If you have been to a Borders or a Barnes and Noble lately, you've seen them. They stand in line like regular people. They linger at the shelves, seemingly engrossed in their perusal of the titles. They pace past the couches and amble slowly through the cafe. If you haven't seen them, then surely you have felt them. Their beady little eyes always roving, sliding over your personal topography where they don't belong, leaving a slug's trail of violation in their wake. You can almost feel it when their gaze falls upon you and you can almost see the gears in their slimy minds begin to turn, smell the noxious fumes of their thoughts. You've seen them, haven't you?
The Barnes and Noble Peepers. That despicable class of individuals who wander the carpeted aisles of the book store, spending an unhealthy amount of time checking out what other people are buying. With no regard for personal privacy they shove their metaphorical noses into the heart of your impending purchases. With a raised eyebrow, a knowing smile, or a disgusted smirk they pass judgement on your personality and the fortitude of your character based solely on your choice of reading material. They are the scum of the literary world and...I have a confession to make...a realization I just came to today while standing in line to purchase a book.
