Love in the bookstore?

In the last year, a Southwest Florida magazine published a list of the ten best places to meet singles in this area. The suggestions were all sound, including recreational favorites like Bonita's dog beach park and more practical options like Publix. For the book-lover and closet-nerd in me, Barnes and Noble seemed like the best choice of the ten.

Bookstores hold a certain intellectual authority in the dating department; meeting someone over Proust sounds more sophisticated than hooking up over a Pilsner. Plus, everyone has a bookstore love story (of sorts) to tell.

"Lisa" talks about a shy suitor who slipped her a note among the stacks.

"You're beautiful," the message read. "But, I'm too shy to talk to you." He left his number in case she were braver than he.

My friend "Ann," though, tells a different story. Curled up in one of the big, padded chairs in the back of the store, she noticed a man take a seat at the table next to her. He had a stack of shrink-wrapped magazines. Carefully, he unwrapped each one - starting with Hustler - and slowly perused every page. After twenty minutes and three skin mags, he stood up and headed to the bathroom.

"Ugh," Ann says. "That story still makes my skin crawl."

 

I've had plans to try out the B&N meat market myself, to sample the dating destination for my own records, but so far my social calendar hasn't had space for a Friday night pick-up session over the latest Stephen King. Funny, then, that the opportunity came when I least expected it.

I stopped into Barnes and Nobles at two o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. It was during a gap in the day, an odd hour and a half after lunch but before dinner when I had time to kill. I collected an armful of books and magazines and headed to the café, excited to spend the next 90 minutes lost in a world of chicklit and fashion mags.

Halfway through a cup of tea and the latest People, a clean-cut, nicely dressed older man sat at the adjoining table.

"Looks like you've got a lot of reading to do."

A long silence. I pulled my eyes away from the 30 must-haves of spring fashion.

"I tell you what you need to read: these Eckart Tolle books. Have you read the 'Power of Now'? Wow, that one really packs a punch."

I smiled politely, my eyes drifting back to the fashion spread.

"After I read that book, I called up my mom and we had this major talk. Really healing, you know?" He took a sip of coffee. "Lots of times, when they interview ax-murderers and those type of people - I mean, really hardened criminals - they all have bad relationships with their mothers. And, if you ask them if they'd feel bad about killing their moms, they all say no." Another sip. "I'm kind of like that."

I stared at him, the magazine forgotten, shocked and a little afraid.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you." He stood up. "Have a nice day."

I sat there for a long moment. It was a while before I realized I just had my own unsettling version of a bookstore pickup. Not in the vain I imagined, but now I have my own story to tell.

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