Book Signing

I bought one of those magic slates. It’s white, thin, and, light. People call it e-reader. With excitement, I searched for books. I found a gazillion-million—too many choices. I settled for the number one bestseller. Oh boy, so cool. I read it in a breezy. It was so convenient: I could bookmark, add notes, even share excerpts in FaceBook. It was 21st century techno-coolness.

I found on the web about a book signing. To my delight, the author was one of my favorites. I had to drive one hundred miles—piece of cake, and it was on Saturday. I only had to wait a couple of days.

I drove to the bookstore. It was gigantic, books all over the place. Nerdy looking people read in the aisles while other people socialized at the cafeteria. But no signs of the book signing. I walked around, I felt like walking several miles. It was late and I couldn’t find the crowd. I went upstairs and, finally, found them. The author sat behind an old desk with people waiting in line in front of him. He smiled and scribbled something on a book. I was the last on line, I had to wait until all the people in front of me got their book signed—all two of them.

My turn arrived, “Hi,” I said. My stomach burbling with excitement.
“Hi,” he said, he was all business. His big belly showed he was an excellent writer and spent most of his time sitting in front of the computer. “Name?”
“John.” My heart racing.
“Nice to meet you John,” he said, showing a fake smile and tired eyes.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. He kept looking at my hands.
“Well?” he said with a raised brow.
“Uh?” I replied. What did he mean why well?
“The book,” he blurted.
“Oh, yeah.” I grabbed my backpack, took it out, and handed it to him.
He looked at me with an are-you-out-of-your-mind face. “What’s this?” He asked.
“The book,” I replied.

Then it hit me. Bummer, the book was “inside” my e-reader.

I wondered: what’s the future of book signing?