Sunday, October 21, 2012

Stolen Scotch

The next day was much the same as the last. Running around all over the place, running around the book fair, running, running, meeting, handshaking, running. I learned, in my quick research, that I was there to sell distribution which is what the BizP could do, so I worked better on making connections for the BizP and sending him to booths, while also scouting what I needed for the project I was working on.

One thing I discovered (thanks to my app of magic) was that there were a number of lectures and demos, which I attended to gather information. I also learned that one of the events being held that night was a happy hour with E.L. James. I bookmarked it and finally decided after much debate that I had to go and check that out. But here was the thing: I had absolutely no respect for E.L. James. I thought that she, much like Sherry Meyer, or whatever the name of the author of Twilight is, (Stephanie Meyer, and it's sad that I know that without having to look it up. -Ed.) was a freaking hack. What was worse was James, who did absolutely no research for her book, was giving people a really distorted view of what kink meant. That and she wrote at a third-grade level and described female arousal as: “my Inner Goddess was suddenly engaged.” Seriously.

While I hated the work, I thought it would be the height of irony to go to a happy hour with her and talk to her about kink or something. So, around 4:30 I ditched the BizP to head over to the event. What happened when I got there, though, was not what I had anticipated. The "happy hour" was actually a book-signing event, and there was a line of peoplea mix of goths, industrials, housewives, and teenagers, all holding dog-eared copies of the E.L. James's books. They were waiting in line and quite seriously looking forward to having their books signed by the author. I just sort of stared at them. Which is when it hit me that it was not fun doing something to be ironic when everyone else was serious. It just pained me to watch, so I called it a loss and headed back to meet the BizP and the IbizP for a book fair nightcap.

The day ended roughly around 5:00 back at the stand for the IbizP, this time with a glass of Glenfiddich scotch. The IbizP was not around, but when he sat down he noticed that someone had started drinking without him.

“Who was drinking without me?”

“He did it!” I pointed at the BizP, which got a large approving smile from the IbizP and a double shot of scotch for me.

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