The Book Eatin' Derby

Derby Boys!  Oh Noes!1!!

On Saturday, we experienced a full scale invasion.  I'm talking beaches of Normandy, waves of cannon-fodder, cashiers making frantic calls for backup and creating bulwarks of plastic t-shirt bags invasion.  The invaders appeared to be two entire fraternities and their younger brothers.

Their mission: to purchase as many scrubs and long coats as possible while causing as much destruction within the store as time allowed.  They succeeded.  And how.  I walked into our men's suits and blazers section, only to stop, aghast at the wholesale slaughter: at least twelve or so coats tossed about on the ground, hangers nowhere to be found, two of the perpetrators trying on further coats and laying others on top of the pants rack.  One of them saw me looking, glanced at the destruction, and said "Oh, yeah.  I guess that was us."

My favorite, however, was the guy who tried to convince me to let him return all of the twenty pairs of glasses he'd bought, even though he only had a receipt for ten.  When I finally refused, his response was priceless:
"Oh man!  Now the boys will NEVER win the derby!!"

Them Eatin' Books

An elderly lady (how often do my stories start this way?) approached me today as I was putting some books out on the shelves.  She held out a vaguely romance novel-looking hardback.

"Hey.  D'you have any of them readin' books?"
I blinked, and bit back a snarky "No, but have you tried our eatin' books?" with difficulty.
"I don't read books much, but my friend does, and I wanted to get her something.  D'you think she'd like this?"
"I'm not sure, ma'am.  What genres does she like?"
"Oh, you know.  Love.  Murder.  Killin'."

I opened the book and scanned the first paragraph, finding the words "billionaire Greek tycoon" before closing it.

"I think she'll like this one."