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Buford's Adventures in the Bookstore (c) 2001 by Russell B. Franzen illustration by Natalie Rhaesa |
Most authors look forward to visiting
local bookstores to sign copies of their books. Russ was no exception to
this rule and was excited at the prospect of crowds of his friends and acquaintances
flocking to have him sign copies of his new book, Your Day In Court. He was accompanied on this trip by his friend, Buford, who thought the book was called Your Day With Pork and that he would get to sign copies as well. The folks at The Book Shoppe were wonderful. They set up a nice table, a stack of books, coffee, and snacks. Everything was ready for a successful night of book selling and discussions of great literature. "This is a weird place," Buford whispered to me when he returned from a quick tour of the store. With Buford, it is always best to save your reaction until after you hear his full comment. I did not wait long. |
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| "I asked for a book about fish and they
give me a business book. I wanted a wrestling book and I got a cookbook.
Then I asked for an opera book and I got a cheesy novel!" I gave him a small plate of cheese and crackers. Sometimes, you just have to change the subject. "Oh! The Diplomat's Special!" he squealed. "The...?" "Crunch time with the Swiss and Americans," he explained through a masticated mouthful of munchies. Before I had a chance to groan, a crowd of people came to the table saying that they had to buy the book. It looked like my innovative marketing plan, which consisted of having the police set up a speed trap in front of the bookstore, was working. Buford's plate was sitting at my elbow, so I relocated it to what I thought was a more convenient place on the table. A moment later, a high pitched squeal rose above the crowd. "WHO MOVED MY CHEESE?" Busy signing books, I ignored him. "WHO MOVED MY CHEESE!?" A friendly bookseller came over and offered to help. They walked off together. Buford was back soon. "Imagine," he said. "I wanted cheese and she tried to give me a skimpy little book. She even offered me 40% off. They must really want to get rid of it." I pushed his plate back in front of him. The rush stopped as quickly as it began. The book signing was back to its normal flow. A few minutes of inactivity seems like an eternity to a little pink pig. So while I contemplated the curvature of my ink pen, Buford made his way to the counter, where he gave an impromptu history lesson to unsuspecting customers. "Most people don't know that the theater in town was named after its first owner, an Irishman," he said, pointing to the Penn Theater across the street. "He had to change the name because people expected it to be O'Penn all night." Patrons stared. "Old Mr. Penniman used to give out quarters to children at Christmastime. So they shouldn'ta called him the Penny-Man. They should have called him the Quarter Master!" The booksellers cast pleading glances in my direction, when Buford spied his old friend, Phil. Phil, whose thick, calico-patterned fur exceeds his body mass by about three times, motioned for his friend to follow him. Buford jumped off the counter and the two friends walked together down the fiction aisle. "Where have you been, Phil? I have not seen you since we tried to eat at that French restaurant down the street." "We could have eaten there if you kept your mouth shut. The chef said he would take care of us as soon as he finished preparing the escargot." "All I said was that he should stop working at a snail's pace." "How about the time we were asked to leave Art in the Park because you stopped everyone, asking them if their name was Art?" Phil asked. "I thought it was like 'Where's Waldo!'" "And I don't even want to think about the time you tripped all of those people in Kellogg Park." "The newspaper said it was Fall Festival," Buford explained. "I was just trying to be festive." The two friends rounded a corner and found themselves staring at a semi-circle of children who were facing an adult, who was holding a book. "Oh! Look!" exclaimed the adult. "You look like you would enjoy the book we are reading tonight. It is called "The Really, Honestly True Story of the Three Little Pigs." "I don't know..." Buford said tentatively, looking around for Phil, who was no longer there. You know how fast cats can be. Before he could follow his friend (you know how slow stuffed pigs can be) the lady scooped him up onto her lap. The children were delighted. "It must be true," she said, looking earnestly into his eyes. "It was written by the wolf's lawyer." Russ continued his usual book signing routine. By now, he was on his fifth cup of coffee and was closely scrutinizing the tip of a rollerball pen, comparing it with the tip of a ballpoint. Because his concentration was uninterrupted by the distraction of anyone actually wanting him to sign a book, he did not hear the howls of delight from the children. "The unsuspecting wolf, dressed in a gray polyester suit, since he would never think of wearing wool, harmlessly approached the door of the first little pig. "Fowler Brush Man!' he called as he rapped three times on the door." "Ya gotta buy a brush I'm kinda in a rush so ya gotta buy a brush!" The children laughed. The Reading Lady looked crossly at Buford. "I was rapping three times," he explained. She gave him a don't-do-that-again squeeze and continued her story. "My client, I mean the poor misunderstood wolf, stood innocently by while the first pig dumped a bucket of warm water on him, causing his clothes to shrink." Buford smiled. "So now he does a shrink rap!" Children laughed. The Reading Lady did not. Trust me. It went downhill from there. The children had a great time as Buford threw out one-liners that would have made Sonny Eliot want to retire. The Reading Lady, however, kept a solid grip on the squirming, stuffed jokester throughout the story. When the Reading Lady finished the story (She mercifully left out the three pages where the wolf was attacked by the third pig, who was a black belt karate practitioner. It saved everyone from hearing Buford's "pork chop" comment.) The children rushed up to give Buford hugs. In the confusion, he slipped out of the Reading Lady's grasp and rushed back to the book-signing table at the same time that Russ finished building a little house out of bookmarks. It was finally seven o'clock. Russ packed up the remaining books. Buford noisily scarfed down the rest of the snacks. The Reading Lady remained in her child-sized seat, staring at the floor and slowly shaking her head. The roommates walked out of the bookstore and into the cool spring air. "It's been a long night. Come on, let's get a bite to eat." "No thanks," Buford said, smiling. "I'm stuffed." |
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