SCENE: A bookstore, around three. There are many people in the store, milling about; there are several large boxes on the counter, filled with books in various degrees of disrepair. WALT is behind the counter, sitting Cratchet-like, and being pretty awesome. KATHY is off, stage right.
ENTER TWO WITCHES.
Witch, wearing sunglasses: Are you taking in books?
Walt (rising, while giving a purposeful look at the billions of other books waiting to be done): Yes, but only thirty at a time.
Witch (shocked): Thirty?
Walt: Thirty. We can only look at thirty a day.
Witch (to second Witch): They can only take thirty! (to Walt) I have more than thirty. They're from my mother-in-law's estate.
Walt (sigh): How many do you have?
The WITCH points to the largest of all the boxes.
Witch: I've got four of these in the trunk.
Walt: Well, we can only take thirty at a time. You can bring in one box and I'll count out thirty.
Enter, THIRD WITCH.
Witch (to third Witch): They'll look at a box.
Walt (with a hint of desperation): Thirty. We'll look at thirty.
Witch: Bring in a box.
Third Witch begins to exit.
Walt (strangled cry): Thirty at a time!
Enter FOOL, carrying largest box yet, overflowing with books, accompanied by THIRD WITCH. Because the counter for books waiting to be checked has absolutely no room, the FOOL puts the box on the cash register counter.
Walt: That's way more than thirty.
No one takes any notice of WALT.
Walt: So when do you want to pick these up?
Witch: What do you mean?
Walt: Well, there are (gestures to the piles of other books) quite a few people ahead of you. It's going to be a while until I can even get to these, maybe even not until tomorrow. So when do you want to pick them up? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?
Witch: Tomorrow.
Walt (setting paper down): Okay, I'll just need you to write your name, address, and phone number here.
Fool: I know how it is, man.
Walt: ...
FIRST WITCH, after writing her information down, removes her 2nd Look Books card; which baffles WALT, as he assumed that their flagrant disregard for what he was saying was a mark of a new customer. WALT begins cursing them all.
Walt: Okay, it'll be done tomorrow. (reaches for box)
Fool (smiling): Careful, it's heavy.
Walt (grinning, because you pander the insane): ...Thanks, I'll remember that.
EXIT, FOOL, WITCHES through the door and likely to the fiery depths from whence they came.
END SCENE.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
...school?
Today gets a shoulder shrug. Part of it was okay, part of it (the unbearably pretentious film professor, who, rather than saying "watching movies" says "have screenings"; the bus schedule changing for the worse) was not. Thankfully my other professors don't seem bad, which is always a blessing --nothing makes a class harder to go to than a terrible teacher.
Today we "screened" Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I always enjoy; except the last fifteen minutes which succeeded in reminding me that not only do they seem supplementary, but they also meant I missed the 3 o'clock bus. What sort of madman ends a class at 3:15?! The next bus isn't until 4! I'll tell you what kind: The kind that wears all-black suits, has a shaved head (with bald-stubble), dual earrings, and assigns ridiculous (for that kind of class) amounts of reading. But it might be par for the course? How much did your film teachers assign you to read?
And the days I get home at 5 are the days that I have off. Not the days that I get home at 3. No, those days I get to go straight to work.
(The owner died yesterday morning; though it was no big surprise, it does put things a bit higher in the air. We'll probably hear from her daughter, who took over the managing a week or so ago, in a day or two. Payday's not for another 10 days, so I'm not concerned.)
But it is the first day of school, so things may look brighter in a week or so.
Today we "screened" Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I always enjoy; except the last fifteen minutes which succeeded in reminding me that not only do they seem supplementary, but they also meant I missed the 3 o'clock bus. What sort of madman ends a class at 3:15?! The next bus isn't until 4! I'll tell you what kind: The kind that wears all-black suits, has a shaved head (with bald-stubble), dual earrings, and assigns ridiculous (for that kind of class) amounts of reading. But it might be par for the course? How much did your film teachers assign you to read?
And the days I get home at 5 are the days that I have off. Not the days that I get home at 3. No, those days I get to go straight to work.
(The owner died yesterday morning; though it was no big surprise, it does put things a bit higher in the air. We'll probably hear from her daughter, who took over the managing a week or so ago, in a day or two. Payday's not for another 10 days, so I'm not concerned.)
But it is the first day of school, so things may look brighter in a week or so.
Friday, September 15, 2006
i couldn't find a dry towel either!
Ok, I'm writing this down so that, if I find it I'll know I didn't go mad.
What am I talking about? Laundry.
I went downstairs this morning to put my clothes from the washer to the dryer for obvious reasons. I could see that no one else had switched them as there was no pile of my laundry on the ground. This is something that always thrills me: finding my clean clothes in a wad so that I have iron anything I want to wear. If there was a puddle of water I'm sure whomever it is that does this would make sure they soaked it up. I mean, if there's someone else's clothes in the dryer when I want to use it, I fold them. The last time this happened, all of my clothes were stuffed into a shirt.
But back to the story at hand. I opened the dryer. Nothing. I opened the washer to pull them out and nothing. They weren't in there. They weren't behind the washer. I want to say they weren't in the freezer, but it just occurs to me I haven't checked. They aren't in the freezer. They weren't in my laundry basket. Ditto for in the laundry room, the basement, the first floor, anyone's room, the stairs, etc. My clothes have vanished.
Thankfully, I still have a couple of clean shirts, shorts, and boxers. They weren't wiley enough to go into my closet. However, I am on my last pair of clean socks. And there's no one home to question. This goes beyond inconsideration, and unless I find my clothes hanging up, having been dry cleaned and pressed, I'll just call it malice. Why would they do something like this? It's ridiculous.
And no, they're not outside, strewn in the bushes.
EDIT: They were neatly folded. In a room I hadn't checked. Of course.
What am I talking about? Laundry.
I went downstairs this morning to put my clothes from the washer to the dryer for obvious reasons. I could see that no one else had switched them as there was no pile of my laundry on the ground. This is something that always thrills me: finding my clean clothes in a wad so that I have iron anything I want to wear. If there was a puddle of water I'm sure whomever it is that does this would make sure they soaked it up. I mean, if there's someone else's clothes in the dryer when I want to use it, I fold them. The last time this happened, all of my clothes were stuffed into a shirt.
But back to the story at hand. I opened the dryer. Nothing. I opened the washer to pull them out and nothing. They weren't in there. They weren't behind the washer. I want to say they weren't in the freezer, but it just occurs to me I haven't checked. They aren't in the freezer. They weren't in my laundry basket. Ditto for in the laundry room, the basement, the first floor, anyone's room, the stairs, etc. My clothes have vanished.
Thankfully, I still have a couple of clean shirts, shorts, and boxers. They weren't wiley enough to go into my closet. However, I am on my last pair of clean socks. And there's no one home to question. This goes beyond inconsideration, and unless I find my clothes hanging up, having been dry cleaned and pressed, I'll just call it malice. Why would they do something like this? It's ridiculous.
And no, they're not outside, strewn in the bushes.
EDIT: They were neatly folded. In a room I hadn't checked. Of course.
Monday, September 11, 2006
there were no other people to witness the stupidity
I had to work my shift alone today, which isn't that big of a deal, but it did seem to bring out my share of crazies. The following is true, though their names have been changed because I didn't get them.
A man and wife came into the store with reasonably sane looks on their faces.
"Donnie": "Who's in charge?"
Now, right here they could be any number of things. See if you can guess: (a) Potential buyers, (b) Money collectors, or (c) Narcissistic Idiots. If you are reading this, you'll know that the answer is (d), Absolute Morons With Short Tempers. Let's see how long it takes those tempers to burn out, shall we?
Me (as I am alone and pretty much the senior employee anyway): "I am."
Muscle-Shirt Donnie: "Oh, great."
Faithful readers and/or people who know me will be able to visualize what's just happened in the time it took him to say Oh, Great: Donnie's stock has plummeted. If you're a jackass, I will probably not help you as much as I would. But anyway, back to the story.
Me: "Can I help you?"
"Marie": "Who's your manager?"
Me: "I am."
More shaking of heads. I can see that part of them is incredulous that some young kid is the head of this particular shift and the other part is thinking that they can push me over. Had they been nice before or had become nice as this goes on, I would've helped them out. But no.
They tell me what the problem is. I won't give you the line by line because honestly I don't remember it all, but I'll give you the main points.
1. Marie gave the store a list of books she wanted.
2. She went to Alaska.
3. Her husband, while she was in Alaska, bought two books for $4.80 each.
4. She already has those books.
5. "I don't read these kinds of books, I read car manuals."
6. She did not give us a list, she told us a list and some lady wrote it down.
Me (after #6): "When you give us a list, or however else we get a list, we put your name and number on the book on the computer and throw the list away." Of course this does not matter nor penetrate their skulls. They want us to be able to read their minds and to stop them when they buy multiple copies. The books, she tells me, weren't even on the list.
I realize that I'm shaking. I shake when people are pissing me off and I'm trying to keep my voice even. It's one of my less useful traits.
They go on about how they don't want a refund (then why are they doing this? I also hate it when people say they don't want credit or a refund or something of the sort, but they clearly do). They say a bunch of other stuff, and mention that they've called and talked to someone who said that they can't help them. Gee, I don't know why, they're so personable. Donnie goes out to get the books after I say that I'll look and see if we can take them for credit.
Marie echoes that they have two copies and don't need two copies and that he (her husband) bought the erranious copies while she was in Alaska. She asks for the owner's name. Every fiber in my being is saying: Say "What??!" very loudly and walk away or do something less pleasant. But what I say as steadily as my shaking will allow is:
"I don't see how this is our fault."
And her mouth drops open. I can see in her eyes that she would like to throttle me. She inhales to say something that would probably be unprintable. So I cut her off with:
"Fine, you want the owner's name; fine, here it is."
Meanwhile, Donnie comes in with the two copies of the two books. Did they think I wouldn't believe them? Whatever. I check to see if we can take them. Karma is sweet: not only do we already have two copies, but they haven't been sold since August 18th. I say that we can't take them, but they can try again some other time. Donnie laughs in that absolutely annoying way that people who are used to getting their way and suddenly don't and they don't believe it laugh.
And because I'm getting riled up just thinking about it, I'm going to jump right to the end.
They storm out and Donnie says "The word is out" like he's threatening to tell all his friends. Oh no, we're going to lose all of our key block-head demographic! I end up shaking for a while longer, but calm down eventually.
And...scene.
A man and wife came into the store with reasonably sane looks on their faces.
"Donnie": "Who's in charge?"
Now, right here they could be any number of things. See if you can guess: (a) Potential buyers, (b) Money collectors, or (c) Narcissistic Idiots. If you are reading this, you'll know that the answer is (d), Absolute Morons With Short Tempers. Let's see how long it takes those tempers to burn out, shall we?
Me (as I am alone and pretty much the senior employee anyway): "I am."
Muscle-Shirt Donnie: "Oh, great."
Faithful readers and/or people who know me will be able to visualize what's just happened in the time it took him to say Oh, Great: Donnie's stock has plummeted. If you're a jackass, I will probably not help you as much as I would. But anyway, back to the story.
Me: "Can I help you?"
"Marie": "Who's your manager?"
Me: "I am."
More shaking of heads. I can see that part of them is incredulous that some young kid is the head of this particular shift and the other part is thinking that they can push me over. Had they been nice before or had become nice as this goes on, I would've helped them out. But no.
They tell me what the problem is. I won't give you the line by line because honestly I don't remember it all, but I'll give you the main points.
1. Marie gave the store a list of books she wanted.
2. She went to Alaska.
3. Her husband, while she was in Alaska, bought two books for $4.80 each.
4. She already has those books.
5. "I don't read these kinds of books, I read car manuals."
6. She did not give us a list, she told us a list and some lady wrote it down.
Me (after #6): "When you give us a list, or however else we get a list, we put your name and number on the book on the computer and throw the list away." Of course this does not matter nor penetrate their skulls. They want us to be able to read their minds and to stop them when they buy multiple copies. The books, she tells me, weren't even on the list.
I realize that I'm shaking. I shake when people are pissing me off and I'm trying to keep my voice even. It's one of my less useful traits.
They go on about how they don't want a refund (then why are they doing this? I also hate it when people say they don't want credit or a refund or something of the sort, but they clearly do). They say a bunch of other stuff, and mention that they've called and talked to someone who said that they can't help them. Gee, I don't know why, they're so personable. Donnie goes out to get the books after I say that I'll look and see if we can take them for credit.
Marie echoes that they have two copies and don't need two copies and that he (her husband) bought the erranious copies while she was in Alaska. She asks for the owner's name. Every fiber in my being is saying: Say "What??!" very loudly and walk away or do something less pleasant. But what I say as steadily as my shaking will allow is:
"I don't see how this is our fault."
And her mouth drops open. I can see in her eyes that she would like to throttle me. She inhales to say something that would probably be unprintable. So I cut her off with:
"Fine, you want the owner's name; fine, here it is."
Meanwhile, Donnie comes in with the two copies of the two books. Did they think I wouldn't believe them? Whatever. I check to see if we can take them. Karma is sweet: not only do we already have two copies, but they haven't been sold since August 18th. I say that we can't take them, but they can try again some other time. Donnie laughs in that absolutely annoying way that people who are used to getting their way and suddenly don't and they don't believe it laugh.
And because I'm getting riled up just thinking about it, I'm going to jump right to the end.
They storm out and Donnie says "The word is out" like he's threatening to tell all his friends. Oh no, we're going to lose all of our key block-head demographic! I end up shaking for a while longer, but calm down eventually.
And...scene.
Friday, September 08, 2006
it's about par for the day, actually (i can't wait for work!)
Well. This probably entitles me for some kind of Blogger Least Likely To award, but the forementioned pictures won't be up until tomorrow. I don't really have a good reason except I need to finish cleaning my room, which also requires me to recover from the explosion that is my siblings staying here for extended periods. I'm going to try to get it done before I go to work so I can get them done tomorrow morning, and if I get into a real frenzy, maybe even long enough before so that I can take them before and then upload when I get home.
Is this the most boring entry ever? Perhaps.
In other news, Gilmore Girls Season 4 got here today with two Disc 5's and zero Disc 6's. After looking at the Best Buy site, it seems that I'll have to warm up my incredulous voice as they do not accept opened DVD returns.
"I wouldn't have opened it, except my psychic powers are a bit rusty lately, and I wanted to be sure."
"Yes, I bought two copies and Disc Six is just so much more superiour to Disc Five that I didn't even want Five any more, even though it has twice as many episodes."
And I get to work Sundays now because the girl who was going to work only Sundays got fed up with the check thing and quit entirely. Yes! Seven days a week! Let's start betting on how long it'll be until I throw someone complaining about the prices through the window, Western-style. We're having a sale, I give it a week.
EDIT: I have to work 3.5 hours earlier than I thought tomorrow. Which means my plans for the pictures are once again in limbo! Damn you, work!
Is this the most boring entry ever? Perhaps.
In other news, Gilmore Girls Season 4 got here today with two Disc 5's and zero Disc 6's. After looking at the Best Buy site, it seems that I'll have to warm up my incredulous voice as they do not accept opened DVD returns.
"I wouldn't have opened it, except my psychic powers are a bit rusty lately, and I wanted to be sure."
"Yes, I bought two copies and Disc Six is just so much more superiour to Disc Five that I didn't even want Five any more, even though it has twice as many episodes."
And I get to work Sundays now because the girl who was going to work only Sundays got fed up with the check thing and quit entirely. Yes! Seven days a week! Let's start betting on how long it'll be until I throw someone complaining about the prices through the window, Western-style. We're having a sale, I give it a week.
EDIT: I have to work 3.5 hours earlier than I thought tomorrow. Which means my plans for the pictures are once again in limbo! Damn you, work!
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
up here, the air is cleaner, the air is thinner
I'm going to try something new. You can try it too, if you want. But I'll go first.
That's right, I'm going to review an EP and then give you the link to download it. Because that's just how I roll.
The Mountain Goats Jack & Faye
The lead singer of The Mountain Goats reminds me of what would happen if you were to meld Stephen Colbert and Jason Schwartman into a single guitar-strumming person. However, he sounds more like Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard. But enough with the comparisons! Put them away with all of your misplaced socks.
Listening to Jack & Faye is like finding a book that someone wrote FOR someone else but it's been long forgotten; sitting and gathering dust among other books FOR people, personal personal works that embody a time and place completely. It was recorded in 1996, which is the tip of the tail end of their lo-fi period, and rightly has some of that dust on it. His voice is a little shaky in some parts, most notably on "There Will Always Be an Ireland" without drawing away from the song itself. If you've heard any live Colin Meloy recordings, you'll know what to expect in that respect.
The songs are plains of grass, ancient ruins that have grown over with ivy and bush. Every now and again the music will swell and a backup singer will follow him. You're standing on a hill in the plain and the swell hits you and you follow the wind of it with your eyes down into the valley to the river there. It's a little chilly, but you wore your windbreaker, and that helps.
Maybe you'll find something there you weren't expecting.
[the EP and many more songs, along with ones I haven't listened to, can be downloaded here.]
Also recommended: "Cubs in Five," "Get Lonely" and "Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise," which are available on request or on iTunes.
If I do end up doing more of these, I'll aim for one every week or so. If only to keep my mind off of the insane people I have to deal with earlier in the day.
That's right, I'm going to review an EP and then give you the link to download it. Because that's just how I roll.
The Mountain Goats Jack & Faye
The lead singer of The Mountain Goats reminds me of what would happen if you were to meld Stephen Colbert and Jason Schwartman into a single guitar-strumming person. However, he sounds more like Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard. But enough with the comparisons! Put them away with all of your misplaced socks.
Listening to Jack & Faye is like finding a book that someone wrote FOR someone else but it's been long forgotten; sitting and gathering dust among other books FOR people, personal personal works that embody a time and place completely. It was recorded in 1996, which is the tip of the tail end of their lo-fi period, and rightly has some of that dust on it. His voice is a little shaky in some parts, most notably on "There Will Always Be an Ireland" without drawing away from the song itself. If you've heard any live Colin Meloy recordings, you'll know what to expect in that respect.
The songs are plains of grass, ancient ruins that have grown over with ivy and bush. Every now and again the music will swell and a backup singer will follow him. You're standing on a hill in the plain and the swell hits you and you follow the wind of it with your eyes down into the valley to the river there. It's a little chilly, but you wore your windbreaker, and that helps.
Maybe you'll find something there you weren't expecting.
[the EP and many more songs, along with ones I haven't listened to, can be downloaded here.]
Also recommended: "Cubs in Five," "Get Lonely" and "Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise," which are available on request or on iTunes.
If I do end up doing more of these, I'll aim for one every week or so. If only to keep my mind off of the insane people I have to deal with earlier in the day.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
who were you before the fall?
I officially hate my work.
Why? Well, let me tell you why...
I'm sure I mentioned the whole "Having to Pack and Move a Storage/Former Bookstore Extension Area in 48 Hours." But John came into work drunk as a skunk this morning at 11 and was driven home shortly afterward by a customer to whom I will be forever indebted. I was going to have to tell him to go home when it got slow. I really wasn't looking forward to it. And the customers don't help. If one more customer comes in with shit books and acts like they're bestowing a gift upon us and then gets mad when we don't take them all, I might have to relocate some teeth. And of course nothing relates to the destruction of moral or the skunking of John more than not getting paid and having the owner seemingly disappear. Working seven days a week for a non-existent owner who does not want to pay overtime and yet has a lack of wanting to hire anyone else isn't so hot on the not becoming frayed.
I'm not even twenty. I shouldn't have to feel worn thin by my work already. Unless I was a Doogie Howser, I guess then it'd be understandable.
[/rant]
Sheesh, I can't not complain, eh?
(i was a singer, saw the future laid out in dominoes; now i hunt the buffaloes)
Holy crap, Steve Irwin, so the preview for the news has just told me, is dead. Crazy. And not by crocs either.
That's right, my blog: come for the complaining but stay for the slightly morbid announcements of celebrity death.
Why? Well, let me tell you why...
I'm sure I mentioned the whole "Having to Pack and Move a Storage/Former Bookstore Extension Area in 48 Hours." But John came into work drunk as a skunk this morning at 11 and was driven home shortly afterward by a customer to whom I will be forever indebted. I was going to have to tell him to go home when it got slow. I really wasn't looking forward to it. And the customers don't help. If one more customer comes in with shit books and acts like they're bestowing a gift upon us and then gets mad when we don't take them all, I might have to relocate some teeth. And of course nothing relates to the destruction of moral or the skunking of John more than not getting paid and having the owner seemingly disappear. Working seven days a week for a non-existent owner who does not want to pay overtime and yet has a lack of wanting to hire anyone else isn't so hot on the not becoming frayed.
I'm not even twenty. I shouldn't have to feel worn thin by my work already. Unless I was a Doogie Howser, I guess then it'd be understandable.
[/rant]
Sheesh, I can't not complain, eh?
(i was a singer, saw the future laid out in dominoes; now i hunt the buffaloes)
Holy crap, Steve Irwin, so the preview for the news has just told me, is dead. Crazy. And not by crocs either.
That's right, my blog: come for the complaining but stay for the slightly morbid announcements of celebrity death.
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