Barnes & Noble

Last night I stopped by Barnes & Noble to pick up a couple of magazines. As is the case most evenings, the threadbare easy chairs and wooden benches were mostly full of slackers and tightwads treating the place like a lending library.

As I walked toward the front of the store with the long rack of magazines to my left and the chairs and benches full of “shoppers” to my right, I felt the building but not overwhelming pressure of what promised to be discrete flatulence. I tested the waters. A slow steady stream was released as I passed the Travel and Hobbies racks and entered Men’s Interest. In a moment of hubris I let my guard down. The result was a very consistent, high pitched sound that at first took me by surprise, as much for it’s quality and clarity as for it’s unexpected appearance.

Quickly gathering my wits about me, I clutched my International Wristwatch and Mercedes Classics and took the next available right hand turn into the sanctuary of Non-Fiction and, with a satisfied grin, proceeded to the front of the store.