Do you ever walk into a Barnes & Noble (or any bookstore for that matter), and you’re not there to grab that one or two books you’ve been waiting to come out and go, so you just kind of take your time and stand for too long in front of YA shelves, and like the creeper you are, you start looking around at the other teenagers/pre-teens/young adults/other people around that area? And while you are being the creeper you are, you start to listen in on their conversations with their friends, picking up books as they go, and you can tell they’re not really avid readers – or at least, not like you are (though you could possibly be defined as an obsessive reader . . .) – and so there they are, picking up YA books and then haphazardly putting them back in the wrong places, thus making you trail behind them to place the books in their proper places like the OCD person you truly are, and you see them picking up books you’ve already read, possibly reviewed, and which you know for a fact are just horrible books in general, making your fingers twitch uncomfortably because you really, really want to tell them not to waste their money on that particular book, because you know that look in their eyes, you know they’re thinking about buying it. And you want so badly to recommend to them a better book/series for them to spend their money on, one that likely has a much prettier cover.
But you don’t. You refrain yourself because even though you are indeed a creeper and likely need to get a better social life, you’re not that much of a creeper.
And then once that person leaves with that horrible book in their hand headed for the cash register, you begin to hide the awful books in the YA section behind much better written books that are your personal favorites. Why, yes, your local bookstore likely hates you because of this. So it goes.