As I've retired from retail, I'm retiring this blog.
While working at the store, my sanity was dependent on this blog. It was my chance to tell my side of the story, to vent, and to be completely candid about a job that I absolutely hated. But that stage of my life is definitely over, so I'm sorry, bookstore blog, we're breaking up.
But I have started writing again, so come find me at kea.
As most of you know, I have a new job. The bookstore is a (somewhat) distant memory, as I have now been at the prestigious university across the river for six weeks now. I am a faculty assistant, which ranges from showing the most brilliant scholars in America how to use the copier to organizing a LOT of data to ordering tea. It is a great job and I love it.
I do miss the bookstore. I miss my friends and I miss my boss. I miss my favorite customers--I worry about Gerda, my elderly Danish lady, and my favorite businessman, who still asks about me. I even somewhat miss BL, as she offered a specific brand of flavour to my everyday life. I miss the Otis guys--we have them too, but they're definitely NOT Timmy and Chris. I even somewhat missing the morning meetings when we'd roll our eyes and watch customers strain against the red stanchion tape. I miss giving Tracy, the LP (Loss Prevention) manager, crazy eyes and saying, "Let them in even a minute early and I will cut you." And I miss giving George, the LP guy who closed with me on Tuesdays, crazy eyes at 8:59pm and saying, "If you let anyone else in I will throw books at you."
It's hard going into the store now. The new people don't know me. I feel like an outsider when I talk to my friends who stand behind the register. The control-freak in me wants to get behind there, move things around. I wanted to go into the store on Columbus Day but I didn't--I felt like I would be acknowledging the fact that I wasn't working and they were. (But it's amazing to have holidays off now. I even have the whole week after Christmas off, paid. No rushing back the morning after Christmas, or Thanksgiving either.) But it's weird to not feel comfortable in a place where I spent two years of my life. It was my place of employment, but so much more. I met some of my best friends there--I can't even imagine my life without M or H or my previous boss. But especially H. She's my bird, my non-sexual domestic life partner, and it's killing me to not see her every day, to not be greeted in the morning with "Good morning birdface!" (Cause she obviously always beat me to work.) H has, actually, left the bookstore as of today. She's nannying for the snuggliest little baby. Less hours, more money. And a little punkinhead to mind vs. many annoying people. I'm happy for her, but my sister is pissed that she now officially has no one to go bother at the store in between classes.
I feel very, very fortunate to have this new job. So far, my new bosses like me and are impressed with my work--they're not used to having an assistant whose previous job did not allow idleness. I've learned that it's acceptable for me to browse the internet and just chill--my boss told me at the beginning, when I didn't have anything to do, "Sometimes your job is just being here...you help faculty and students and answer phone questions....I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to do..."
She's sorry? I'm elated. They bought me a brand new iMac my second week. I have applications to play with, I have an entire itunes library to download, and I have the internet to read.
Real conversation:
"So, what did you do today?"
"I read the internet."
"Haha, like the whole thing?"
"Pretty much."
And checked facebook and myspace and my email--which I HAVE to be on, because we use g-chat--it's pretty much the best job ever.
I couldn't be happier. And if you've read this blog from the beginning, that's a really, really exciting thing.
I'm at the restaurant. It's very busy, I'm all by myself, and the other waitress isn't due for half an hour. I get a deuce of a man and his mother.
These people have a LOT of questions. They want recommendations for everything, which? Dudes, I'm running around like crazy, I have about 12 tables, ranging from two sixes to a few fours to lots of twos. Most restaurants give a server a three table section, five at the MOST. Most servers have twelve tables TOTAL on a good evening. And I have twelve at the same time. That borders on ridiculousness.
I slosh wine into a glass--cabernet for him, white zin for the mom--chuck it on the table and run back for some hot food. They are still deciding on their meal but put in an appetizer, the spinach and prosciutto.
Now, I honestly don't really understand our spinach and pros appetizer. It's basically a heap of sauteed spinach with prosciutto surrounding it. People seem to like it. This man does not.
That is not our first problem, however. He calls me over to complain about his wine. Okay, fine. I recall that I poured him the end of a bottle, so I grab the glass, say I'll open a new bottle, run to get that, bring it back, and he says, "Well, you acted like you were expecting that. And I didn't want more. You were too fast."
Uh, no. I wasn't expecting it. But I'm willing to fix any mistake as quickly as I can. SO sorry.
"Sorry," I say. "I just want to get people things as soon as possible."
"Well maybe you should bring the proper thing the first time."
Grrrr. Look--wine goes bad. It might have accidentally been left open last night. I have no idea, but I got you a brand new glass from a brand new bottle. That should remedy the situation, no?
I bring the appetizer. Now, this appetizer is fairly straight-forward. Hot spinach, cold prosciutto, maybe involve some bread or eat it plain?
This man is thoroughly confused by this. "Um, excuse me," he says to Katie, the phone person who is also busting her ass to help me with my tables. She stops and he grills her on how exactly to eat the food.
"Uh, you just, um, eat it?" she says.
"But part of it is hot and part is cold. That doesn't make sense."
What doesn't make sense is how someone can't figure out to put some spinach and prosciutto on a fucking fork and insert that into his mouth.
Katie walks over to me. "Dude, what is UP with that guy? He wants to talk to you. He doesn't understand how to eat his appetizer."
By this time the other waitress has arrived. He decides to call her over to answer the OH-SO-CONFUSING question of how to eat an appetizer that involves two different temperatures.
And then he winks at her and tells her she deserves a good spanking.
IN FRONT OF HIS MOTHER.
Jen laughs nervously and runs away. When he touches my ass the next time I go over--in which he complains about his meals, saying it's the worst thing they've ever tasted--I tell him to leave.
And then he gets crazy. Well, more than before. He starts yelling at customers, telling them the food is awful, don't eat here, and then goes on the patio and harasses the two men eating out there. He doesn't pay for what I charged him for (I voided the entrees, but charged him for the "confusing" app and the wine).
I then have to go through the whole headache of getting things voided and threat of having to pay for stuff because of my irresponsibility. Um, what? I made the best business decision by kicking the guy out.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate.
check out this:
I am Emily X: the true-life diary of a frontline Planned Parenthood worker and activist.
She's doing amazing work. (And she's one of my best friends, so go support her!)
"And the people who say, "And how much did I save?", well, that's a whole other story.
You saved 10% you twit, and if you don't want to do the math, neither do I, and it prints out at the bottom of your receipt, but until you give me the money so I can complete this g.d. transaction, I will not be able to tell you."
Instead I say, "Well, we can see that once you pay!!!!"
I love excitement! Yipeeee!
So, BL's father died. And she found out from an obituary that she discovered on the internet. Which she then printed out and stomped on.
And then OBVIOUSLY brought into the bookstore for sharing purposes.
There are a couple of things I don't really understand here and for which I'm not easily receiving answers:
1. Was she googling her father? How did she find this obituary?
2. Why the stomping on it?
3. Apparently we're going to receive even MORE money now that he has passed away. Will this happen soon enough for next month's rent?
4. She yells at her sister on the phone all the time. Why was she not informed?
And most importantly:
5. (well, this isn't a question...) This means BL is a real person. She was named as next of kin. Does that super freak anyone else out?
Rush. Is hard. It kind of makes me want to squeeze my head between my knees and rock back and forth in the fetal position while moaning, "Please don't hurt me, please. I will give you anything. I will pretend there is a student discount. Please just let me out alive."
Today started out...interestingly. The morning was quiet for a bit, until a lovely little man approached me. And by lovely, I mean, awful, horrid little troll.
He slaps down an atlas. "Do you have any discount cards?" I chirp. Yes, I'm chirping.
"No."
I scan the atlas and say the price. He shoves a card at me. As I--and all my co-workers--do every single time we run a card, I flip it over to check for a signature. There isn't one.
"May I see a photo ID?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The card isn't signed, so I need to see ID."
"Use debit," he says, a tad too forcefully.
"We actually don't have a debit option...everything runs through as credit. If I could just see some ID..."
"IT IS ILLEGAL TO ASK FOR ID."
Huh.
"Well...it's a company policy to require ID with all unsigned cards."
"YOU WANT A SIGNED CARD? I'LL GIVE YOU A SIGNED CARD."
He grabs the pen in my hand and starts to sign the card.
"Sir, I really just need to see ID. It's a security measure for your protection."
Throughout this whole interaction I've been very pleasant. He's like my fourth customer of the day, I've eaten breakfast, I've had tea, and I woke up before my alarm. That's pretty much the absolute BEST you will ever get me before 10am.
So his next move pretty much astonishes me.
"FINE. HAVE IT YOUR WAY." And he flings the atlas across the desk, hitting me square in the stomach. It drops to the floor as I step back, shocked. He did it with about ten times more force than this guy.
I just stand there for a minute. I'm pissed. I did NOTHING wrong. I followed procedure, I was very nice, and I still got an atlas thrown at me. This man has been a nuisance before--he yelled at me one morning about having to wait to buy his book because people were standing around and talking. Yes, we were standing and talking... at the daily morning meeting we have with the store manager before the store was even open. And another morning he got mad at me for not being able to break a one hundred dollar bill. When he was my first transaction. And was buying a $3 magazine. He got waaaay too angry that time, so this current interaction was the last straw.
I mean, I'm not a morning person. But sheeesh.
So I pick up the phone, call LP, and file a report. This guy will no longer be bothering anyone at my store, as he's now banned. The university police even came and took a statement (LP takes these things seriously!).
Don't fuck with the lords of hell?
Don't fuck with the babysitter.
Tonight I received the VERY generous tip of four pennies.
Not even a nickel.
Obviously I was thrilled.