Change You Can Believe In

There’s no rhyme or reason as to why I do this: If I learn of a movie that’s in production and it’s based on a book, stipulating of course that the story or premise is up my alley, I’ll seek out the source material. It’s a habit I wish to curb because were I not to read the books movies are based on, I might enjoy the movies more. When I saw “Forrest Gump,” having read the book the week previous, I spent more time comparing the stories than I did enjoying the movie. I’ve done the same with “Munich,” “No Country for Old Men,” “Jackie Brown,” “Million Dollar Baby,” “Cold Mountain,” “Mystic River,” etc., etc…

I’d recently learned about a movie in production called “Men Who Stare at Goats.” Nice title, I thought. So I looked into it. Sure enough, it’s based on a book by Jon Ronson. Looking further, I found out that it’s about the U.S. Army’s research into military applications of the paranormal… and it’s non-fiction. Whoa! Isn’t that, like, the basis of every single Indiana Jones movie (‘cept it’s the Nazis or Russians seeking out these mystical MacGuffins)? Sounding fairly badass, I decided I ought to check this book out.

I called Barnes & Noble and asked if they had a copy of it.

“Yes,” the rep replied. “We have one copy left. Would you like me to set it aside for you?”

“Absolutely!” I said. Hours later, I arrived at the bookstore.

The demure sales associate in charge of the set-aside tomes pulled the single copy of Ronson’s book off the shelf and handed it over.

The damn thing was WRECKED!

Several pages were dogeared and smudged. The front cover was bent and the top corner of the back cover was torn off. It looked like it had sat in a puddle in the middle of a busy street for a day or two.

I held it up parallel to my frowning mug for the sales associate to see. She made an “ew” face as she reexamined the book.

“You got any other copies of this laying around?” I asked.

She checked the system, came up with a big goose egg, but offered an alternative, “If you want I can order you another copy.”

This would mean days of waiting, which just wouldn’t do. In waiting days for this book, I probably would change my mind and not want the damn thing. I wanted it now.

Then I had a thought.

“How ’bout you sell it to me at a discount!” I said. This was a great idea. In this depressed economy I’m sure bookstores are feeling the effects of fewer and fewer purchases and to offload a crappy looking paperback at a discount was probably something they’d consider, right?

The sales associate hemmed and hawed and said, “I’ll have to ask my shift manager.” Shit, I thought, but I was convinced I could still snag this book at a miniscule fraction of the cover price.

“Then ask away!” I said.

Moments later the manager greeted me as she slunk around the register station. She was round, pleasant and dolled up in a way that made me guess she was going to enjoy her evening after her shift ended.

“Hi, what can I do for you today!” she said.

I held up the book and asked her if she could sell it to me at a discount, y’know, since it was in pretty bad shape.

She looked it over and said, “There’s nothing wrong with it?”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “Look at it again! It’s been through the ringer! Looks like a dozen four-year-olds with chocolate on their hands used it to play catch!”

“Sir, it’s a paperback and sometimes the cover can crease if people don’t put it back on the shelf properly,” she said defiantly.

“That’s your excuse?! Look at the thing! Were you a grocer and this book were an apple with bruises and bite marks all over it, you’d pitch it! If it were a dented can of peaches, you’d throw it in the clearance bin!”

“But this isn’t a grocery store, sir.”

“No kidding, but you’re the manager of a bookstore that sells NEW BOOKS! I’d expect this kind of quality from a used bookstore or even a garage sale.”

“Sir, if you’d like I can order you another copy.”

“No, I don’t want another copy. I want this one and I want to know why you won’t sell it to me at a discounted price.”

“Sir, all of the pages are intact. You can still read it.”

“Yes, I can still read it, but it’s WRECKED! I’m very particular about my books. I like the way they look on my shelf. Yeah, I’m THAT guy. So do you wanna sell this to me at a discount or should I just take my business elsewhere?”

She gave me a dirty little look as she searched around in her skull for a compromise.

“I can sell it to you for five percent off the cover price,” she said, smiling, obviously satisfied with her decision.

I was appalled.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” I said. “Put it back on the shelf.” And I walked out.

As I write this, it is a day later. I was right: I changed my mind. I don’t want to read Ronson’s book anymore. May that copy forever sit on the shelf of that B&N branch for an eternity (not like anyone’s gonna buy it in it’s current condition anyhow…).