chipperI never said we were sane.
The routine was pretty straightforward. One, find the bookstore. Two, scout the bookstore to see if they had any visible copies of Rosemary and Rue, as this meant we wouldn't be asking anyone to go into the back of the store. Three, find someone who works there, express that I am a local author (for increasingly inaccurate values of "local" as we moved away from Concord), and inquire as to whether I might sign some stock for them. Four, sign stock. Note that nowhere in this progression of events is anything resembling "check ID." By the eighth bookstore, I was seriously tempted to say "Hi, my name is Stephanie Meyer, and I wrote this book..."
The assistant manager at the Barnes and Noble in Albany thanked me for only using my powers for good. She doesn't know me very well.
As we made our way from bookstore to bookstore, we passed through Fairfield, California, home of the Jelly Belly factory. Amy, unwisely, said "I like sugar." My mother took this as a holy mandate demanding that we take the free Jelly Belly factory tour. I don't like jellybeans. I love my mother. I love Amy. I went on the tour. Fear my martyrdom. (Actually, there really wasn't any martyrdom, because Jelly Belly also makes candy corn. Fear me in the candy corn factory.) The Jelly Belly factory was reasonably cool. Amy and I have decided to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool with jelly beans and take people swimming.
The result of all yesterday's labors? Amy has a stomachache, and there is already a "collectible" autographed copy of Rosemary and Rue on eBay for fifteen dollars. Because humanity is awesome that way.
I survived!
September 3 2009, 01:21:32 UTC 7 years ago
September 8 2009, 22:03:29 UTC 7 years ago