Given that I’m a procrastinator by nature, I’m going for smart and bitchy…or maybe just a confessional. You see, on the Friday before last I tried to become a Romance Expert (capitalization and boldness necessary)!!!!
(Cue the theme music, which sounds vaguely like the Pussy Cat Dolls because they’re stuck in my head. Damn you, MTV! And damn you, PSC, for your slightly annoying, highly grammatically inaccurate, but totally infectious song…)
Don’cha…
Er, right. Back on track. Not dancing in my chair at all.
Nope.
Romance Expert.
It sounds like someone who is a matchmaker to the stars, or the name we gave my A.P. English teacher in high school after she choreographed a sex scene for the school play so it wouldn’t be offensive to parents (she succeeded, hence the title). It does not sound like something that I would want to wear on my name badge as I’m walking around my store, especially with the smart asses that shop there (I already had four people ask me in the last two days if I could help them find a “winning lottery ticket”). And yet, I’m tempted, oh so tempted, by the offer of Advanced Reader Copies (ARCs), and the idea that someone would actually listen to my opinions.
So on that Friday before last when I walked into my work and my boss handed me the memo from the company, I was intrigued. Despite the fact that there was much giggling from my coworkers (and my boss) as she gave me the paper because they do not read romance and never, ever will. One is interested in reading a historical to—in her words—see how truly horrible they really are. I replied that her secret corset fetish was showing, and did her husband know about that? Yes, that’s what life is really like in a bookstore: middle school redux.
But again I digress.
The job sounded interesting. Not only would we be getting ARCs, but we would be getting them at the same time the Romance Buyer did, so we could actually influence (in theory) the books purchased by the company. We would be given the sacred number to the Direct Line of the Romance Buyer, something you usually can’t pry out of the cold, dead hands of anyone, for any buyer. I should know, I’ve been trying to track down the Business Buyer for months so I can ask about ARCs for a big client, but I get no response. Nothing. His secretary never called me back. And I only got her voice mail because I tricked it out of an operator. They (the company) must fear that our power-mad, little minds would be overwhelmed by the freedom and go crazy. That they were even offering up the Romance Buyer to the hoards meant that a.) she’d pissed someone off, or b.) she genuinely wanted our help. Choosing to believe the answer was b I called the hotline number given only to be cycled through to the main office, and then back to the main office, and then back to the main office, because it was after business hours (on the East Coast) so I couldn’t track down someone to get me to an actual voice mail box. No big deal. I tried again on Monday.
Cycle. Cycle. Cycle.
Finally I managed to trip off the hamster wheel of corporate business lines and get a nice operator to help me. Turned out that the Romance Buyer’s mailbox was full and she (the operator) had actually started just taking a list of everyone who called. Our conversation went something like this:
Operator: Oh, not only was the extension given wrong, but her mailbox has been full since Friday morning. I’ve been compiling a list of everyone who’s been calling today.
Me: Is it a long list?
Operator (sounding perplexed): Yeah, it is.
Now I’m positive the list is so long because the majority of us are swag whores and not because we’re all genuinely interested in helping the company, but maybe I shouldn’t judge others by my own faults.
Not that Swag Whoredom is a fault. Because it’s not. It’s free stuff. And free stuff is your friend. God, next you are going to tell me that greed is a sin.
Sheesh.
Operator: So if I can just get your name, store, and number…
Me: [info dump].
Operator: Okay, I think that’s all the information that was asked for, right?
Me: Actually, no, they asked for you to explain why you thought you were qualified to be a Romance Expert.
Operator: Oh.
Long pause.
Me: That…might be why the voicemail box filled up so quickly.
Operator: I take it there wasn’t a word limit?
Me: Nope.
Operator: I think I will just stick with the information you gave me if you don’t mind.
Me: Not a problem.
Could you imagine some of the impassioned responses that woman might have gotten? Not to mention the length. I’ve had customers go on for a half an hour about their favorite author/book/characters, customers who would steal my job from me in a heartbeat. I know that people just like this work in bookstores. I’ve worked with them! A recitation of qualifications would have started with when they started reading romance, segued into how many books they’ve read, followed-up with several from-memory summaries, and then ended with a dissection of how those characters affected their lives, or how those characters’ reactions were a reflection of true-to-life emotions.
But, as Dennis Miller always says, “That’s just my opinion, and I could be wrong.” Not everyone feels the need to talk and talk and talk (oh look, I’m on my fourth page), and talk…like me.
Er, no. Not me. Not me at all.
My own qualifications were going to go something like this (starting with the answers to question asked on the memo): “The couples were from Gabaldon’s Outlander series, Kenyon’s Dark Hunter series—although fans will argue the coupling you chose, and Brockman’s Seal Team series (I think there was another couple, but it’s been a week, so I don’t remember).” And gone on to briefly, briefly outline my qualifications.
- Awareness of up-and-coming new authors from the web and magazines
- Understanding what my romance customers want
- Broad understanding of trends
- Fast Reader
I think I could have kept it at 50 words, definitely under 100.
That’s brief, right? Just the facts, Ma’am and all that.
Right?
Oh, God, I would have ended up clogging her mailbox, wouldn’t I? I would have been the one I was rolling my eyes over when I talked to the operator.
I’m not worthy!
Since she never got to hear any of this, we’ll see if I get the job. If not, maybe it could make a good story. Can’t you see it?
I Was A Failed Romance Expert.
I know Springer is just waiting to have me on so that I could duke it out with the other ladies and scream obscenities at the audience. Oooh, then we could discover who’s my baby’s Daddy. If I had a baby who needed a Daddy, that is.
Which I don’t.
Contrary to popular romantic belief, it’s hard for a girl to find a Sheik/Duke/Playboy/Millionaire to accidentally impregnate her. What with birth control, STDs, a war in the Middle East, a bad economy, and the inbreeding of royalty, this womb hasn’t gotten close to any of the above.
I guess I’m not qualified after all.
2 comments:
Ya know - I'm SO HAPPY that SBD won out over whichever meaningless thing you were gonna blog about, because you seriously crack me up. Having said that, I think you're maybe on crack, to want to read that many romance novels. And to be approached by the Romance Readers alla time. You'd be their point person. Gaaaah heebie jeebies.
Of course if you get it? We want full reports. And to be able to influence along with you. We could single-handedly put [LONG LIST OF CRAPULENT WRITERS]out of business! Whee!
I love being all diabolical and stuff.
I probably (read: definitely) wouldn't wear the Romance Expert badge, but my coworkers readily sacrifice me to any customer as it is. I cannot tell you how many times I've been dragged in front of someone by a coworker while they say, "Here's [name], she'll help you find what you're looking for. She reads romance."
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