I just posted this as a comment on Literary Gas, and because tonight I will be taking Rita to her puppy school graduation ceremony (yes, I'm serious), it can be the blog post that I meant to write tonight...
my working-in-a-bookshop story:
me: Hi, can I help you?
she: (in a peculiar accent that you only find in shopping centres some distance from the city) Yeah. You know that man who wrote Lord of the Rings?
me: (dubiously) ye-es.
she: What's his latest book?
me: He's dead.
she: No, no. There's a new one. There was a thing in the Herald Sun.
me: No. He's dead. He's been that way for quite some time.
she: There's a new book!
me: (trying to be helpful) There's a movie.
she: (scowling) I'm not stupid.
me: (thinking of her brother and his baseball bat) Oh, no.
she: It's called The Goblin.
me: It's called The Hobbit.
she: Whatever. Do you have it?
me: Sure. But he's still dead.