Am I a Klutz or a Cad?

I was walking out of Kepler's in Menlo Park, heading for the stairs down to the garage where I'd parked, when I was intercepted on the sidewalk by, well, a big black man. (That was how he described himself, actually: "I know I'm big and I'm black...")

He was not poorly dressed, and was carrying a couple of plastic bags with unseen things inside. He first asked me if I knew where De Anza College is. He then explained to me that he'd somehow gotten stranded in Menlo Park (it was a little before 11:00 pm), apparently having come down from San Francisco, and said that he lived in a city quite a few miles to the east of there, on the other side of the Bay, and was trying to collect money to get home. He said if I had a business card he'd send return the money later. He was actually reasonably well-spoken (I point out things like this to say that he seemed quite different from a typical street beggar).

Now, I have a rule with myself that I never give unknown people on the street money like that (except for maybe sidewalk performers from time to time), so I declined his inquiry, and he did seem a bit crestfallen. But even though I stuck to my guns (and he didn't pursue the matter further), it still left me feeling a bit down about it, and I thought about it for a while on my drive home.

Bits of his story didn't add up (how did De Anza College come into it again?), but mainly it seemed to me that if his story was on the level, then his best bet would have been to go to the police to find out what his options were. Surely they could have helped him call someone or find a hostel or something to crash for the night. I guess that's what I would have done, although unless I'd been robbed, I usually have ways of fending for myself without doing all that. But then, not everyone is like me in that regard, I imagine.

I think I finally convinced myself that there was no way of knowing if he was on the up-and-up, or if I'd escaped being conned. But these are exactly the kinds of confrontations I really hate.

(Remind me to tell you someday about being ineptly robbed in downtown Boston when I was a teenager.)

As I've mentioned before, I sometimes sell comic books I don't want anymore on eBay. I've been selling several lately, and have gotten a pretty good response. Tonight I had a minor disaster, though: I had a fairly in-demand hardcover volume for sale, it went for a good price, and the check for it arrived today. But through sheer mishap, when reaching for another set of comics which I need to mail out this week, I managed to knock that book over, somehow snag my finger on the dust jacket, and tear an inch-long rip in the upper right corner.

Well, geez, I felt just awful. I wrote to the buyer and told him about the damage, and offered to let him back out of the transaction if he wants. (For those of you who aren't collectors, damage like this is quite significant in the comic or rare book market.) I'm bummed about potentially losing a good sale, and doubly bummed because I've been quite fortunate (and perhaps skillful) in never having anything like this happen before, and having sent many customers home happy over the years I've been doing this, which of course is an additional nice perk. (I think the only mishap I've had otherwise was a set of books getting beat up by the post office in transit, which at least wasn't my fault. Apparently they really did a number on the package.)

I'll see what the buyer says. As long as he's understanding, I can't ask for anymore than that.

Last night I went to a party for my friend Julie, who is getting divorced and moving back to Madison. It was a fannish party, and Lucy - among others - was there, and it was at the house of area fans Mike Ward and Karen Schaffer. The theme of the party was Hello Kitty and cake.

Hello Kitty is a Japanese icon, revered for her cuteness. Apparently Julie is quite fond of her, and many people gave her Hello Kitty gifts. One of the co-hosts said she has a purse which is made in the shape of Hello Kitty, and I said, "Oh, does that make it a Hollow Kitty purse?" groan

There were something like seven kinds of cake, and we all went into sugar comas during the party, I think. It was all quite yummy. My unbearably cute card with a photo of three cats lying on three shelves of a low bookcases went over well. (The way to a fan's heart is through her cats, I've found.)

I don't know many Bay Area fans well at all, although I've been to several parties populated with them. I haven't plugged into the group as I did with the Madison SF crowd. But this was an entertaining party, and several of us sat around chatting about SF books, including the politics of Ken MacLeod, who apparently is also an interesting personality on USENET.

I also got a few nice comments about my having lost weight. I actually wore a turtleneck to the party, which I might start doing a little more often now that it's cool out. (Note: "Winter" in California means we're having highs of 62.)

I had a good time. I'm sorry to see Julie go. She helped make me feel more comfortable in the couple of months after moving out here.

If anyone cares, tonight I finished the Peter Wimsey short stories, which means I've now read all of the stories Dorothy Sayers published about her nobleman detective, save the one she didn't finish in her lifetime, Thrones, Dominations. I've updated my Sayers Web page with little reviews of all the books, plus a Wimsey chronology. Yes, I'm a geek!

But, you knew that...