Working at a bookstore, a few years ago. Lemony Snicket's publicist calls, says he's in town and wants to come sign a few books. I hadn't gotten around to reading A Series of Unfortunate Events yet, though from the titles and cover illustrations they seemed like good things. With two hours before the impromptu signing, I zoomed through the first book and most of the second.

It was time. He was late. I scanned the store, looking for someone who looked like he might have written what I'd just read. Tall, graying, British.

He was none of these things. I recognized him from his publicist, striding ahead of him in a publicist suit and publicist smile. I had the immense pleasure of walking up to a fellow human being and saying, "You must be Lemony." He lifted his bluest eyes to mine, laughed, and said, "Yes, I am."