I bought the book Bartending last night, to read before bed. I figured it’d be full of amusing and/or interesting anecdotes, and it would restore my will to live after watching The Hunger Games.
The problem is not so much what’s there – it is well enough written, and the stories are interesting, even tending towards insightful in cases – as much as what’s not. Which is to say, the rest of the book. I’m not sure what I expected exactly, but it was evidently more than 28 pages.
So I read it in less than twenty minutes. It struck me as the kind of content that’s usually just put on someone’s blog – or maybe somewhere like Folklore.org – so I felt a bit miffed about paying for it.