Reaching the Edge.

I? Am reaching my breaking point.
Let's review a couple of things:
I deal with at least two times the amount of people that everyone else does (except for the regalia dept right now. Don't envy them at all).
I have a very specific method and reason for my actions as to how I run my floor.
I have no jurisdiction over what the home office mandates.
I will never request something with immediacy unless it actually needs immediate attention.

Today I arrived to work (a feat unto itself). H was sick, which I suspected, as she sounded like absolute crap last night when we spoke. Books had been moved on my floor that I didn't yet want moved. I'm still giving an Ethan Fromme impression in the knee department. And I also look like a victim of domestic abuse, due to random bruises from the fall and subsequent doorway-slam.

A few other minor things happened--BL was being so annoying that I actually told her to leave (she was making customers tell me I'm pretty, which? Thanks, but NOT. OKAY.), Dwyer huffed and puffed about his book on hold (it's been there for a good three weeks, but he just! needs! two! more! days!) and no one, absolutely no one at all, will read the goddamn sign that CAPS AND GOWNS ARE ON THE THIRD FLOOR. Plus, the Regalia manager was out today and for some reason people from that department thought I, yes I, would be a good person to refer people to. Which? No. NO.

But, friends, that's not even the best thing that happened today. You know, I thought my blog was getting a little boring--I mean, how often can I tell stories about people confused about getting upstairs, or spilling coffee, or demanding to use the other bathroom (you know, the one that doesn't have a line. The magical one. Like that bathroom in Harry Potter...it has a big tub, and a mermaid comes up and sings to you and you get the clue. A CLUE TO STOP THINKING YOU'RE SPECIAL).

So. Our poetry table. Each month has a theme--last month was Women's History, the month before that was African-American History. Now poetry. I think next month is banned books, which has already caused so much confusion (I'll try to find the link).
A woman walks up to the register and asks to speak to a manager. I'm all about diffusing situations--there's really no need to call my boss down if the woman just wants to say that the girl in clothing didn't know how to get another sweatshirt--so I usually identify myself as the fiction supervisor and ask if I can help.
Well, in this case, I couldn't. Because NO ONE in the entire world would make this woman happy. See, she was upset because our poetry table didn't represent many African-American writers.
I explain that, while we have a lot of choice of titles on the floor, that table's titles are generated by our home office. I assure her that, because of the abundance of titles supplied, books are constantly being sold and replaced. I say that I specifically know that a Maya Angelou book had sold-out and we were waiting for more copies.
My explanation, obviously, is not enough. She gives me her credentials, her disappointment with our awareness to race, etc.
I say, "Honestly, I think my floor is very multicultural. I order most of the titles on this floor, but I don't take race into account. I tend not to look at the race of an author. It's not important to me."
Which, apparently, is the MOST OFFENSIVE THING she's ever heard. And she tells me. She's outraged.

I'm just going to pause for a minute to ruminate. I just...I don't think it's a bad thing that I don't think about race on a daily basis. Or even weekly. It's just not really an option for me. I mean, when I was four years old I stood in line with my mom for a very long time to receive first choice of the Cabbage Patch Kids. (This was 1984. They were new!) I chose a black one. Not one that looked like me--weren't they like supposed to be our "babies" or something?--or one that looked like my new little sister. I walked forward, plucked Kara from the bunch, and we were together for years. She was eventually joined by Kaylie, Kirsten, and a plethora of other K names, but I think that example just goes to show that race-awareness is something that children are blissfully unaware of, and that's pretty wonderful.

I did not repeat this story to this woman. I did repeat that we look at the actual books and not at the color (or sex, to be fair) of the author. I think this is an accurate statement. When considering books for a table, I barely notice the name of the author. I look at the cover, I read the back, I flip through the first few pages to see how it might fit our demographic.
"Well, you know why you don't think about that? Because you don't wake up every morning and look in the mirror and see that you're black."
Why no, I don't. If I look in the mirror at all, it's to think, "Geez, you look like hell." Is hell a race? Because I'd be the captain.
And also? I respect that African-Americans have a special history. It's important to acknowledge it and understand it. But if she's waking up every morning and the first thing she sees in the mirror is that she's black, that's really her own issue. I think it's a little drastic of her to say that my "not looking at skin color" is "disappointing."
Not to go much further with this, but to this day I'm unsure about the gender of some authors, let alone their race. Wouldn't it be just as wrong of me to say, "This chick sounds black. Let's throw her on the table to represent."

I do understand her primary concern. Old white men have a lot of clout. But it's almost like she came in with a fight in mind. I saw her perusing the tables, examining the books. Just as I can't be "on" one-hundred percent of the time, neither can my tables. Out of the dozen displays on my floor, she found the one to nit-pick. Yeah, the table has a few old white men on it. But it also is about 45% women, definitely has two books by Derek Walcott (who I heart, a lot), and represents a multitude of cultures.

As I told her--"We're doing our best." We take what we can. I do a fair amount of research to keep the titles on my floor current. When the home office hands me a list, I'm going to take it. It saves me an hour or two of research and it's non-negotiable. I'll go with it.

And for god's sake. Poetry sells like shit anyway. Not a place to pick your battles. That's why we didn't--it's set-up one day and taken down a few later. I have far bigger battles to choose.
But I don't appreciate being attacked in my workspace over something which I don't control. And I also don't appreciate being told that I'm "the problem with people today" when I say that I don't look at skin color.
Because I still refuse to. If your skin color is an issue, that's your business. I'm just here to sell some books.
Before I go bash my head into my chimney.