The woman who captured all the attention

I almost didn’t write this blog post because it really has nothing to do with the digital world. I circled back to this life-lesson incident because our Internet went down and I didn’t have access to the web for research. Maybe this is a sign that the story should be told.

Picture this: A loud-mouthed, self-absorbed fan, constantly interrupting one of the most popular authors in the world during his meet and greet presentation yesterday at Murder on the Beach Bookstore in Delray Beach, Florida.

As I described yesterday, the bookstore was packed. Most loyal fans showed up an hour before James Patterson, author of 260 million books purchased worldwide, gave his talk. Everyone wanted good seats. The rest of the fans squeezed into the aisles like it was the last train home. The air conditioner was at max, but you could already feel the heat rising.

Right on time, Patterson appeared in front of the mic. Before he got a few words out of his mouth, you heard a commotion in the back of the store with one raspy female voice screeching, “I can’t see Patterson. I can’t see Patterson.” The author stopped talking, waiting for a break in the chaos to start again, but the outbursts continued. He made a few jokes like, “I thought I was the speaker?” Those of us in the front laughed, but the voices in the back got louder and louder.

Finally, Patterson couldn’t take it anymore. He stopped everything. He asked, “What is the problem back there?” No one answered him. You heard moans and groans. All of a sudden, some elderly, heavy set woman, squeezed her way through the crowd, stepping on the toes of others, giving a right and left elbow jab to those standing in the way. She was panting heavily, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” as she slowly made her way down the aisle until she reached the front.

Instantly, some other older woman got up to offer her a chair. Without hesitation, “panting woman” took the chair and brought it closer to Patterson while she blocked the view of those who thought they had front row seats.

Patterson tried to start again, but the woman kept kvetching. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.” At one point I expected her to pass out. Patterson tried to be sympathetic, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this was more about her self-absorption than anything else that was going on in the room.

There was no stopping this woman. She interrupted Patterson for the entire hour. She loudly commented on everything he said. The problem was that she was a loyal fan. She recited excerpts from Patterson’s book, clapped like a two-year-old when Patterson announced his next books, and offered to give him pages to read from the book her son was writing as a New York City cop.

If this were any place other than Delray Beach, this intrusive nudnik would have been removed. If it were New York, she would have been a victim in one of Patterson’s books.

But this was Delray. Patterson was tolerant and the crowd was kind. I was flabbergasted.