As a Woman of a Certain age, I encounter two kinds of strangers: the charming, helpful kind, who grab my suitcase and heave it into the overhead compartment (unnecessary, but I’m touched and grateful); and the unmannerly kind who are incredulous that a Woman of a Certain Age can walk, talk, ride a bike, and browse at a bookshop.  

Why, I wondered, on a trip to a bookshop, was I dissed by an employee? 

Call him Mr. Game of Thrones. He has long hair, a partially braided beard, and a Tormand Giantsbane t-shirt. He used to work on the floor; now he has been promoted, or perhaps demoted, to the cafe. He used to be chatty. Now he is sullen.

I kept my order simple, because I didn’t like the vibe. After tapping repeatedly on the the decline-to-tip feature on the card machine – it is determined to get a tip – I received my drink and cookie, and Mr. GOT vanished without giving me a straw.  “Sir? Excuse me?”  No answer. So I nipped behind the counter and grabbed my own straw. 

And then I tried to find the poetry section.  The manga now occupied those shelves.   Perhaps the poetry was in the old manga section?  No. So where?

Once or twice a year, the store is mysteriously rearranged, seemingly by faeries and hobbits.  By night they move the tall bookcases of knicknacks and notebooks from the back to the front of the store where they block the excellent fiction section.  Or they move the fiction upstairs, and the nonfiction downstairs, or vice versa

I was stumped.  Where was the poetry?

All the clerks were frenziedly working as cashiers at this busy time of day.

I was on my own.

Then I glimpsed Mr. GOT, who had broken out of the cafe and was talking (conspiring) with a fellow employee, who had come from somewhere; who knows where?

I said, “Excuse me.  Could you tell me where the poetry section is?” 

Mr. GOT pointed. “Over there.” 

“I looked.  I couldn’t find it.”

He pointed again.  “Right there.”

“I don’t see it. Could you please show me?”

“Over there.”  He turned away.

And so I walked away, bemused and solitary, and finally found it on the far side of the self-help section, which would not have been my first place to look.  And, as usual, the poetry section had shrunk, this time from five to four shelves. I’m not criticizing, but couldn’t they stock a little more poetry just for the look of things? Wouldn’t the manga sales make up for the lack of poetry sales?

Anyway, I found what I was looking for, so I left, more or less, a satisfied customer.

Dissed, though!