On Saturday, I found myself with about six hours to kill in Towson Town Center in Maryland. With little money to spend and less energy to walk, I decided that it would be best to find a comfortable chair in Barnes & Nobles or Borders and read some free literature. I also happened to observe the unusual things one sees and hears when sitting in the same store for over two hours.
Of course, I was probably using their cozy chairs and lenient loitering policy for something other than their intended purpose. My guess is that the stores' owners hope that people come into the store, casually peruse a book or two that interests them, and then purchase those books when they know that it's what they're looking for. Perhaps it cuts down on returned books or boosts customer satisfaction. Maybe it justifies charging more than online retailers like Amazon.com.
However, the focus of this article is much simpler than the complex consumer-corporate relationship. It's going to start with the high number of people who place crazy demands on the first person they see when walking into Barnes & Noble. Now these are not crazy-crazy demands that win you a reality TV show or a trip to the local precinct, but rather innocuous requests for books, authors, and prices that each B&N employee is expected to know. For instance, some man walked into the store and requested some pretentious-sounding title from a woman at the desk. Just a title; not even something obvious like "Applied Economics for the Working Entrepreneur" that shouts it's location as the Children's Literature section. This woman pointed the man in a direction—I don't know enough about the store to know if it was the right direction. I do know that I would be inclined to send the man to the furthest corner of the store and then take my break. Really, at 9:30 in the morning I would be useless as a search engine.
The real excitement—if you can call it that—took place at Borders. Not that there's anything wrong with Barnes & Noble, it's just that Borders has a larger web design section and I'm a big dork. After finding O'Reilly's MySQL Cookbook by Paul DuBois, something most people consider to be the equivalent of a bottle of Tylenol PM, I settled down in a cozy, green chair to pilfer knowledge of the Structured Query Language. By the way, Query has nothing to do with the homosexual lexicon as someone once asked me, nor is it filled with food recipes. But I digress.
Anyway, I was sitting there reading my book when I hear a woman ask a salesperson where the restrooms are located. She went on to explain that the kid she was pushing in a stroller had "got sick" but she already told a salesperson downstairs about the mess. As the woman turned in my direction, I noticed that her child had "got sick" not just on the floor (or merchandise, perhaps) but also all over himself. I really can't blame the woman though--the Borders restrooms are harder to find than the Literary Criticism section, which appears to be an afterthought in the store's design.
I was not the only one reading in the computer section though. There were several others abusing the bookstore like a library. One man seemed to be interested in networks and network security. There was a woman looking to improve her graphic design skills. Then there was the gentleman who perused books detailing every Macromedia design tool ever invented. These three also hung out in the same area for at least an hour.
This article, like any story about strange happenings, also features a creepy older man. This guy sat down in an adjacent chair without any books, and said a simple, "Hi," to me. I turned my head and replied, "Hello," and went back to my book. As far as I'm concerned, that is as far as the conversation should go when someone is reading a book in a bookstore or library. There's nothing wrong with being friendly, or even conversational to a certain extent. However, it is not appropriate to ask a series of personal questions of a stranger when you are a weird old man.
The man continued, "What are you cooking?" I replied, "What do you mean?" Apparently, quite a few people don't understand the idea of programming "cookbooks." OK, no harm done. Unfortunately, this man went on to ask if I go to school, what year I am, where do I go to school, what do I study, what courses am I taking, and where do I live. My answers went on to become more vague and elusive with each round of that old man's interrogation. After he asked where I live—to which I replied "Pennsylvania"—I decided that it was a good time to leave the computer section. Besides, it was getting dark and the Database section is a bad neighborhood to be in after nightfall.
Oh, that MySQL book I was reading was placed back on the shelf. I used my cell phone to call home to find out if it was cheaper online; it is $15 less at Amazon.com, which is odd considering that Borders is partnered with Amazon. Bookstore loitering does have its benefits.