Fumes and dead braincells

Today as i was jotting something down on a clipboard at work, a woman walked up with a question. 

"Could you look up a book for me?" she inquired 

"Certainly," I replied pleasantly, "title or author?" 

She thought for a moment.

"Well I was looking at it on the internet and it began with the number 20. I know it just came out."
My eyes widened in amazement at how this woman found the stairs to my shop. She DID seem to know left from right.  

"20? alright," i punched it into the computer which promptly brought up around 6,000 entries. "hmm," i said scrolling down, "any other parts to it?" I asked as pleasantly as i could maintain. 
"It had facts in the title too. Could i look at them to see if anything rings a bell?" 

"Why sure!" I answer through my teeth. I try not to strike her and wait for her to reach the right conclusion, best she arrives at it herself.
After a few minutes of scrolling through the myriad of titles beginning with 20. She sighs.
"Maybe I should look it up and see what the full title is."
"THAT is an excellent idea ma'am," I say. Thank angry jesus she finally got it. And walked out. 

This was the finishing touch to a long brewing epiphany, it was at this point in time that i fully understood why otherwise reasonable people chain smoked. Swallowing down puff after puff. Each butt flicked away like an empty shell casing. They do help, really. To keep from putting a bullet in yourself on impulse.