If you're in an airport, and you don't have anything to read, and you are in one of those airport bookstores, and you don't see anything else you want to read more, you could buy this book and it would get you through your trip. Or you could just make up stories about the crazy ass people in the airport and then watch in-flight movies on the plane and shoot spitballs at the annoying drunk guy three rows up. (But you have to bring your own straw. They don't give you straws on airplanes. This is probably why. Steal a handful from one of those overpriced fast food chains in the airport. If security asks why you need a dozen straws, tell them, "Emergency tracheotomies.")It could have been clever and funny as hell. (It's not.) Sam Pulsifer's kind of likeable. But likeable in the way that you say "Hey, s'up?" to your regular clerk at the 7-11. Not likeable like you'd want to hang out with him after his shift's over. You don't really give a crap about him. You could root for the guy, but, like he says (over and over again) he's a bumbler. Not even the kind of bumbler that you hope will make good, like the loser kids with their PeeWee hockey team in Disney movies that you secretly hope will win the championship, despite all odds being against them. (Don't worry, they will, it's a Disney movie and that's how they roll.) Sam's just one of those dudes whose life is a wreck, and you feel a vague, "Oh? Is that what he's doing now?" curiosity. But you can't root for him, because you know, deep down, it's wasted energy.Kind of like reading this book.