A Scene At National Bookstore

I was browsing the titles of the books on sale in National Bookstore at ATC. Less than a meter separated me from this petite saleslady who was busy rearranging the books on the shelf opposite the table on top of which books on sale were displayed. I and the saleslady were facing opposite directions, almost back against back. Then a bespectacled woman who looked smart approached the petite saleslady. "Can you please help me find Metamorphosis?" said the woman to the saleslady.

"Ok, Ma'am," answered the saleslady, "please wait." She called the attention of another saleslady who had just finished assisting a customer. The second saleslady approached the first saleslady. The first saleslady told the second saleslady about the book that the bespectacled woman wanted.

"It's in the Classics section," said the second saleslady. Then the first saleslady strutted to the Classics section. Meanwhile the second saleslady continued doing what the first saleslady had been doing - rearranging the books on the shelf. The bespectacled woman at this point was busy with her Blackberry. I was not sure though if it was really a Blackberry.

The first saleslady went back. She exclaimed, "I can't find it in M!"

"The author is France Kafka," the bespectacled woman said. That's how I heard it: France, not Franz.

"Look for it in F," the second saleslady suggested.

"Or in K," the first saleslady replied. At this point I had to butt in. Yes, I did butt in: "Look for it in K. Kafka is the author's last name. You arrange your books by the author's last name, don't you?"

I felt I didn't offend them. On the contrary, they looked (or pretended to be) apologetic and grateful while holding back their suppressed giggles. The bespectacled woman was poker-faced all this time. She looked like Aling Mameng of Rubi. The first saleslady went back to the Classics section. She was back in short while and complained, "It's not there. Maybe it's in the Science Fiction section." At this point, the bespectacled woman, impatience painted all over  her face, almost screamed an imperative, "Ok, go to the Science Fiction section." The second saleslady seconded.

I had to butt in again, "I saw it a while ago. It's in the Classics section." Then I went to the Classics section and pulled one of the only two copies of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis out of the shelf. I couldn't blame them; it was stacked in the lowermost shelf and the book was slim. I handed the book to the first saleslady who then passed the book to the bespectacled woman.

"Here's the book, Ma'am."

To my surprise, here's what the woman said: "Is it really this thin? Wait, I have to call my son just to be sure."

At this point I walked out.