I’ve just spent the last 10 minutes sitting on the phone, it ringing and recorded messages being played ad nauseum, some kind of old world punishment for wanting to do something as banal as actually enter a brick and mortar bookstore. If it was the mum and dad run place down the road that would be fine, but then again they would be closed by 6pm at the latest, so I should count by (mixed) blessings.

Borders, listen.  I know you’re trying to get yourselves sold, but you have to make yourself attractive for that to go down. What patronage you currently enjoy is not going to grow if you do not make it easier for me to transact with you. It should speak volumes that I’m actually willing to go into a store to get what I want and not order it from your friends across the pond. I’m not asking for the bar to be any lower than it was twenty years ago, I want you to pick up the phone when I call. If that is too hard, then I have some unfortunate news regarding your remaining ambitions…

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