During my shift as a customer-service agent at Detroit Metro Airport, I was approached by a weeping woman who was so upset that I thought maybe she'd missed a connection or lost a child.
"I left my book on the plane!" she said frantically.
I assumed this had to be a rare first edition of some kind. "Okay," I said. "Just tell me the title of the book."
"It's called 'Don't Sweat the Small Stuff ... and It's All Small Stuff,'" she replied through her tears.