While I was shelving in the fiction section, an elderly lady hailed me down like I was a cab. I removed my earplug through which a novel was being read to me, and I asked how I could help. She asked me the date.
I told her that it was the Summer Solstice, June 21st. This merely confused her so I reiterated the date without any of the planetary fluff.
Then she showed me her Daniel Steele book, and pulled out of it her date due slip. She pointed to the due date. "Does this say July 8?" She asked.
"It does." I replied. "It isn't due for 17 days." I reassured.
She wasn't reassured. She was confused. "So is it due yet?" She asked.
"No, it isn't due yet." I said.
"When is it due?" She asked.
"July 8." I replied.
She walked away.
"I don't think that went very well." I thought to myself.
Fifteen minutes later she was back.
She asked all the same questions again.
This time I answered each one as clearly and briefly as possible.
It went far more smoothly, but it was way sadder.
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