So, the professor was in a bookstore.
And I was wearing jeans, a sports coat, and red shoes. (That’s important.)
Also, my eyes were shielded from the blinding book lights, by great sunglasses. #cool
All in all, I was in spy-mode.
Now, the funny thing was this: A chap came half walking, half sprinting towards me. His goal: the restroom. And he was wearing jeans and red shoes, too! (Boogie-wu.)
Amazing. I didn’t dwell on it, though.
See, I was looking about. From book to book.
Picking one up, then throwing it away just as quickly as I had picked it up–if it didn’t suit my fancy, which many didn’t.
I was getting into the process, too, when I was approached by a disgruntled older man.
“What’s the idea?!” he hollered in my face, swinging a book back and forth.
“Excuse me a few hundred times?” How dare he?
“You think slop like this is acceptable?!”
And he threw a book down on the table:
“Ohhhh…” I said.
“Yeah!” he stormed. “Exactly. How dare you! Jane Austen wasn’t respected in her day, and she sure is [bleep] respected now, is she? How dare you!”
I was quite shocked, I must admit.
A male Jane Austen fan? Wonder of wonders!!
“Look here,” I said, “I’m surprised you like JA. But you’ll be pleased to learn this fact: I didn’t write that book.”
And I nodded a few times.
His face grew redder.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“You mean because you read Jane Austen? No need to feel that way.”
“Let me make myself clear–“
“Please,” I interrupted, “’cause you’re sorta cloudy at the minute.”
“How dare you carry this book in your store! It’s idiot small business owners, like yourself, who let this kinda thing happen!”
“I’m the owner?”
That caught him for a second. He paused, even.
“The woman at the front said I’d find you back here… You and your horribly, ugly red shoes. That’s what she said.”
I just stared at him; he stared at me, still glowering.
Owner? Wow. I could play with this.
But then, the chap who came sprinting to the restrooms earlier came out of the restroom. I looked at his red shoes, then understood.
“He’s the chap you want,” I said.
And I made my getaway.
Moral: Don’t wear red shoes when the owner of a bookstore is wearing red shoes.
Lesson: Not learned