I used to work at a bookshop.

Customer: “Hello, I’m looking for a book for my daughter’s English lessons. I need a copy of Jane Eyre by Jane Austen.”

Me: “I think you mean by Charlotte Brontë. I’d be happy to grab that for you.”

Customer: “Uh… no. Just because you work in a book shop doesn’t mean you’re smart. It’s Jane Eyre by Jane Austen. She used her own name.”

Me: “Alrighty then, let’s just go to the classic section, shall we?”

I walk her over there and pull out one of the many copies we’re holding of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.

Customer: “But… how!? How did this happen?”

Me: “She wrote a book, just not the one you’re thinking. Did you want me to take a copy over to the counter?”

The customer continues to scan the bookshelves, desperately looking for Jane Eyre by Jane Austen to prove me wrong.

Customer: “I’m gonna go to [Competitor’s Book Shop] where they don’t sell knock-offs!”

She leaves, and I’m standing there wondering if our books are Austen by Temu…

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Senseless Sensibility