Okay, get this. I’m working at the Soho bookstore when this family comes in shopping. I get talking to the guy and eventually it comes out that he’s a publisher. New publishing company but putting out 80 titles this year (including Gene Wilder’s first ever novel – My French Whore: A Love Story).
Well, of course I’m going to try and take advantage of the situation. I go behind the counter and plunk down my draft copy of The Professional Tourist in front of him. He’s into it, and he’s certainly not just being polite. I know this because his wife had to leave to find a toilet for their toddler, so he had a perfect excuse to get out of there. Instead we talk for about a half hour about publishing, writing, and all that stuff. While we talk he scans over the first dozen pages of the book and asks me to send him a copy. Which I’ll do on Monday.
So that means I’ve got two publishers and an agent looking it over. Yay me!
Then later that day, a 12 year old girl who tried to get to the adult store downstairs spat in my face when I wouldn’t let her pass.
You gotta love a society where kids know they can get away with crap like that because I would get in far more trouble than she ever would if I so much as touched her after that.