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ontologyThis morning, watching the steam from my father's coffee unravel into the sharp bright morning light, I thought, how does anyone hurry through life without noticing the small beautiful details of everything?
That is what a lot of today has been like. I woke promptly at seven by, it seems, sheer force of will, and lay in bed for a while, because bed is very cosy and it wants to be lain in, especially on a thinly blue Saturday morning with the radio telling stories on the bedside table. And then I wandered downstairs, which was strange and quiet because no-one else was up, and that was a strange thing indeed -- not that no-one would be up at seven, but that I would be up in the morning before anyone else! The world of the morning: when small sounds are louder in the hush and silver, and everything is stiller and slower and means more.
Dad drove me. I knocked on the plastic enclosure around the shop, and was greeted by... the manager. Eep. I was a little intimidated about working with Jim all day, because even though he seems to really like me, and lobbied to add me to the payroll after the kiosk closed, he's still The Manager, and my co-workers talk about him as though he's rather difficult to work with (and occasionally making offhand warnings to me -- "Jim will probably yell at you about this", or "Jim is really, really fussy about that"). And I am new and make so many mistakes! But he actually turned out to be the best person I've worked with so far -- making certain to think of things I might need to learn or know about and showing me how things work and explaining to me some of the weird details about shelving and organising that people never remember to tell me until I've done something horrible to disrupt them. He explained everything so well, and was so kind and helpful and comfortable about it that I almost never felt self-conscious, as I usually do. And I worked much better today even than Wednesday -- I felt confident and a little more sure about what to tell people and how to help them and where to send them for things, and I managed to order a book for someone with hardly any help. (There are a lot of steps, and Things Upon Which I Must Never Click.)
Also, I sold so many copies of Twilight & sequels, it was postively obscene. (Jim said, so, you've never seen Twilight? I told him that I had read the book several years ago, and was so infuriated by it that I would have defaced it had it not been a library copy. He laughed, and said that his wife had said much the same thing.)
I felt so very happy all day, even if I was missing my library trip and Hockman's. Books books lovely books everywhere (and lots of horrible disgraces to the name of book certainly, but that, alas, is consumerism), and people looking for books, and taking them home, and me getting to give them to people! And put them on shelves! And find interesting ones, and note down the titles in case I want to borrow them later! And, er, buy them myself, on my lunch break, which I spent a) at Jim's desk in the back room (everyone eats there), swinging in the swivel chair, reading Sunshine and eating cold last-night's-dinner, and b) scouring the bookstore for something to borrow, and ended up taking advantage of a 40% off coupon to buy myself A Countess Below Stairs, and then borrowing another Eva Ibbotson and the third Dresden Files book.
Oddest moment of the day: an elderly woman showed up to buy fifty dollars' worth of bookmarks. The mind, it boggles.
Once, overwhelmed with the sheer splendour of working in a bookstore, I forgot myself and twirled a tiny little twirl of glee behind the counter. Only... there was a customer. Oh dear. I righted myself and processed her things. She said, "Dancing, are you?" I leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret. "I really, really love my job," I said. She smiled.
(I'm not entirely certain this is allowed, to love one's job. This much, especially. I love it even though it is full of capitalism and sometimes my co-workers are cross and often I am floundering about like a large dog coming in from the rain, trying to understand what I am doing and how to do it, and the company has so many silly rules and legislations that I must follow. But I am a book diplomat, and get to climb ladders and make small children happy and recommend Neil Gaiman. It is wonderful.)
Mum picked me up, and spring is close, because it was still light for a long time after I came home. I have spent the remainder of my evening curled up on my bed or on the living room sofa reading Eva Ibbotsen and listening to music and to people, and later, after dinner, reading Eva Ibbotsen to candlelight and lamplight and fairy-lights on my bed, with the last slice of Dad's spectacular pie and a cold glass of milk and music lulling softly from the bedside table.
That is what a lot of today has been like. I woke promptly at seven by, it seems, sheer force of will, and lay in bed for a while, because bed is very cosy and it wants to be lain in, especially on a thinly blue Saturday morning with the radio telling stories on the bedside table. And then I wandered downstairs, which was strange and quiet because no-one else was up, and that was a strange thing indeed -- not that no-one would be up at seven, but that I would be up in the morning before anyone else! The world of the morning: when small sounds are louder in the hush and silver, and everything is stiller and slower and means more.
Dad drove me. I knocked on the plastic enclosure around the shop, and was greeted by... the manager. Eep. I was a little intimidated about working with Jim all day, because even though he seems to really like me, and lobbied to add me to the payroll after the kiosk closed, he's still The Manager, and my co-workers talk about him as though he's rather difficult to work with (and occasionally making offhand warnings to me -- "Jim will probably yell at you about this", or "Jim is really, really fussy about that"). And I am new and make so many mistakes! But he actually turned out to be the best person I've worked with so far -- making certain to think of things I might need to learn or know about and showing me how things work and explaining to me some of the weird details about shelving and organising that people never remember to tell me until I've done something horrible to disrupt them. He explained everything so well, and was so kind and helpful and comfortable about it that I almost never felt self-conscious, as I usually do. And I worked much better today even than Wednesday -- I felt confident and a little more sure about what to tell people and how to help them and where to send them for things, and I managed to order a book for someone with hardly any help. (There are a lot of steps, and Things Upon Which I Must Never Click.)
Also, I sold so many copies of Twilight & sequels, it was postively obscene. (Jim said, so, you've never seen Twilight? I told him that I had read the book several years ago, and was so infuriated by it that I would have defaced it had it not been a library copy. He laughed, and said that his wife had said much the same thing.)
I felt so very happy all day, even if I was missing my library trip and Hockman's. Books books lovely books everywhere (and lots of horrible disgraces to the name of book certainly, but that, alas, is consumerism), and people looking for books, and taking them home, and me getting to give them to people! And put them on shelves! And find interesting ones, and note down the titles in case I want to borrow them later! And, er, buy them myself, on my lunch break, which I spent a) at Jim's desk in the back room (everyone eats there), swinging in the swivel chair, reading Sunshine and eating cold last-night's-dinner, and b) scouring the bookstore for something to borrow, and ended up taking advantage of a 40% off coupon to buy myself A Countess Below Stairs, and then borrowing another Eva Ibbotson and the third Dresden Files book.
Oddest moment of the day: an elderly woman showed up to buy fifty dollars' worth of bookmarks. The mind, it boggles.
Once, overwhelmed with the sheer splendour of working in a bookstore, I forgot myself and twirled a tiny little twirl of glee behind the counter. Only... there was a customer. Oh dear. I righted myself and processed her things. She said, "Dancing, are you?" I leaned forward, as if to tell her a secret. "I really, really love my job," I said. She smiled.
(I'm not entirely certain this is allowed, to love one's job. This much, especially. I love it even though it is full of capitalism and sometimes my co-workers are cross and often I am floundering about like a large dog coming in from the rain, trying to understand what I am doing and how to do it, and the company has so many silly rules and legislations that I must follow. But I am a book diplomat, and get to climb ladders and make small children happy and recommend Neil Gaiman. It is wonderful.)
Mum picked me up, and spring is close, because it was still light for a long time after I came home. I have spent the remainder of my evening curled up on my bed or on the living room sofa reading Eva Ibbotsen and listening to music and to people, and later, after dinner, reading Eva Ibbotsen to candlelight and lamplight and fairy-lights on my bed, with the last slice of Dad's spectacular pie and a cold glass of milk and music lulling softly from the bedside table.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-24 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 03:24 am (UTC)your joy of life and "the small beautiful details of everything" is a wonder to behold.
thank you
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 03:02 am (UTC)Well, it's something to hold on to when life is ugly and mundane. If I don't love the small beautiful things when great magnificent things are somewhat out of reach, than I lose sight of the fact that they even exist.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 04:06 am (UTC)I am oh so pleased for you, that you love your job. It does sometimes seem like it's a social obligation, to complain about one's job, which seems odd. Rejoice in your enjoyment of yours, I say!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-24 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 05:10 am (UTC)It's good to know there's another soul who despises Twilight as much as I do. I also read the book a few years ago before the hype and couldn't stand it. It's sad that this is what young girls (and even older women) read today.
Other than having to sell numerous copies of Twilight, your job sounds wonderful, and I get just a bit envious when you write about it. Spending the day surrounded by books must be glorious. I'm glad you're happy there. =)
no subject
Date: 2009-02-25 04:14 am (UTC)(And YES BOOKS ALL DAY BOOKS EVERYWHERE HURRAH. It is a small and not terribly attractive store -- it isn't ugly, it's just... without the books it would be sort of sterile -- but smelling and seeing books all day makes it beautiful. ^-^)
no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 07:16 pm (UTC)Just kidding, mostly. My job is not so bad, I s'pose. But there is nothing profoundly interesting or pleasing about it - it is merely acceptable, which in turn makes me discontent sometimes. But not too much.
If it comforts you, most of my coworkers say that one of our managers is a bitch, expects too much, etc. I personally find this manager to be the most competent (not that the others are incompetent, she just handles things better and knows more) and the most pleasing manager to work with. We get along quite well.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-25 04:10 am (UTC)I do hope (I... think) that me and the manager getting along so well is not merely because he happens to favour me, because that could be... awkward. But I've earned the right to be favoured! Sort of. I work really hard at this job, even during the part when it sucked! :/
no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 08:09 pm (UTC)You make me happy, Banui. :)
(Does the world end if you click the Things Which You Must Never Click?!)
no subject
Date: 2009-02-24 09:09 pm (UTC)Though perhaps The Company has organised it so that the world does end if we choose certain forbidden options too often, accidentally or no, just to keep us under control. :o
no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 08:44 pm (UTC)I am very jealous of your job, & I am terribly glad that you love it. It is not wrong at all, but a lovely thing, & a blessing. I only wish I could love my job so much that I twirl behind the counters. :)
<3!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-24 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-23 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-24 09:18 pm (UTC)I think a year is extremely respectable! I can absolutely understand about doing and saying the same things over and over, too... I had a little of that at the kiosk, and I couldn't even be enthusiastic about what I was selling. :/ But oh, I envy your having camaraderie with your co-workers! All of my co-workers are very much older than me, and we haven't found very many things in common, besides at least a passable enjoyment for books. (Although two people noticed my Doctor Who pins. Yay.)