Book Expo is this trade summit for the Canadian book business. Pretty great for authors, who just get to kind of show up, sign their name on things, get taken to lunch and so on. The publishing people spend three days pitching the circus tent, ushering, beavering, doing deals, looking tired, forestalling colds, etc. Business is tiring. It makes me glad I'm not a professional. I know I'm not one by the clothes I wear, which could be classified mostly as indoor/outdoor pajamas.

My usual apparel might have something to do with why the Intercontinental Hotel Toronto Centre was not the golden meadow of perfect luxury I was hoping for. One morning on my way through the revolving door to the lobby I was stopped by a security guard in a Mr. Smith suit and one of those flesh-toned earpieces undercover RCMP wear. And way too much hair gel. We talked for a little while. This is what we said:

Security Guard: Excuse me, ma'am. Are you a guest here?

CG: Are you serious?

SG: Yes, I am.

CG: Wow.

SG: What's your room number?

CG: 1936? Do you want to see my key, just to be sure?

SG: That would be great.

CG: Do you check everyone or just me?

SG: We just want you to feel safe.

Thank you, civilian cop at the Intercontinental Toronto Centre. You do wonders for my imposter complex. And do I ever feel safe! Oh, and thanks for winking. I hope next life you come back brown.