My Life. Or, "Tell the Customer to Bite Me."

I've decided to start a blog, because it's a place that I can say things like, "I've decided that Charlie is kind of like one of those dolls with the hair you can cut and then pump the arm and it just grows again. or a chia pet." Cause seriously? He has SO much fur. And it's really, really fun to just cut off cause it grows back in like a week. If you've never clipped hair, it's more satisfying than you could ever imagine.

A blog will also be a safe venue for me to discuss my two jobs. (And by "safe," I mean a venue in which I am not bitching to the boy so much that he wrings my neck the next time I start a sentence with "Today at work..." that quickly escalates to a whine.) Anyway. Both of my jobs involve customer service (and I suppose all jobs do, to a degree). But by waitressing on the weekends and working in a bookstore during the week, I spend many, many, many hours being nice to people who just do not deserve it (and some who do). I have to smile a lot and I never sit down. (But my feet don't hurt because of these marvelous shoes. They are ugly--my boss reminds me daily--but I just don't care, cause his feet hurt and mine don't.) And unfortunately, I have learned that a lot of people are not very smart, not very nice (especially if you have to tell them "no"), and really, really have a hard time grasping the fiction-is-shelved-alphabetically-by-author's-last-name concept.

That said, there are some really great patrons. There's the little limpy lady who always tells me about her T rides, and the sci-fi dude who chats while he waits for his bus, and the numerous people who get really excited about a book recommendations and new releases. And there's squeaky asian lady, but she gets a post all to herself because we love her so much.

But then there's also Bible Lady, Dwyer, and the numerous other characters I deal with on a daily basis.

This is my life.

And no. You cannot get a discount.