Charming Billy

Yesterday Bill Clinton did a signing at my place of employment. Our bookstore was his only public signing on the West Coast to promote his new book, Giving, and as you can imagine, things got pretty hairy. Lots of people hate Bill Clinton, but 'way more folks love him. We capped the number of vouchers we sold (1 voucher = 1 book per person) at 1000, and although we'd given customers 2 weeks to purchase vouchers, as well as describing in mind-numbing detail how the whole voucher thing worked on every bit of promotion we did, you wouldn't believe the number of people who showed up yesterday who got all incensed that they couldn't just waltz in and shake the former president's hand. One old guy, who could have used a bath and a shave, snarled at me, "That's not right. I'm a senior citizen on a fixed income, and you should let me get a look at him. What you're doing [not letting him get in the signing line when he didn't even attempt to buy a book] is just not right." How sweet it felt to tell him, "The Secret Service isn't going to let you anywhere near him."

Actually, I didn't think I was going to get anywhere near him myself. When Jimmy Carter did a signing last year, I had to get clearance from the Secret Service so I could work near him (i.e., open customers' books and then pass them to someone who passed them to someone else who then passed them to Mr. Carter to be signed). For this event, I was scheduled to work the line outside, so no one bothered to get clearance for me. I'm not Clinton's biggest fan, but I think he's all right and it would be nice at least to get a glimpse.

I spent much of the morning walking up and down the line handing out and collecting "Giving cards." These were 5x8-inch cards on which people were requested to describe their own experiences giving or receiving charity, donating time to an effort, like that; the Clinton Foundation wants to collect lots of real-life stories of generosity to post on their website. Every person who had bought one of our signing vouchers had been handed one of these cards at the time of purchase. Still, when I held one up, asking if folks if they'd already filled them out and would like me to collect them or if they'd like one to fill out now, people looked at me as if I were speaking gibberish. No, that's not right. They looked at me as if I were a Jehovah's Witness at their front door. I wasn't selling anything and I kept stressing that the cards were optional, I was simply letting people know about them. No big deal for them to say "No thanks" or "Sorry" to me, right? That's what I would've done. Instead, about 75% of the people who listened to my spiel either turned away while I was talking, so I ended up yakking to the wind, or simply stared at me when I finished my non-sales sales pitch. One guy even said, "Move on," when I concluded. When people are jerks in such a trivial situation, it's hard to believe they'll rise to the occasion when the stakes are higher.

So anyway. I finished that delightful task and then spent a couple of hours running around, doing whatever needed to be done. I had been given a walkie talkie to communicate with my fellow employees working the line but it didn't work, so I spent long periods of time simply trying to find one of my bosses to see what I could do next. By noon my feet were killing me.

About ten minutes to two, I was filling in for someone who had to rush off to do something. I had the glorious job of telling people, "Don't go there! Go over there -- yeah, waaaaay over there." Just then, the motorcade drove up and Mr. Clinton alighted from an SUV. A big chunk of the line could see him get out of the car and a huge roar went up. He waved to the crowd. Then he turned around to head into the building, and as he did so, he looked my way. I, of course was staring at him, so he smiled at me. Normally I'm a fairly reserved person, but I gave him a big wave, kind of leaping into the air, and yelled, "Hi!" He waved back and called, "Hello!" Then he went inside.

I stayed where I was for a while. Soon I was joined by a couple of guys from the shipping and receiving department who had been kicked out of their work areas by the Secret Service. I had had no trouble handling the occasional person who wanted to get by me and down the stairs to the store's back entrance, but now I had these two guys "helping" me. Don't get me wrong: I like both of them. But there's a reason they work in the back room and not on the sales floor with customers, as Danny tends to bark and Jerry to growl. Without meaning to, they sound like they're angry. I kept stepping in to finesse what they were telling customers and it got real old real fast. Fortunately, Erin, who's head of receiving and a super-smooth talker, showed up and I hightailed it to the relative glamour of the press check-in area.

Mr. Clinton proved to be an exceptionally fast signer, in part, I'm sure, because he's left-handed: an aide would place a book under his left hand, and he'd autograph it while shaking hands with and saying a few words to each customer. Anyway, he got through the line of 1000 people in less than two hours. My boss started sending employees through the line to get some extra copies signed. I got to go through, and I complimented Mr. Clinton on his pretty peach-colored tie when I got to the signing table. I mentioned his neckware to a co-worker when I went back outside, and on her trip to meet him she said, "Word on the street has it you're wearing a great tie today."

After he had wrapped up, Mr. Clinton posed for a photo with some of the staff, and I got to shake his hand again. He then went downstairs and shopped for about half an hour, leaving with two big bags of books. I'm dying to know what he bought!

*Sigh* No crazies, no guns brandished, no demonstrators (aside from some Barack Obama supporters who chanted and waved banners around outside the store, and were completely ignored by all the Hillary fans in line). The only bodily danger I faced was sore feet and an aching lower back after ten hours straight on my feet. (Oh, and a sunburned shoulder I didn't notice until this morning. Ouch!) At the end of the day I called Norman and asked him to pick me up for dinner and a well deserved pina colada.