I give him my generic recommendations for that age group: Roald Dahl, Philip Pullman, Norton Juster, Frances Hodgson Burnett. He asks about the Hardy Boys and I say that I never got into them; I was into Nancy Drew. He asks if I reread them later and I said yes, and volunteered that unlike the other authors I mentioned, I didn't find that the Nancy Drew books stood the test of time.
Thus far the interaction seems to be fairly normal.
After making my recommendations, I leave him to peruse the shelves I had led him directly to as a likely source of the sort of books he was looking for. He hovered momentarily, never focusing his eyes on any particular title or shelf, before floating back over to me at the counter.
"I was hoping to find some books that I could borrow and read to them for free. Do you know where--?"
"There is a public library just a couple of blocks south of here."
"But I wanted books I could keep in the classroom for free to read to the kids."
"The Library."
"Is there a problem with my questions?" [apparently irritated]
"I'm sorry?" [just bemused]
"You're not really answering my questions."
"You asked where you could borrow books for free to read to your kids and I answered that you could do that at the Library. I'm not understanding how that question wasn't answered or how we arrived at a problem."
"Well, it's just your face. It's unhelpful."
Long pause.
Slowly and deliberately, while making eye contact: "So, my face is the problem in this conversation."
Another pause.
He backs away and says loudly and indignantly, "Well, I guess I'LL go READ TO THOSE CHILDREN and get help SOMEWHERE ELSE." He exits, still clutching the list of recommendations I wrote out for him.
"You have a great day, sir."
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