Inclement weather and confusingly small zeros

The fates conspired against our trip to the Printers Row Lit Fest.  I slept poorly the night before, work was a bit rough, the little guy had to be traded off between us so the other could look for books, and the bottom fell out of the skies.

But it wasn't a total waste, and Edwards' weekend adventures are always hoppin'.  We came out with a few books for Duncan, and I picked up Jeeves and the Tie That Binds by P. G. Wodehouse, an author I've been meaning to read.

I couldn't land my first choice, a first edition of Winston Churchill's My African Journey.  I opened the cover, observed the price, and handed the book to the seller for purchase.  Here follows the subsequent conversation.

Bookseller:  "Do you know how much this costs?"
Me:  "Eight dollars, I think it said."
Bookseller:  "It's actually eight hundred."
Me:  "Oh."  Awkward pause.  "That's a bit out of my price range."