When Worlds Collide And Morning Comes Twice A Day Or Not At All

I intended to take my camera with me to clean windows to better document the events of the day but I forgot. I guess I'll have to paint the picture with words.

Last night when the window king called and said we were working at the Whitwell's house I became suspicious. While he was giving me directions to the house he said I had been there before. And though the directions weren't very good I found the house this morning. The window king was already on the job, taking apart storm windows and assessing the day, so I parked, put on my work belt and geared up. He came outside and told me where to start and whatnot and as he was walking back inside I asked him if this was the Whitwell's whose son wrote a book. "Yes," the window king said.
Flash back to October: I had been working at the bookstore for a couple of months and a self published book by a former Ole Miss student hit the shelves. I don't want to judge a book by the cover but we all do it so here it is.




For those of you that don't know, that's the former Ole Miss mascott, a bottle of ?Jack Daniels, and a scantaly clad women with a sword. So be it-he's a lawyer/lobbiest and if he writes a book and pays to publish it then go for it. But then his 'publicist' called the store. She told me that Quentin was doing a reading down the street from the store and wanted to see if someone could help carry books up a flight of stairs. I told her that there was only two of us in the store and that we couldn't get away. She got saucy.

Twenty minutes later the 'publicist' called again and tried to find out if someone from the store was going to go to the event and sell the books. She said that she had talked to someone a few days before and that someone was supposed to be there. I said I would ask my boss about it as soon as she was out of a meeting. The event wasn't at our store and when another employee got back from dinner break he said he had been told to go sell some books. So if the cover of the book or the synopsis on the back didn't make me hate the guy, then his 'publicist' surely did.

Fast forward to this morning: I was working the outside, listening to the jams on my ipod and made it all the way until the third window before I spotted a copy of the book inside the house. It wasn't hard to spot, it's purple if you don't remember.





But the rest of the day went alright-other than the neighbor blasting techno from 300 yards away and making it hard to hear the White Stripes and the grumpy ass maids running the vaccum and making it where I couldn't hear my Willie Nelson. If By Whiskey-It's about Obama baby.