I am preparing for a trip and I love taking books with me. It’s my equivalent to music. I love looking through my “library” and remembering where I was when I read my books. The sounds, the smell, the experience’s all come flooding back.
This trip is no except. I want a book and I know which one.
Off to Indigo.
I find my book. Stand in line at the checkout.
When it’s my turn the cash associate turns my book over and reads the authors name and exclaims, “You know I didn’t know what Nick Hornby looked like until today.”
I was intrigued. She continues.
“He came into this store today and came up to my cash and said, ‘I am Nick Hornby, an author stranded in Toronto and I would like to sign some of my books.'”
“Are you serious!” I exclaimed.
My excitement was rubbing off and she lit up, leaned over the counter slightly and jubilantly replied, “Yes, he was here literally 15 minutes ago!!”
Nick Hornby. I missed him for a pair of shoes and all of a sudden their newness doesn’t seem so bright and I didn’t even get a signed copy of his book.