That's Not How You Wash A Squirrel: A collection of new essays and emails.
Page 10
Yes probably. They'd also explain cost per conversion statistics, demographic expansions and response rate ratios. They can't help themselves. It's like an involuntary tic or a really boring form of Tourette's.
I once attended a marketing meeting where people talked about Adwords campaign statistics for two hours. Which, in my opinion, is about one hour and fifty-six minutes too long to talk about anything. At around the forty-minute mark, I honestly thought I was going to die.
In regards to procedures, I just figured it was better to be told off than told no. Seeking permission involves far more variables than pretending you didn't think there'd be an issue.
Besides, it's sitting on a chair. If it was possible to measure the difference between sitting on a chair and sitting on a chair by prior arrangement, nobody would. If someone did, everyone else would state, "That was a bit pointless. Don't you have anything better to do?"
I don't require books ordered as I'm not expecting a crowd. I'll have a couple with me just in case but, to be honest, I'm only popping in for a bit so I can claim my holiday flights as a business expense.
If anyone asks, I'll just say I spoke to Pauline and she said it's fine.
Regards, David.
................................................................................................
From: Pauline Olsen
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 1.43pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
Except I didn't say it's fine and the end result certainly won't be the same because you'll be asked to leave. I can't imagine anything more embarrassing.
Pauline
................................................................................................
From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 2.26pm
To: Pauline Olsen
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
Hello Pauline,
That's understandable; the day-to-day stress of chair allocation and authorization probably leaves little time for such things.
I was once escorted off a plane shortly after boarding due to an ex-girlfriend calling the airport and stating I had four-hundred ecstasy tablets hidden in my bottom. Refusing to leave my seat without an explanation, two large men in suits carried me out horizontally. I was travelling with coworkers and the regional manager of BHP Billington. A few feet from the exit, the men had to wait for someone to be seated. I was head height with other passengers and an elderly lady leaned forward and said, "It's going to be ok. You're going to get the help you need now. It's a good thing."
I was also asked to leave a restaurant once. Experiencing stomach problems and discovering the restroom toilet bowl bogged and overflowing with paper and faeces, I made an emergency decision to poo in the hand-towel disposal bin instead. With hindsight, I should have either used the ladies restroom or locked the door. Also, when I was about twelve, my mother opened the bathroom door without knocking and caught me lying naked on the floor cracking an egg onto my penis. I have no idea why. I tried to flip over to hide my shame but the tiles were pretty slippery from several previously cracked eggs so I just kind of slapped and flailed for a bit. She didn't say anything, just closed the door, so I guess that story didn't really have anything to do with being asked to leave places.
Regardless, on an embarrassment scale of one to twenty (with one being a bit sunburnt and twenty owning a Nissan Cube), being told, "I'm sorry sir, B&N has a strict rule regarding people sitting in chairs, I'll have to ask you to leave," would probably only be a three. Maybe a four if there is jostling.
Regards, David.
................................................................................................
From: Pauline Olsen
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 3.55pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
People are allowed to sit in chairs but they aren't allowed to set up desks or sign books inside the store without permission.
You're going to have to cancel the dates you posted and go through the proper channels to set up new dates. Do you understand this?
Pauline
................................................................................................
From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 4.02pm
To: Pauline Olsen
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
Hello Pauline,
Mostly. Would sitting on a chair, no desk, asking people walking past if they'd like to come outside and buy a book from the back of my rental car be acceptable? Am I allowed to hold a sign?
Regards, David.
From: Pauline Olsen
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 4.13pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
No it isn't acceptable. I'm not sure how to make this any clearer. You do not have permission to promote your book in B&N stores or interact with B&N customers in any way.
If you do, you'll be asked to leave. If you refuse to leave, the police will be called to escort you from the premises
Pauline
................................................................................................
From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 4.20pm
To: Pauline Olsen
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
Hello Pauline,
What if I stand quietly in an aisle, or a corner at the back of the store, looking at books on shelves and occasionally nodding to myself thoughtfully?
Regards, David.
................................................................................................
From: Pauline Olsen
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 4.26pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
That would make you a customer. As long as you aren't communicating with other customers in any way, I can't see that being a problem.
Pauline
................................................................................................
From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 27 April 2015 5.17pm
To: Pauline Olsen
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
Hello Pauline,
I'm glad a compromise could be reached. I have amended the previously posted event page to reflect the agreed changes. I've also attached the promotional poster. I'll have some with me on the day but I thought you might want to print extra copies for the store windows or something.
Regards, David.
................................................................................................
From: Pauline Olsen
Date: Tuesday 28 April 2015 9.32am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Book signing dates
You do not have permission to attend B&N stores on the dates you have indicated.
Horsepowers
I knew Holly wasn’t going to understand. We’d agreed on a new Jeep as it was practical, reasonably fuel efficient, and capable in the snow.
It snows fairly often where we live. Not by Alaskan standards of course, but enough to need a vehicle that can make it up and down slippery roads between December and March. A few years back, it came almost to my crotch. As we live in a rural area without state-maintained roads, an old man named Doug clears the snow whenever he fucking feels like it or not at all. I guess he figures that if the forecast calls for snowfall all week, why not wait and do it all at once? I’m not exactly sure what our subdivision owners’ fees cover, probably the fifty or so inf
latable Christmas decorations he adds to his front yard around this time. It helps to think of the penguin inside a snowglobe and the waving snowman as our contribution to the neighborhood festivities. Nobody around here is caroling or swapping boiled puddings. We received a request from Doug a while back for an additional $250 to fix a pothole and it turned out it was in his driveway. I’m fairly sure that’s not how it works but a conversation with Doug lasts around four hours so we just sent the cheque.
Before I knew better, when we hadn’t been here more than a season, I had a two-hour conversation with Doug on the street about a bear he once saw walk across his front lawn. Then he repeated the story as if he hadn’t just told it. It wasn’t a robot bear or a bear wearing pants. There was no wrestling or fending off with a sharp stick. A bear just walked across his lawn. A conversation regarding a bear walking across your lawn should consist of the fact, possibly a small amount of exaggeration for entertainment purposes, and maybe a sign-off such as, “So there you go,” or, if you really need to retell the adventure, “So there you go, a bear walked across my lawn.”
“I saw a bear walk across my front lawn once.”
“Really?”
“Yes. A big one. So there you go, a bear walked across my lawn.”
I just used the stopwatch on my phone to time how long it took to read that and, even allowing for a bit of nodding and pointing to get into character, it took just under twelve seconds. So there you go, my neighbor Doug once took two and a half hours to tell me that he saw a bear walk across his front lawn.
I did sit in the Jeep. I pressed a few switches and opened and closed the sunglasses holder. It’s not as if I didn’t look at it all. Holly and I had already done our research and it was the logical choice. I was there to buy a Jeep and it’s entirely probable that if Holly hadn’t had to work that day, if she’d been able to come with me to the dealer instead of hosting a stakeholder meeting for sad old men in striped grey suits and their polyester clad fat wives, we’d have driven a Jeep off the lot.
“No trade-in?” Greg asked me. He was in his early fifties with a salt and pepper beard. There were three or four photos of children on his desk and one of him and a woman holding up a giant watermelon.
“Sorry?”
“No trade-in?”
“No, I’ll keep the Kia for now. Sell it to a poor Mexican family or something. Are those your kids?”
“Yes, Daniel, Richard and Sarah. They’re a bit older now.
If you could sign here Mister Thorne... thank you, and here...”
“That’s a pretty big watermelon.”
“Hmm?”
“In the photo. Took you both to lift it did it?”
“Yes.”
“Is that your wife?”
“Yes. Married thirty-five years.”
“Good job. My wife will probably divorce me when I get home. Or kill me.”
“Hahaha.”
“I’m not joking. If I had to guess, I’d say a stabbing while I’m asleep or in the shower. Probably the shower because it’ll make less mess. You should talk me out of it.”
“Talk you out of purchasing the vehicle?”
“Yes. Tell me it’s a huge mistake and the engine is going to blow up or something.”
“I’m not going to tell you that but we do have a large selection of other vehicles. The Jeep is an excellent option.”
“Yes, but it’s not... you know.”
“Yes I do.”
Greg had approached and introduced himself while I was sitting in the back of the Jeep. It’s important to get Miss Daisy’s point of view. He popped the bonnet and I nodded and pretended to know what I was looking at. I may have asked how many torques it had or something, just to appear knowledgeable. I strolled around a bit while I waited for him to return with the Jeep keys for a test drive. That’s when I saw it. It was a few rows over, behind a selection of pickup trucks. It was white and sleek with a wide front grill. Reminiscent of the seventies but modern, mean, beautiful. My breath actually caught in my chest and my pulse rose.
Oh my god, I thought, I almost bought the Jeep. What if I hadn’t seen you and bought the Jeep and then saw you as I was driving out in the Jeep? It would have been a cruel, devastating blow. Who knows how long it would have taken me to get over it. Probably never. Greg returned to the Jeep, stood on tippy-toes looking around the lot for me. I waved and he made his way over.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked.
“What the fuck is this?” asked Holly.
“It’s a Dodge Challenger R/T 5.7 litre V8 Hemi.”
“A what?”
“A Dodge Challenger R/T 5.7 litre V8 Hemi.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Don’t make me take it back. I love it so much.”
“What the fuck, David? What happened to the Jeep?”
“It was boring.”
“So you bought a Hot Wheels car instead?”
“Look at it.”
“I’ve seen them before. Rednecks drive them.”
“Why would you say something like that when it’s obviously not true?”
“It is true. Ina’s cousin Eustice owns one and he’s as redneck as they come. He lives in a trailer in the middle of a corn field and throws axes.”
“What at?”
“The axes? At a big bit of wood with a target on it. It’s like darts. But with axes.”
“Oh my god, why haven’t we got that? Is it an American thing? Like beer pong and corn hole?”
“No, it’s a redneck thing.”
“I’m going to look it up on YouTube later.”
“We agreed on a Jeep. I’m so disappointed right now I could cry. I was going to drive it to work tomorrow.”
“You can drive the Challenger to work.”
“I work at a bank. In an office. Not on the streets racing Riddick for pink slips.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“He’s Dominic Toretto in The Fast and the Furious. He’s only Riddick in the space one. He’s not Riddick in all of them.”
“What are we going to do in the snow?”
“It has a low center of gravity so one would assume it will do fairly well.”
“Is it four wheel drive?”
“It might be. Who knows? Take it for a test drive.”
After adjusting the rear and side mirrors, Holly put her seatbelt on and pushed the seat as far back as it could go. I’m a good five or six inches taller than Holly but whenever I get into a car she’s driven, I can barely reach the steering wheel. I have no idea what’s going on there but I have glanced over once or twice and caught her driving with her knees. I usually make a big production of getting the seat back to where I like it. This means stopping in the middle of the road several times after pulling out of the driveway, as it’s unsafe to adjust your seat position while driving.
Holly pressed the ignition button and the engine roared to life. A deep rumble, menacing and eager, promised danger and excitement.
“It’s a bit loud,” she said.
“It’s meant to be. That’s all the horsepowers. And the torques. Just take it out.”
She indicated and pulled out of our driveway, drove for a few miles keeping the vehicle well below the speed limit. Turning onto a main road, Holly slowly accelerated up to the posted sixty miles per hour.
“It drives alright,” she commented, giving a little nod of approval.
“We may as well have taken the Kia for a spin. Give it a bit of petrol.”
“I’m doing sixty.”
“It’s not a car for doing sixty in if the speed is posted as sixty, it’s a badass car for badasses who play by their own rules. Take it up to sixty-four.”
“I’m happy at sixty. Can you put the radio on NPR, please?”
“Oh my god, Holly. We should be listening to Ribbons by The Sister’s of Mercy or Linkin Park’s I’ll Be Gone, not to lesbians discussing climate change and glass ceilings.”
“You
have a very narrow point of view about things sometimes. I enjoy listening to NPR. It’s informative. What the fuck is this old lady doing?”
A Nissan Cube pulled out in front of us and Holly slowed to accommodate, keeping the three-second rule of distance between both vehicles. We tore along the highway at forty-five, listening to some guy who called in to a show about puppets to argue that Gerry Anderson deserves far more recognition than Jim Henson for his contribution to the marionette-based arts.
“Just pull around her.”
“I will when I have a safe spot to pass.”
“You can see two miles ahead of us. Nobody’s coming.”
“Fine.”
Holly indicated, checked, and pulled out to pass. She pressed the accelerator. Hard. Our other car, a Kia, needs the accelerator slammed to move away from traffic lights and overtaking is something other people do. Seb and I timed the Kia once to see how long it took to get up to sixty and we both lost interest well before. We were on our way to Lowe’s to purchase a stack of bricks to construct a firepit. After loading up the Kia, we had to stick a leg out and push Flintstone style just to get moving. As there is a decent sized hill before our house, we had to unload the bricks at the bottom and drive them up in small batches. The Kia is insured so I park it under a large dead tree during extreme wind warnings.