Don't Jump

A friend of mine recommended I buy a book called "The Worry Cure" because well, let's face it, I'm neurotic, and she thought of me when reading it. I went to Barnes and Noble and looked around a little before realizing I needed some assistance. I walked over to customer service and asked the lovely prim and proper lady behind the desk to please tell me where I could find the book. She looked it up, glanced at me with a judgmental glare in her eyes, and said, "The Self Improvement aisle." She also told me the name of the author, and directions on where to find The Aisle, none of which I heard because I was too stunned and embarrassed to pay attention. I quickly named another book I was looking for and she told me to go to the second floor and to the left. Flushed and anxious, I went up the escalator and found my "Bird by Bird" book. I then realized I had absolutely no idea where Self Improvement was. 

And I refused to ask anyone. 

Now, the irony is not lost on me that I wouldn't ask for help, but I was not about to shame myself like that. So instead I walked around the entire second floor of Barnes and Noble, twice, nervous, stressed out, and well— worrying — the whole time and finally made my way up to the third floor. Once there I was surrounded by fitness books and how-to beauty guides. They really know how to make you feel insecure up there on the third floor. I glanced around and then there it was. The Aisle. And by Aisle, I mean ENTIRE FREAKIN' WALL. A wall so high they have a ladder you can use in order to get to the books at the top. (Or maybe it's for launching purposes when you are feeling truly distraught). The Self Improvement section was a monstrous beast. It wasn't small and in the corner, where you could hide and scurry over to the Cookbook section next door, pretending like you were a good little chef. No, The Aisle is a huge overwhelming wall — which in NYC is like prime real estate — a wall of shame, with a bunch of crazy weirdos sitting down in front of it unabashedly. 

I scampered over and contemplated putting on the hood of my sweatshirt. What if someone saw me? I knew I shouldn't have gone to the Union Square book store. Then, I noticed that the books were sorted BY AUTHOR. Shit. I didn't remember the author's name to save my life. All I knew is it was a man because I remember being shocked that a woman didn't write the book about worrying. (Completely and utterly sexist, I know.) But what was I to do? Ask for help? I had already come so far. So I began perusing The Aisle book by book, and right when I was about to give up hope that it was at eye level or below — because there was no way in hell I was calling attention to myself by crawling up that ladder — there it was. And there was only ONE left. I grabbed it, ran past the beauty and fitness aisles, and downstairs to check out before anyone I knew could see me.

Ladies and gentleman, should you ever need to find a book in this godforsaken aisle and you live in NYC, just go to the Barnes and Noble at Union Square, go up to the third floor to your right when you got off the escalator and have your author's name in hand. And wear a wig. You're welcome.

UPDATE: My friend forwarded this post to the author of "The Worry Cure" (his name is Robert Leahy if you were wondering) and he replied: "Hilarious...I can definitely see this happening. I was at a book exhibit at a psychology conference and there was a book on "ostracism" and I asked what it was doing hanging out with the other books."

Is it weird that I find that hysterical? Think this book might have been worth the hunt.