once upon a time, the phone rang.
me: this is abby.
him: this is pain in the [butt].
me: *laughs* what can i do for you?
him: what margins do you want for that book?
me: *brains fires* *thinking thinking thinking, i know i just sent him a book. what was it? oooh, the author is on the tip of my tongue* *think think think, the title, yes, oh, i know this* going out. *balances phone on shoulder* *types into database*
him: oh, well can you call me back?
me: what? call you back? no, i just need one sec. i can’t get the database to work right. *types furiously* just one more sec. one more…
him: you said you were going out.
me: oh, no, *laughs* that’s the book’s title.
him: *pauses* why, yes it is.
me: you thought, what, i don’t speak in complete sentences anymore? going out. no talking. done here.
him: hanging up now.
me: i like it.
him: *coughs* *clears throat* *coughs* keeling over.
me: how about if i give you the margins? will that make you feel better?
him: it would.
and that’s how books get made, or more accurately, a really old book gets scanned in hopes of becoming a print or e-version.