Blindness Girl finally settled on Eggers' Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

Q: Have you read this one? Is it good?

CJB: We only have good books here!

And then registering BG's flat, unhappy, totally humorless expression:

CJB: It's Eggers' best book. I'd say.

Q: What about Running With Scissors? Did you like that one?

Nothing but snake eyes today, evidently. It's days like these that feed my desire to permanently retire from customer service. And, before anyone fires off email claiming I'm just a curmudgeonly old man, please consider that I've thought this through. I ask for help all the time when I reach the limits of my retail competence:

CJB [to mechanic]: Should I get new plugs? Or a new battery?

CJB [to produce clerk]: Will this firm persimmon taste good? Or should I get a ripe one?

CJB [to climbing-store clerk]: Will this harness fit over my heavy winter pants?

As opposed to:

CJB: Do you like these plugs?

CJB: Have you ever eaten this?

CJB: Do you wear this brand?

I sympathize with the quandry of the person who honestly doesn't read much, and wants my help in picking out something they'll enjoy. But asking me for something I've read and enjoyed is exactly the wrong way to go about it. In the early days, I used to freely dispense books I'd enjoyed: Adorno, de Duve, Coetzee, Ross MacDonald, Maureen McHugh, etc. etc. etc. The books would inevitably return a day or two later, along with a host of depressing labels: dense, unreadable, sad, pretentious, elitist. Putting me in the unhappy position of not only issuing a refund to a pissed-off and unhappy customer, but also receiving an earful about my disappointing taste.
- posted by cjb @ 6:52 PM