A Bookstore Misadventure
When Things Aren't What They Seem
Early in our marriage my wife and I got interested in plate collecting. I don’t mean plates that you eat off of, but collector’s plates that have beautiful, artistic scenes painted on them. There used to be a magazine called Plate World that came out every other month showing all the new and upcoming plates and one particular day, recognizing that it was time for the latest edition, we decided to see if we could buy it locally. We were living in Layton, Utah, serving at Hill Air Force Base at the time. Plate World wasn’t a magazine that was carried by just anyone, so we decided to drive into Salt Lake City to see if we could find it there.
We had my young daughter and son in the car, so I would drive up to a bookstore and drop my wife off so she could check and see if they had it. We did this quite a few times unsuccessfully and were about ready to give up when we saw another bookstore. I let her out in front of the building and found a nearby parking spot to sit and wait. After a little while I saw her walking to the car extremely fast with one hand shielding the side of her face. She opened the door quickly and slid in.
“Let’s get out of here!”
“Did you find it?”
“Just get out of here!!”
It was obvious that she was upset, so I did as she demanded and pulled onto the road and away from the bookstore. It took a while, but I finally managed to get her to tell me what happened.
Upon entering the store she was greeted by a middle aged man of Indian descent, “May I help you?”
“Yes, do you carry Plate World magazine?”
To her surprise, he answered, “Yes, go down this aisle all the way to the end and take a left. You will find it on the top shelf.”
She was happy to have finally found someone that carried the elusive magazine and quickly started walking in that direction, not paying much attention to anything else around her. When she finally made it to the end of the aisle she looked where the clerk told her Plate World would be and her excitement quickly faded. There on the top shelf, in a brilliant display of glossy wonder, was a whole row of Playgirl magazines. For the first time she took a good look at her surroundings and realized she was in an adult bookstore. It wasn’t long before she was sliding into the car, yelling at me to drive away like some bank robber who was fleeing the scene of the crime.
I sat quietly and listened, trying desperately hard not to make light of the psychological trauma she had just endured, but it wasn’t long before I couldn’t help myself and broke out in hysterical, tear-filled laughter.
Needless to say, shortly thereafter we took out a subscription to Plate World magazine.
I am still embarrassed and it has been 34 years.