Barnes and Nobles, Where the S is Silent

I suppose that I knew I had an addiction.  They say the first stage is denial, a stage I remained in for about a six months before confronting my crisis.  One night, I finally admitted defeat and began seeking intervention.

It started out with just a page here, a book there, and progressed to the point of having an exorbitance of unopened books.  The defining moment came after spending a night out on the town.  Some people have their late night indulgences; Julia’s Empanadas on Connecticut Avenue is a popular one, finding a gem on eBay, another. I even knew of a man who purchased next-day plane tickets, only to wake up and realize he had missed the flight that he didn’t remember purchasing. But I digress.  On this evening, I returned home and found myself ordering books from Barnes and Noble.  Really? My late night hedonist tendency is buying books online.

With much work and restraint, I have cleansed myself of such a late-night folly.  As a consolation, I permit frequent visits to Barnes and Noble.  I have never been happier.  And who knew that trips to Barnes and Noble could produce such great encounters.

The first man I eavesdropped on was informing his friend that he recently became unemployed.  But his recent unemployment allowed him to spend his days at Barnes and Noble catching up on all the latest science fiction novels. If he’s lucky, I heard they are hiring skilled lightsaber-men in the Gelactic Republic.

And even better, I found a collectively rotund couple, pegged in their mid 50s, going through recipe books and toothily scribbling down the ones that appeared palatable.  At a time in my life where I feel my youthfulness fighting to escape from me, I am comforted to know that I haven’t resorted to this yet.

On another outing, I encountered a family of four, each sitting in a chair around a mahogany table, each reading a book.  This family outing quite remarkably resembled a family dinner, less the food and a bit more taciturn.  What a family adventure!

At this point, I am intimately familiar with the seasonal displays, similarities, and variations of each Barnes and Noble in DC Metro area.  If I eavesdrop on conversations at the Customer Service kiosk, I have found more times than not, that I could direct the patron to the appropriate section.  The only downside to having this wealth of knowledge as I see it, not that I’ve asked, is that none of these Barnes and Noble branches are hiring.

Beach H(e)aven

Memorial Day is a day that commemorates the men and women who have died while in military service.  More commonly, Memorial Day has come to symbolize the commencement of summer, with the opening of the pool and the extended weekend.  The holiday gives Americans the chance to sit in traffic not observed since last Thanksgiving, all in attempt to dim the effervescent shine of the sun’s reflection off the wintery-pale skin.

As such, Kyle and I had been invited to our college friend Kristen’s beach house on Long Beach Island in the quaint, traditional beach town of Beach Haven, New Jersey.  The plan was to be out of the apartment by 6am to avoid the parking lot of I-95. Perplexed by the sun edging its way into my tenebrous interior, I turned to my clock to realize that it was 9am.  So much for avoiding the traffic.

Our arrival perfectly coincided with the groups’ retirement from the beach.  As it turns out, sleeping through my alarm was the first blessing in disguise.  As the day progressed, each sand-snoozer’s hue transformed into tomato-patch red, not the bronze they had been desperately praying for.  I’m not talking about a tender-skin sunburn, I am talking about the kind that prohibits you from walking like a normal human and results in the zombie-swagger, arms elevated, legs apart to avoid all skin-to-skin contact; the intensity that merited medical attention.

That evening, the group displayed the zombie-swagger en route to the Hudson House, more commonly referred to as the Hud.  This house is the best dive bar on Long Beach Island.  A house in the middle of a residential development converted into a bar, it is like an old pair of shoes, slightly warn and tattered, but comfortable and dependable.  We pumped some money into the jukebox, sat down, and observed the surroundings.  I spent most of the evening observing the punch-o-meter, where men (and women) dumped dollars to demonstrate they were the alpha male of the mid-thirties bar crowd.

The second weekend blessing in disguise:  While the company in Beach Haven was honorable, my health was not.  Although I missed my chance to bake in the sun, I suppose God wanted me to commiserate with the group, and consequently, gave me pneumonia.  I am still waiting to discover the blessing.