doin' it doggy style

I know you've probably been wondering and have been too afraid to ask, so let me come right out and tell you. Yes, being a bookseller is as glamorous as you imagine it to be.

The constant stream of party invitations, photo shoots, and charity events on the calendar. Dodging the paparazzi as they jump out from between the shelves. Attending club openings with the latest celebrity debutante hours out of rehab. Pooh poohing the Nobel committee when they hint at giving me that prize once again (seriously, give that thing to Bono already and let's move on, shall we?).

Oh sure, being a glamorous and powerful celebrity bookseller sounds like fun, but it's a lot of hard work. You don't just wake up one day and become someone like me. Oh no. First you have to go into a bookstore and complete an application. Then you must ascertain whether you could feasibly pretend the manager who interviews you could be your work spouse, eventually get hired, and spend a lot of time behind a cash register. Then you graduate to Customer Service, where you'll think you've made it when you can still smile brightly even though every conversation you have in a six to eight-hour shift begins with the phrase, "I'm looking for a book..."

But you've not made it yet. Nope. You don't officially make it to celebrity status until you can caste aside your humility and don a giant animal costume, endure the snickering of your fellow booksellers (booksellers who only dream about being half as hot as you!), and compel toddlers and preschools to pee their pants in either fear or mad lust as you lumber toward them with your giant red paw stretched out as though you wish to crush their tiny toddler heads. Better yet if you can get them to soil themselves in some combination of the two emotions. While crying. Or screaming. Or humping your fake fur covered leg, because for some reason, that's going to end up happening.

Like it did to me last week when I was made to wear a Clifford the Big Red Dog costume.

A Clifford costume that had been worn many times over by other people. Other people who'd christened it with their sweat, thus leaving behind a funk cocktail so heady it can't even be described despite the fact I've been told many times over I should be a writer and thus should have the proper adjectives, but no, I don't, because I still have a headache from the weight of the giant dog head pressing on my cranium. And I thank God I do because it forces me not to dwell on the idea that, while I hope it's not true, you know it has to be because seriously, if you had the ways and means to do so, you know you'd fart in one of these big furry costumes, so you and I have to assume someone at some time has tested the acoustics of said costume by beeping their ass horn while in it. Sadly, I'm going on the assumption it's been everyone up to, but excluding, me.

Yes, it's only then that you feel like you've made it. That you've gotten that belly scratch from management that makes your back paws whip like a propeller. And I did it all for less than $10 an hour. Awww! You want my autograph? You guys are so sweet! Who should I make it out to? Seriously. I've been practicing the signature. Come on.

After wooing the young crowd with my animal magnetism, we packed the costume back up. Inside the shipping container, we found a little photo album in which previous "Cliffords" had documented their visits to other bookstores in the chain via Polaroid photos and notes. Many included lovely photos of them hugging their admiring young fans. Yawn. I suggested we include a vicious homage depicting Clifford, paws up, with a fake tire mark across his gut. Or a hand holding up Clifford's head only, two black X's over the dog's eyes. Or perhaps Clifford lounging in one of the comfy chairs set up around the store, one paw holding a tattered copy of Dog Fancy, the other holding...well, yeah. Where my dogs at, y'all! You can clearly see why management doesn't want to lose an employee like me!

So yes, being a bookseller can be rough, but, as we've seen here, it does have its VIP perks. If you keep your snout clean and have an overwhelming desire to help people who are looking for a book, you, too, could be one of the lucky ones, like me. A celebrity bookseller. Steeped in couture Clifford costumes. Rollin' in the slightly higher than minimum wage kibble. After hours howlin' with the Duke and Snoop (that's Marmaduke and Snoopy to those non-celebs). Yep. Good times.

Woof!