Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. Your local chain bookstore has a few more tips for you while you enjoy your time pursuing our bookshelves...
1. When a book is published in hardback, it is ONLY in hardback. It takes EIGHT to TWELVE MONTHS for the publishes to republish the book in paperback. So when you want the new JD Robb or the new James Patterson, and you simply can not wait, you will have to buy the hardback. Stop asking me if you can get it in paperback. NO YOU CAN NOT.
2. Calendars are only carried from October until about New Year's Day. We do not keep a stock of them in the store year round; so if you come in 31 DAYS after the new year has started, expecting a great selection of sweet fuzzy puppies or majestic mountain views, do not get all pissy with me when I show you what we have left- it's your own damn fault that you got stuck with Hannah Montana.
3. If you are looking for a book that was published sometime before this decade, do not expect us to have it on the shelf. In fact, do not expect us to be able to get ahold of it- publishers STOP publishing books after a certain period because the world moves on; so that random ass cookbook or history book that your mother had when you were ten- yea, we're not your people. FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO FIND IT FOR YOU. And stop yelling at me for something I have no control over.
4. I'm not a magician; if you stop me with my arms full of books and expect me to be able to walk you to twelve different books on an obscure topic all over the store; first off I'm going to hate you for forcing me to stop when I'm about to drop the huge stack of books I have to put away from other moronic customers who can't clean up after themselves and second I'm going to have to go to my computer. Now, if you're lucky enough to have the exact title of the stupid book you want, and you're lucky enough to have my system find it for you, then don't get all pissy at me when we don't have it- after all, we sell books, not obscure historical literature on the making of shoe laces.
5. And last but not least, please remember that your local bookseller is a PERSON and we really want to go home at the end of the night too. Sleeping is something all humans are fond of and we'd really appreciate it if you could assist us by getting OUT OF OUR BOOKSTORE WHEN WE TELL YOU TO!!!
Thanks yet again!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Over working... in moderation
So I spent the weekend suffering because I've literally worked myself into a stand still. I was so over tired that I couldn't even go to church yesterday- something I haven't done in months, because I'm always working. I swear, without this promise of India, I would never be able to drag myself out of bed at five fifty in the morning, strap on my bookstore appropriate wardrobe, drive the 45 minutes into town, work for five hours shelving books (oh joy, my most favorite thing) then have an hour or two off where I crash in the backseat of my car before rushing into my school to work four hours with a whole slew of overly excitable kids (take them outside, even for twenty minutes, and it throws off the rest of the day- they've got too much energy and no where to expel it and it drives my boss so crazy she yells at them for something they can't control. Sigh.) Then I drive the hour home, eat something, take as long a shower as I think my step dad will allow (we do live in a desert/plains area after all and water is a valuable commodity) before falling into bed to do it all over again the next morning. And then today, as if to make everything even more amazing, I discovered I need a tourist visa to go to India- what?!?!? Don't they want people to come to their country?!?! So why are they going to make me go through all the hassle of getting a visa, paying the fee, photocopying every piece of documentation that proves I'm an American citizen and would potentially allow anyone to steal my identity before mailing it off with my passport with the hopes that it will be returned to me in ten business days. And to top it all off, I didn't feel any better today- it's like a took a piece of sandpaper to my throat, a sledge hammer to my stomach, and have been carrying an elephant on my neck.
38 days. That's what I have to keep reminding myself- 38 days and India will be within my reach and I will be living it up, traveling through all of the gorgeous foreigness of that amazing country- and feeling more like myself than I have since returning from Wales.
And then what? 21 amazing days of India and then I return... to what? That is the question I am putting off, ignoring, but that is the question that needs, more than anything else, to be answered.
38 days. That's what I have to keep reminding myself- 38 days and India will be within my reach and I will be living it up, traveling through all of the gorgeous foreigness of that amazing country- and feeling more like myself than I have since returning from Wales.
And then what? 21 amazing days of India and then I return... to what? That is the question I am putting off, ignoring, but that is the question that needs, more than anything else, to be answered.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Blind Dates... another horrible moment of floundering
So I have always viewed blind dates as the ultimate low; if you need someone to set you up, then you need to get out more. What's even worse, and is even lower than low, is when your parents have to set you up with someone.
That was my experience last night. Weeks ago, my mom had come to me and told me a friend of hers had a guy she wanted me to meet and my mom was going to try and set up a dinner date so we could all mingle. I stared at her with unhidden shock and disgust. Are you serious Mom? I asked. You want me to go to dinner with you, your middle aged friend, and some kid you all think I should meet? Not in this lifetime.
Eventually, though, I relented. I mean, I'm desperate. I work, and work, and work some more, and sometimes sleep, and babysit, and work, and sleep and work. That's it- nothing more exciting than that. So when I got an email from this lady a few days ago, with a time and directions to her house, I agreed with a huge sense of imminent disaster approaching.
What I was unaware of until two hours before the event however was that it was not simply my mom, her friend, this guy and me, but oh so much more: my mother, my step father who is quite possibly the largest red neck this side of the Mississippi, my mom's friend, this guy, and both of his parents. I couldn't help but think that this was going to be the most awkward night of my life. So I decided to do absolutely nothing special: in fact, I went to the gym before going to work, and at work I played HARD with 30 or so kids, before going to this dinner thing. So not only do I perhaps not smell the nicest, but my hair's a mess, I've got marker and ink all over my hands from some pretty serious coloring sessions, and my makeup is almost non existant. I couldn't help but think of this as my mini rebellion to the whole set up. Take that parents, ha!
I had this image of the guy in my head. All anybody had told me was that he's "nice and such a good guy" so I'm thinking pudgy, short, with perhaps glasses and some messed up teeth and to top it off, he's a Dungeons and Dragons-aholic. I'm expecting him to try and entertain me with talk of the warlock he defeated in level nine and how his job at Game Stop is the most rewarding thing in his life. In short, I'm expecting one of the Sci Fi/Fantasy type customers that I have to smile at, painfully, while at work. Oh joy.
Okay, wow was I wrong. My mom had never met the guy either so I can't give her credit, but her friend certainly did all right- the guy was pretty cute. Very tall, broad shoulders which is a swimmer thing I like, blond hair, sorta a skaterish look to him. You can tell he does something active alot because there's not much fat anywhere; certainly not the pudgy geek I was expecting. And to top it off, he's funny, pretty dang smart and he's traveled which was pretty awesome.
So I'm thinking, cool, okay, not so bad. Except, it's almost worse when you think you might be able to like the guy- and then your mother turns to you both and smiles, saying something about how you should get together. And then her friend turns to you and says you two should get a group together and hang out. And then his mother asks you if he's gotten your phone number (he got my email address instead). So either he's playing it off really cool or he doesn't know this is supposed to be a blind date (although by the time his mother asks if he's gotten my phone number he should have figured it out because hell, NO ONE was subtle about it) or he's just not that interested. Either way, he was much more at ease, and I suspect much more himself, than I was. I was sitting in a pile of uncomfortableness the whole night, praying to whatever god or goddess would listen, to not let anything too outrageous be said (my step father was in attendance so the possibility of this happening was unusually large).
Anyhoo, the night ended, my parents left, he left, his parents left, and I left. Very uneventful. He shook my hand, nice to meet you, that sorta thing. And I'm driving home thinking, if my parents hadn't been there, I would have tried harder. I would have brought my A game because he was darn cute and certainly had something going on in his head worth exploring. But who knows if anything will happen now because he's only got my email which isn't so terribly promising. And, as if to make the cake a little sweeter, his parents, my parents and all their mutual friends will now be waiting and watching with excitement. God save us.
That was my experience last night. Weeks ago, my mom had come to me and told me a friend of hers had a guy she wanted me to meet and my mom was going to try and set up a dinner date so we could all mingle. I stared at her with unhidden shock and disgust. Are you serious Mom? I asked. You want me to go to dinner with you, your middle aged friend, and some kid you all think I should meet? Not in this lifetime.
Eventually, though, I relented. I mean, I'm desperate. I work, and work, and work some more, and sometimes sleep, and babysit, and work, and sleep and work. That's it- nothing more exciting than that. So when I got an email from this lady a few days ago, with a time and directions to her house, I agreed with a huge sense of imminent disaster approaching.
What I was unaware of until two hours before the event however was that it was not simply my mom, her friend, this guy and me, but oh so much more: my mother, my step father who is quite possibly the largest red neck this side of the Mississippi, my mom's friend, this guy, and both of his parents. I couldn't help but think that this was going to be the most awkward night of my life. So I decided to do absolutely nothing special: in fact, I went to the gym before going to work, and at work I played HARD with 30 or so kids, before going to this dinner thing. So not only do I perhaps not smell the nicest, but my hair's a mess, I've got marker and ink all over my hands from some pretty serious coloring sessions, and my makeup is almost non existant. I couldn't help but think of this as my mini rebellion to the whole set up. Take that parents, ha!
I had this image of the guy in my head. All anybody had told me was that he's "nice and such a good guy" so I'm thinking pudgy, short, with perhaps glasses and some messed up teeth and to top it off, he's a Dungeons and Dragons-aholic. I'm expecting him to try and entertain me with talk of the warlock he defeated in level nine and how his job at Game Stop is the most rewarding thing in his life. In short, I'm expecting one of the Sci Fi/Fantasy type customers that I have to smile at, painfully, while at work. Oh joy.
Okay, wow was I wrong. My mom had never met the guy either so I can't give her credit, but her friend certainly did all right- the guy was pretty cute. Very tall, broad shoulders which is a swimmer thing I like, blond hair, sorta a skaterish look to him. You can tell he does something active alot because there's not much fat anywhere; certainly not the pudgy geek I was expecting. And to top it off, he's funny, pretty dang smart and he's traveled which was pretty awesome.
So I'm thinking, cool, okay, not so bad. Except, it's almost worse when you think you might be able to like the guy- and then your mother turns to you both and smiles, saying something about how you should get together. And then her friend turns to you and says you two should get a group together and hang out. And then his mother asks you if he's gotten your phone number (he got my email address instead). So either he's playing it off really cool or he doesn't know this is supposed to be a blind date (although by the time his mother asks if he's gotten my phone number he should have figured it out because hell, NO ONE was subtle about it) or he's just not that interested. Either way, he was much more at ease, and I suspect much more himself, than I was. I was sitting in a pile of uncomfortableness the whole night, praying to whatever god or goddess would listen, to not let anything too outrageous be said (my step father was in attendance so the possibility of this happening was unusually large).
Anyhoo, the night ended, my parents left, he left, his parents left, and I left. Very uneventful. He shook my hand, nice to meet you, that sorta thing. And I'm driving home thinking, if my parents hadn't been there, I would have tried harder. I would have brought my A game because he was darn cute and certainly had something going on in his head worth exploring. But who knows if anything will happen now because he's only got my email which isn't so terribly promising. And, as if to make the cake a little sweeter, his parents, my parents and all their mutual friends will now be waiting and watching with excitement. God save us.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Why I hate being 24
I hate being 24 because...
1. All the super awesome birthdays (16, 18, 21) are behind me, but not so far behind me that I can't remember them.
2. All my years of school are done. All those adults out there who said stay in school as long as you can because it's easier and more fun, you were dead on. I miss school, the ease of it, the friends, the classes, the work even- so much more rewarding than real life.
3. I hate still living with my parents. I know it's much more common these days to return home for a bit before getting your feet on the ground, but I've lived in LA all on my own, Wales all on my own, gotten two degrees and traveled the world... and it just feels like a failure, super pathetic, to be camping out with my parents.
4. I hate having to work retail, or better yet, two part time jobs and still not being able to make ends meet. This makes me sound snobby, and perhaps I am, but I have a MASTERS degree- I should not be selling books to undereducated high school students who wouldn't know Shakespeare from Nicholas Sparks and who only want Stephenie Meyers. God help us all.
5. I hate being back in my home state and in the mountains no less, my least favorite part of home. I hate seeing all the people who knew me when I was little and knowing that they witnessed some of my most embarrassing moments. Uck.
6. I hate going to my dad's house and passing my old high school, my old stomping grounds. It reminds me of all the people I would happily avoid for the rest of my life, the people that I still, after all these years away from them, want to impress. I want to be bigger, better, more famous, more powerful, etc than all of them. Not that it matters, but I do.
7. I hate not having a plan. Going to India in a month and a half and then what? I don't know what I want to start applying for, I don't know where I want to live, I don't know what I want to do to make my life more interesting and more worthwhile. I don't know if I can come up with something more important and worthwhile so I don't want to rip my hair out all the time.
8. I hate that I've wanted to be a writer for so long I couldn't even tell you when it first entered my head and I still haven't written a complete book. I know I'm good, perhaps not stellar, and I am so frustrated with my own personal lack of perseverance that it makes me want to write even less. Argh.
9. I hate not having a boyfriend or a romantic interest. People around me are getting married, having babies, buying houses and while I know, logically, that I chose a different path and that ultimately I'm happy that I got to travel and get lots of degrees and meet tons of new people, it still makes me wish I'd stayed home, found me a guy, had me a baby. Because I want children. I'm old fashioned female like that.
10. And finally, I hate that I feel like I'm floundering. I hate that I'm not the only one out there like this, that my entire generation is so in the trash that so many of us have to return home, that so many of us have to work two horrible sucky jobs that demean us, that so many of us are desperate for something, anything, else. I wish someone had sat me down, and perhaps they did and I just ignored them, and said, "REAL LIFE IS A BITCH. It's hard and confusing and complicated and not all that your dreams are making it out to be. You'll feel small and insignificant and worthless for a good chunk of it and if you're not too smart, this may not bother you too much. But if you are, and you're always wanting more, real life is going to SUCK. You're welcome."
1. All the super awesome birthdays (16, 18, 21) are behind me, but not so far behind me that I can't remember them.
2. All my years of school are done. All those adults out there who said stay in school as long as you can because it's easier and more fun, you were dead on. I miss school, the ease of it, the friends, the classes, the work even- so much more rewarding than real life.
3. I hate still living with my parents. I know it's much more common these days to return home for a bit before getting your feet on the ground, but I've lived in LA all on my own, Wales all on my own, gotten two degrees and traveled the world... and it just feels like a failure, super pathetic, to be camping out with my parents.
4. I hate having to work retail, or better yet, two part time jobs and still not being able to make ends meet. This makes me sound snobby, and perhaps I am, but I have a MASTERS degree- I should not be selling books to undereducated high school students who wouldn't know Shakespeare from Nicholas Sparks and who only want Stephenie Meyers. God help us all.
5. I hate being back in my home state and in the mountains no less, my least favorite part of home. I hate seeing all the people who knew me when I was little and knowing that they witnessed some of my most embarrassing moments. Uck.
6. I hate going to my dad's house and passing my old high school, my old stomping grounds. It reminds me of all the people I would happily avoid for the rest of my life, the people that I still, after all these years away from them, want to impress. I want to be bigger, better, more famous, more powerful, etc than all of them. Not that it matters, but I do.
7. I hate not having a plan. Going to India in a month and a half and then what? I don't know what I want to start applying for, I don't know where I want to live, I don't know what I want to do to make my life more interesting and more worthwhile. I don't know if I can come up with something more important and worthwhile so I don't want to rip my hair out all the time.
8. I hate that I've wanted to be a writer for so long I couldn't even tell you when it first entered my head and I still haven't written a complete book. I know I'm good, perhaps not stellar, and I am so frustrated with my own personal lack of perseverance that it makes me want to write even less. Argh.
9. I hate not having a boyfriend or a romantic interest. People around me are getting married, having babies, buying houses and while I know, logically, that I chose a different path and that ultimately I'm happy that I got to travel and get lots of degrees and meet tons of new people, it still makes me wish I'd stayed home, found me a guy, had me a baby. Because I want children. I'm old fashioned female like that.
10. And finally, I hate that I feel like I'm floundering. I hate that I'm not the only one out there like this, that my entire generation is so in the trash that so many of us have to return home, that so many of us have to work two horrible sucky jobs that demean us, that so many of us are desperate for something, anything, else. I wish someone had sat me down, and perhaps they did and I just ignored them, and said, "REAL LIFE IS A BITCH. It's hard and confusing and complicated and not all that your dreams are making it out to be. You'll feel small and insignificant and worthless for a good chunk of it and if you're not too smart, this may not bother you too much. But if you are, and you're always wanting more, real life is going to SUCK. You're welcome."
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Big Wide World to See...
So the real reason I'm working retail, AGAIN, is because I'm planning a very lengthy, wonderful trip to India in March. Traveling is a very large passion of mine and once I've been to India, I'll have been to 12 different countries and four different continents. The list in order of visitation:
Australia, Mexico, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Italy, Wales, Spain, Turkey, Germany and very, very soon, India. In future posts, I will list some of the fun and funny experiences I've had while abroad. :)
But let's talk about India; I am going because while in Wales getting the prized Master's degree, I roomed with a fabulous and wonderful Indian woman whose job at home is organizing and taking groups of foreigners around India. We also roomed with a couple of German girls, as well as the required Welsh girls, and towards the end of our time in rainy Wales, we decided we needed to do a reunion trip and India was all of our first pick. So Manjiri put together a fantastic trip, 21 days worth, that will span a good chunk of the country and includes riding a camel, a house boat, and an elephant... to go and see the tigers. Oh yea.
But prepping for India has not been so peachy. Upon returning from Wales, I discovered I was more financially screwed than I'd thought and since the country is still in a recession, I was forced to once again return to the bookstore. I have to say it is a gift from God that they have been willing to take me back- 3 times total over the years. But retail is one of those jobs that makes you HATE your fell human beings- enough that you plot their murders, consider chucking books at them and gleefully imagine giving their children a large latte and a free puppy (thank you REI for the idea). When I first took the job again I thought, "sure, okay, I can do anything for six months. Six months, that's not a lot of time really!" Except now that I'm 3 1/2 months into that said six months, I'm thinking, "no, no I CAN NOT do this for six months, not without losing my soul forever." It is that bad. Seriously.
But the up side is that I also have a job at a school in the after school daycare program and THAT is fun. Quite fun. I love my kids and if it would just pay a little better, I would be more than willing to just do that- but I still need both paychecks and I will continue to still need both paychecks. Blah. India, India, India...
The other wonderful part of going to India was the shots. Now I avoid needles like the plague, as I'm sure most of us do- they scare the crap out of me. But to appease my father, who's a rather large worry wart (his whole family is- as well as narcassistic, which we'll get into later) I went to the travel clinic to get a run down. Nothing is required to travel to India, which is a plus, but somethings are heavily reccommended. So the nurse, who's terribly nice, runs through everything with me, telling me not to drink the water (duh) and to watch the mosquitos (duh) and to watch the sun (No duh- I am as white as the abominal snowman) and then she tells me which shots she thinks I should get; they sound impressive enough so I ask where she's gonna stick me (cause if it's the underside of my arm, screw that) and since it's the upper part of my arm, I'm nervous but I agree. She gets them ready, I'm trying not to freak out, she sticks me once then twice and I prep my other arm for the last one, the big one, and she sticks me and all of a sudden my head is spinning and I tell her I'm really dizzy... and the next thing I know she's holding some foul smelling thing under my nose and I'm jerking awake; I've passed out. I've never passed out before. My fingers are tingly, my feet are tingly, she's propping me up with her shoulder and I feel like I'm going to be sick which is very unusual as I have the stomach of steel. I really really need to lie down so she takes me to another room and I spent 45 minutes in absolutely excruciating pain- I mean, holy cow, let me die now please. I had to call my mom, moaning out a few unintelligable sentences before the nurse took the phone and told her what was going on, and get her to call work because there was no way I was going to be there on time.
So yes, I've put a lot of effort into this trip- and it's the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. God willing, something else will come along here soon so that when I get back from India, and have nothing exciting to look forward to, I won't kill the crazy customers at the bookstore.
All right, enough moaning from me for one night. Peace out peeps.
Australia, Mexico, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Italy, Wales, Spain, Turkey, Germany and very, very soon, India. In future posts, I will list some of the fun and funny experiences I've had while abroad. :)
But let's talk about India; I am going because while in Wales getting the prized Master's degree, I roomed with a fabulous and wonderful Indian woman whose job at home is organizing and taking groups of foreigners around India. We also roomed with a couple of German girls, as well as the required Welsh girls, and towards the end of our time in rainy Wales, we decided we needed to do a reunion trip and India was all of our first pick. So Manjiri put together a fantastic trip, 21 days worth, that will span a good chunk of the country and includes riding a camel, a house boat, and an elephant... to go and see the tigers. Oh yea.
But prepping for India has not been so peachy. Upon returning from Wales, I discovered I was more financially screwed than I'd thought and since the country is still in a recession, I was forced to once again return to the bookstore. I have to say it is a gift from God that they have been willing to take me back- 3 times total over the years. But retail is one of those jobs that makes you HATE your fell human beings- enough that you plot their murders, consider chucking books at them and gleefully imagine giving their children a large latte and a free puppy (thank you REI for the idea). When I first took the job again I thought, "sure, okay, I can do anything for six months. Six months, that's not a lot of time really!" Except now that I'm 3 1/2 months into that said six months, I'm thinking, "no, no I CAN NOT do this for six months, not without losing my soul forever." It is that bad. Seriously.
But the up side is that I also have a job at a school in the after school daycare program and THAT is fun. Quite fun. I love my kids and if it would just pay a little better, I would be more than willing to just do that- but I still need both paychecks and I will continue to still need both paychecks. Blah. India, India, India...
The other wonderful part of going to India was the shots. Now I avoid needles like the plague, as I'm sure most of us do- they scare the crap out of me. But to appease my father, who's a rather large worry wart (his whole family is- as well as narcassistic, which we'll get into later) I went to the travel clinic to get a run down. Nothing is required to travel to India, which is a plus, but somethings are heavily reccommended. So the nurse, who's terribly nice, runs through everything with me, telling me not to drink the water (duh) and to watch the mosquitos (duh) and to watch the sun (No duh- I am as white as the abominal snowman) and then she tells me which shots she thinks I should get; they sound impressive enough so I ask where she's gonna stick me (cause if it's the underside of my arm, screw that) and since it's the upper part of my arm, I'm nervous but I agree. She gets them ready, I'm trying not to freak out, she sticks me once then twice and I prep my other arm for the last one, the big one, and she sticks me and all of a sudden my head is spinning and I tell her I'm really dizzy... and the next thing I know she's holding some foul smelling thing under my nose and I'm jerking awake; I've passed out. I've never passed out before. My fingers are tingly, my feet are tingly, she's propping me up with her shoulder and I feel like I'm going to be sick which is very unusual as I have the stomach of steel. I really really need to lie down so she takes me to another room and I spent 45 minutes in absolutely excruciating pain- I mean, holy cow, let me die now please. I had to call my mom, moaning out a few unintelligable sentences before the nurse took the phone and told her what was going on, and get her to call work because there was no way I was going to be there on time.
So yes, I've put a lot of effort into this trip- and it's the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. God willing, something else will come along here soon so that when I get back from India, and have nothing exciting to look forward to, I won't kill the crazy customers at the bookstore.
All right, enough moaning from me for one night. Peace out peeps.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Something sweet...
So the reason I did NOT become a teacher is because of all the serious adminstration crap- them telling me what I can and cannot teach, the testing, the streamlining of our youth... I got close though. A year away in fact. And I have never regretted the decision to NOT become a teacher.
Now I'm working at a school. With the kids. And I'm loving it- I've always loved kids and the perfect part of this job is that there is no administration crap. Sure, throw this many women together in one company, you're going to have a ton of drama and gossip but the kids... the kids make it worth it (at least for now- if it gets much more ridiculous, then it may change).
Let's start with one of my kids- I'll call him Jake (which is not his real name but he's an innocent, so...) Jake was adopted I don't know how long ago but before his adoption, he'd had a rough time of it. Enter foster care and then... the two most amazing women in the world. One is a firefighter, one is a police officer and they took on Jake and all of his drama and mess and they are changing this little boy's life. They are turning him into a smart, strong young man who KNOWS without a doubt that they love him completely. And while he can certainly be a challenge, as all my little boys can be, he's a sweet kid and his story, the chance he now has in life, warms my heart.
How about one of my favorite kids, I'll call him Thomas? He's this little round pudgy kid with a very funny personality but a rather bad lying streak. He's always protesting, always trying to get me to change my mind and all around drives me crazy on a daily basis, but when we go to the gym, he'll get the ball and hold it so the little girls can kick it or he'll try and include them in the game- without me having to ask. It's amazing.
Or one of my little girls, I'll call her Belle- she's this adorable little blonde thing with the cutest smile but she's smart behind all that cuteness and she knows, when you have to yell at her, what she's done wrong. And she turns that little smile on you, knowing you can't resist.
There's Jane who's an avid reader (she's only in 3rd grade) and who's reading the Harry Potter books and can't wait to talk to me about them every day. Or Tracy who does gymnastics and always comes over and gives me a hug, telling me she "missed me". Or Ryan whose so interested in his book that he'll skip going outside to play. Or Ashyton, my little wanna be soccer player or Marsha and Danielle who are as thick as thieves but are still sweet little girls who like to tell you about their days.
I am so very thankful for this opportunity to be a part of their lives; despite all the ridiculous rules, despite all crap that could happen if a parent took a disliking to me, I can't get past the fact that I love these kids- I love playing with them, I love hearing their stories, I even love when they're disobeying- because I'm getting the chance to influence their lives. And that's pretty heavy stuff. :)
Now I'm working at a school. With the kids. And I'm loving it- I've always loved kids and the perfect part of this job is that there is no administration crap. Sure, throw this many women together in one company, you're going to have a ton of drama and gossip but the kids... the kids make it worth it (at least for now- if it gets much more ridiculous, then it may change).
Let's start with one of my kids- I'll call him Jake (which is not his real name but he's an innocent, so...) Jake was adopted I don't know how long ago but before his adoption, he'd had a rough time of it. Enter foster care and then... the two most amazing women in the world. One is a firefighter, one is a police officer and they took on Jake and all of his drama and mess and they are changing this little boy's life. They are turning him into a smart, strong young man who KNOWS without a doubt that they love him completely. And while he can certainly be a challenge, as all my little boys can be, he's a sweet kid and his story, the chance he now has in life, warms my heart.
How about one of my favorite kids, I'll call him Thomas? He's this little round pudgy kid with a very funny personality but a rather bad lying streak. He's always protesting, always trying to get me to change my mind and all around drives me crazy on a daily basis, but when we go to the gym, he'll get the ball and hold it so the little girls can kick it or he'll try and include them in the game- without me having to ask. It's amazing.
Or one of my little girls, I'll call her Belle- she's this adorable little blonde thing with the cutest smile but she's smart behind all that cuteness and she knows, when you have to yell at her, what she's done wrong. And she turns that little smile on you, knowing you can't resist.
There's Jane who's an avid reader (she's only in 3rd grade) and who's reading the Harry Potter books and can't wait to talk to me about them every day. Or Tracy who does gymnastics and always comes over and gives me a hug, telling me she "missed me". Or Ryan whose so interested in his book that he'll skip going outside to play. Or Ashyton, my little wanna be soccer player or Marsha and Danielle who are as thick as thieves but are still sweet little girls who like to tell you about their days.
I am so very thankful for this opportunity to be a part of their lives; despite all the ridiculous rules, despite all crap that could happen if a parent took a disliking to me, I can't get past the fact that I love these kids- I love playing with them, I love hearing their stories, I even love when they're disobeying- because I'm getting the chance to influence their lives. And that's pretty heavy stuff. :)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Lessons for Shopping at a Bookstore...
Good evening my potential bookstore shoppers. Just a few guidelines for all you happy, book seeking folks for your next visit- some helpful tips to keep in mind....
1. Do not get mad at me for a company policy. I am a lowly bookseller, barely paid minimum wage, and while I have an above average knowledge about books and where to find them, I can do NOTHING to change the fact that we can't take your credit card information over the phone. In fact, you shouldn't want me to- I am, after all, barely paid minimum wage. And I want to go to the mall, badly.
2. If you have never touched, opened, looked, or read a book before in your life, which does not include the trashy magazine about Robert Pattinson or that manga crap that is more pictures than words, then please choose somewhere else to frequent. We have nothing to offer you and while I am not allowed to growl at you and hurl nasty names for fear of losing my job, if you ask me if we "Carry Hamlet in English" I might actually resort to shooting you in the kneecaps. Repeatedly.
3. Magazines do not count as literature. So if the only reason you come to a bookstore is to pick up the latest issue of Pop Culture or to browse through nine hundred cooking magazines and then leave them in a pile on the bench, please watch your backside on your way out as we will very likely be trying to cause you permanent damage.
4. Please remember that those moderately odd people not allowed to wear jeans or comfortable shoes standing under the "customer service" sign are NOT there to shop for you- we are there to assist you in trying to decifer the empty depths of your useless brain: "the book with the yellow cover" or the book you "heard on NPR this morning" or the latest Oprah Book Club read; please remember your manners and say please and thank you and DO NOT give us a disdainful look when you ask for the most obscure book on the planet that had a first print run of ten and came from a one bedroom apartment somewhere in the middle of farm country USA because in case you happen to forget, we are a BOOKSTORE but above all we are a BUSINESS which needs to make a profit- we make money off of Dan Brown, Stephanie Meyer and Stephen King, though most of us wish we didn't. So when you ask for snowflake books, do not be surprised when we do not have them. NOBODY has them.
5. Do not hint that you have no way to get to the bookstore. Do not even hint that it is a long drive from your "mountain house" to your nearest bookstore. You were the idiot who decided it would be nice to buy a house up on a mountain where not even the snow plows or the postman will go; do not expect us to go out of our way to accomodate you. You chose to complicate your life.
6. WE ARE NOT YOUR THERAPIST. I do not care, nor do any of my coworkers care, why you need the book on codependency or why this book might save the relationship you've been having for the past 15 months that is now crumbling down around your ears and if only she'd get her act together and realize you were there for her and you love her... WE DO NOT CARE. We are not paid enough, period, and we certainly are not paid enough to listen to you babble on and on about your pathetic love life. Sign up for eharmony already.
7. Thomas the train is NOT in the children's department for you to deposit your child at and then walk away. WE ARE NOT YOUR BABYSITTERS. We will not keep an eye on your child and when you ask us where they went, do not expect us to know. We don't care where your child went, just that they don't make an even bigger mess of the bookshelves than they already have which you will not pick up because really, why should you, right? It is your child- put them on a leash if you have to but DO NOT leave them in the children's department alone. Ever. We might start selling them on the black market, for extra money of course.
8. If you are dumb enough to think vampires are cool, then whatever, you're an idiot and the world is full of people exactly like you. Luckily, we will happily take your money and sell you drivel written by an undereducated housewife because your wasted money will go into my paycheck; which I can then use to buy something worthy of the paper its printed on and at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I'm smarter than you in every conceivable way possible.
9. Do not call us back, after we have told you that the book is not in stock or that we couldn't find it, and ask us to check again. We are NOT stupid, although even bookstores are not immune to the idiocy that now runs heavy in our society; we DID look on the shelf, we DID check the back room, we DID check all the tables and walls and floor displays and yes, even the WINDOWS by God and when we tell you we do not have it, we are not being lazy and lying to you- sometimes, even a big old bookstore doesn't have everything all the time.
10. And finally, please remember that when we give the fifteen, then ten, then five minute warning before closing, this is not a sign that you should go and purchase a grande extra frap with whip cream and a dose of vanilla and then make your way back to the chairs with your nineteen paperbacks and settle in. Those warnings, delivered in a nice and pleasant voice, really mask our true meaning which is, "we've dealt with your stupidity, your lack of manners, and your messes long enough today. We are tired because we are people too with homes and families and dogs and while we often hate our lives more than the average citizen, sometimes we like to go home too. So get the hell out of our bookstore and stop touching things."
Now that you have a few guidelines, please enjoy your day and your visit to your local bookstore!
1. Do not get mad at me for a company policy. I am a lowly bookseller, barely paid minimum wage, and while I have an above average knowledge about books and where to find them, I can do NOTHING to change the fact that we can't take your credit card information over the phone. In fact, you shouldn't want me to- I am, after all, barely paid minimum wage. And I want to go to the mall, badly.
2. If you have never touched, opened, looked, or read a book before in your life, which does not include the trashy magazine about Robert Pattinson or that manga crap that is more pictures than words, then please choose somewhere else to frequent. We have nothing to offer you and while I am not allowed to growl at you and hurl nasty names for fear of losing my job, if you ask me if we "Carry Hamlet in English" I might actually resort to shooting you in the kneecaps. Repeatedly.
3. Magazines do not count as literature. So if the only reason you come to a bookstore is to pick up the latest issue of Pop Culture or to browse through nine hundred cooking magazines and then leave them in a pile on the bench, please watch your backside on your way out as we will very likely be trying to cause you permanent damage.
4. Please remember that those moderately odd people not allowed to wear jeans or comfortable shoes standing under the "customer service" sign are NOT there to shop for you- we are there to assist you in trying to decifer the empty depths of your useless brain: "the book with the yellow cover" or the book you "heard on NPR this morning" or the latest Oprah Book Club read; please remember your manners and say please and thank you and DO NOT give us a disdainful look when you ask for the most obscure book on the planet that had a first print run of ten and came from a one bedroom apartment somewhere in the middle of farm country USA because in case you happen to forget, we are a BOOKSTORE but above all we are a BUSINESS which needs to make a profit- we make money off of Dan Brown, Stephanie Meyer and Stephen King, though most of us wish we didn't. So when you ask for snowflake books, do not be surprised when we do not have them. NOBODY has them.
5. Do not hint that you have no way to get to the bookstore. Do not even hint that it is a long drive from your "mountain house" to your nearest bookstore. You were the idiot who decided it would be nice to buy a house up on a mountain where not even the snow plows or the postman will go; do not expect us to go out of our way to accomodate you. You chose to complicate your life.
6. WE ARE NOT YOUR THERAPIST. I do not care, nor do any of my coworkers care, why you need the book on codependency or why this book might save the relationship you've been having for the past 15 months that is now crumbling down around your ears and if only she'd get her act together and realize you were there for her and you love her... WE DO NOT CARE. We are not paid enough, period, and we certainly are not paid enough to listen to you babble on and on about your pathetic love life. Sign up for eharmony already.
7. Thomas the train is NOT in the children's department for you to deposit your child at and then walk away. WE ARE NOT YOUR BABYSITTERS. We will not keep an eye on your child and when you ask us where they went, do not expect us to know. We don't care where your child went, just that they don't make an even bigger mess of the bookshelves than they already have which you will not pick up because really, why should you, right? It is your child- put them on a leash if you have to but DO NOT leave them in the children's department alone. Ever. We might start selling them on the black market, for extra money of course.
8. If you are dumb enough to think vampires are cool, then whatever, you're an idiot and the world is full of people exactly like you. Luckily, we will happily take your money and sell you drivel written by an undereducated housewife because your wasted money will go into my paycheck; which I can then use to buy something worthy of the paper its printed on and at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I'm smarter than you in every conceivable way possible.
9. Do not call us back, after we have told you that the book is not in stock or that we couldn't find it, and ask us to check again. We are NOT stupid, although even bookstores are not immune to the idiocy that now runs heavy in our society; we DID look on the shelf, we DID check the back room, we DID check all the tables and walls and floor displays and yes, even the WINDOWS by God and when we tell you we do not have it, we are not being lazy and lying to you- sometimes, even a big old bookstore doesn't have everything all the time.
10. And finally, please remember that when we give the fifteen, then ten, then five minute warning before closing, this is not a sign that you should go and purchase a grande extra frap with whip cream and a dose of vanilla and then make your way back to the chairs with your nineteen paperbacks and settle in. Those warnings, delivered in a nice and pleasant voice, really mask our true meaning which is, "we've dealt with your stupidity, your lack of manners, and your messes long enough today. We are tired because we are people too with homes and families and dogs and while we often hate our lives more than the average citizen, sometimes we like to go home too. So get the hell out of our bookstore and stop touching things."
Now that you have a few guidelines, please enjoy your day and your visit to your local bookstore!
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