O magazines, where is thy sting?

Since I began working full-time at Barnes and Noble a little over a year ago I have worked in the bargain section, to such acclaim that my coworkers took to calling me "Bargain Jesus," a nickname referring both to the effortless miracles that I work with bargain books and my divine beard, which people the length of the East Coast visit on pilgrimages.
"See how even though it's predominantly brown there are patches of red? That's proof that God loves us," say the pilgrims, as I blush and sign autographs.
But now, effective March 1, I am "Bargain Jesus" no more. I have been moved to the newsstand, the bargain books given to the talented but decidedly beardless Bob Diller. I have been surprised by how hard this has hit me, and not just because I lose my cool nickname. With the nickname goes my status as someone who knows what they are doing. I find myself in unfamiliar territory. I miss the familiar merchandise, books that have come to seem, if not like friends, then certainly like neighbors, people you don't care very much about but who by their presence put you at ease. I can look at the drunk, drum-beating Jehova's witness across the street and know that I'm home. So it was with The Complete Military Atlas of the Civil War, and I feel the loss of it-- a small loss maybe, but a loss nonetheless. Goodbyes seem appropriate.
So, goodbye Civil War Atlas. Goodbye Do Fish Drink Water?, goodbye Why do Buses Come in Threes?, goodbye Who Put the Butter in Butterfly?, goodbye The Book of Stupid Questions. Goodbye $5.98 "former bestsellers" and enormous $20 "1000 Recipe" cookbooks. Goodbye, to not one but two kinds of affordable hardcover Barnes and Noble Classics (full sized and "pocket"). Goodbye tasteless histories of serial killers, goodbye outdated almanacs, goodbye biographies of celebrities nobody knows.
Goodbye immovable stack of The Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Encyclopedia, I think I'll miss you most of all.

Postscript-
As if to welcome me to the magazines, the cover of this month's Maxim features Jennifer Love Hewitt, her ridiculous Grand Canyon-esque cleavage less than an inch from the words "Al Qaeda Returns!" printed in bold type. My friend and coworker Kathryn (the managers love her not, for they are fools, all) pointed out that Ms. Hewitt is standing in for the twin towers. Well said, Kathryn.