I stand across from the bespectacled man, breath bated, waiting for him to reach out and allow me to grasp the much-lauded future of electronic reading devices: the Nook. Beneath the august names bolted to the painted concrete storefront is a word that explains the birth of this Kindle killer. “Bookseller” says the sign in glowing green letters. That’s what this device, this gray bit of plastic that reminds me vaguely of a knobless Etch-a-sketch, is intended to do: sell books.

Smiling like a junior high school student who knows something I don’t know, this man whose breath somehow seems to steam in a warm room–his name is Gary–refuses to let me hold the Nook as he expounds upon its features. I hear, “2 Gigabytes of memory” and “share books with friends for free” as the tech-enthralled beast inside me grows ever more angry at this character for holding out on me. He continues his pitch with, “You can take notes and search for…” but I can wait no longer.

“Gary, could you hand me that Nook? I’d like that.” Gary reluctantly gives up this precious harbinger of literature’s future.

It feels light. Lighter than a copy of Steinbeck’s Sweet Thursday with the front cover torn off (precisely the state of my current copy.)

“Thanks, Gary! This is great!” I say, happy to finally get to put the Nook through its paces.

“It won’t turn on. Are there batteries in this sweet Caroline? It seems very light.” I ask, expecting Gary to laugh at me and point out the correct button.

“Oh, that’s not a functioning model. We won’t have those in-store until early next year.” Says Gary with a completely straight face.

“So you don’t have any functioning models here?” I wonder out loud, thinking he must be joking. This is the bookseller’s big push into the digital world of book sales. Surely  a basic working model is available for customers to examine and pre-order before the January 4 release? Gary says that isn’t going to happen.

Now I’m fired up.

“Gary, you’re expecting me to not only buy a Nook but tell my friends about it based on my examination of a hollow plastic shell?”

He seems ready for this, almost as if he’s heard this question many times already.

“We’re hoping to build some buzz and hope that you’ll trust us to deliver all the promised features in a package like the one you see before you. It will simply weigh a bit more.”

I thank Gary for his time and walk directly to Starbucks for some coffee to wash the taste of ridiculous marketing from my mouth.

The final numbers on the Nook review:

Looks: 8/10 points for friendly design. The Nook is big enough to fit my large hands comfortably but thin and light enough to please the normal-sized reader.

Functionality: 0/10 until January when that number will increase slightly after viewing a truly working model.

I was excited about the Nook at first. I had high hopes for the Android-powered Kindle killer from a bookstore I’ve always enjoyed. But now that I’ve had smiling Gary yank my arm to pre-buy something I’ve only seen the shell of… I’m not so thrilled.

I had expected to fall in love with a brilliant piece of new technology. Instead I was brushed off by a bit of plastic and a salesman who didn’t care that this consumer felt slighted by the blatant bait-and-switch marketing effort he expected me to accept in the name of shiny new stuff.

No thanks.

I’d rather spend my $359 on coffee table photo books from the bargain section while I wait for the new Kindle to come out. I bet it will be fantastic and something tells me Bezos will only ship working models.

Image: Barnes & Noble

Review: Nook E-Reader From Barnes & Noble