unless called upon to help, or to tell you to please get the hell out because we’re closed now and I just want to go home and you’re not going to buy anything anyway. At most, a wizened old owner will greet you from behind a desk piled high with yellowed books, then watch you with untrusting eyes as you browse. Okay, so maybe that’s a stereotype. Still, I did not appreciate having my bookstore routine interrupted by this loud salesclerk. So I thanked her, and walked out. Ha. That’ll show her.