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Below are the most recent 20 friends' journal entries.
| Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
12:04a |
Four of my customers
Sunday, four of the customers made me happy. At first, the mom in the group annoyed the shit out of me. She had one of those gravelly yet nasal voices - gargled with rocks while whining sort of sound. She was nagging her three sons excessively, to the point that others were also a little annoyed, because the three of them were camped out at the bargain cart of kids books I was working on during lulls of checking customers out. The boys, however, knew her raspy bark had no bite, and they took heed only when she got a certain edge. They were not bad kids, however, pitching fits and sassing back. Just loud. And boy were they loud - age five and maybe seven, and a little one less than a year in a stroller. All four were blond with blue eyes and the boys will be heartbreakers in a decade or so. Mama had seen better days but you could see the former hottie in her face and body. But she nagged her boys as they ravaged the cart, looking for the right book. The little one began to buck in the stroller until the middle son handed him a book, an interactive book with pop-ups, little folded envelopes that you open and a small paper doll or car is inside. The little boy's face calmed and he began to smile, fingering the book and all its envelopes and pockets and windows. I watched him and felt calmed. He just smiled, immediately in his own world with his book. It was the sort of moment that made me want a kid, a little kid who would smile and entertain himself with his book, easily pleased and innately happy. His older brothers continued to paw the racks and found two books a piece. Mama, for all her nagging, did not want to tell them no. She had some bargain books of her own. We had all $1 paperbacks for 50 cents last weekend and she had two, but she also had what we call a "love parcel" which is three or four romance novels shrink wrapped together for $3 or $4. She told me to put the love parcel she had selected back, presumably to be able to pay for her sons' books, and I told her that those books, despite being marked $4 for the bunch, was 50 cents for the bundle. Her face softened. She would have the cash for the books her sons wanted and the books she wanted. But then suddenly she realized the book the little one had. She winced when she saw the price. I looked at it. It was $4.98 and I had not had a chance to mark it down. I also noticed that her sons had picked out dollar books I needed to mark to 50 cents. So I marked them down for her. She seemed to think I was doing her a favor. Really, I was just behind on markdowns, but she was able to pay and all was well. Then she said, "Can they each have a bag? They like each having their own bag." She asked it like she expect me to say no. Hell yeah, I gave each older kid his bag. The best part was to come. As she was ringing up, they had started running slightly amok. But when she called them over to get their books, their first response, both of them, was "Thank you, mama!" Their gratitude did not seemed forced, like they were kids forced to say, "Thank you!" or "Yes, Ma'am." They were just... happy and grateful that their mama bought them books. I loathe it when people ask for discounts because they can. But sometimes people ask for discounts because they need them. She didn't ask and I was happy I could provide them without bending the rules, but sometimes I bend the rules. I have a drawer full of 15% off coupons and I am unsure if I am supposed to give them out but I don't ask because I don't want to be told no. I do it when I can see that someone would love to have something and is a little short. For the grateful to have what they want when it will make them so happy is no small thing in my Universe anymore and I am glad, even when assholes toss money at me and refuse to speak to me, that I have this tiny amount of power to affect someone's day. That happy little boy in his stroller, smiling at his new book, is a memory akin to the story of the little girl and the dachshund in Franny and Zooey. As Zooey said, looking at the unbridled joy of a little girl reunited with her dog, and the dog's joy at being reunited with her: "There are nice things in the world – and I mean nice things. We're all such morons to get so sidetracked." Those little boys, polite, spirited, happy, and budding bibliophiles, were nice things. |
| Monday, December 21st, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
10:44a |
Today is my wedding anniversary
 12/21/09 marks my third wedding anniversary. Henry and I had been together for over 12 years when we got hitched so it was just him, me and the JP. On the way to the Driskell where we spent our "honeymoon" we passed a pretty little gift shop and went inside and this ornament was one of the first things we saw. Happy anniversary, baby! |
| Sunday, December 20th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
10:29p |
Gratitude is stretching thin
I was very grateful to get this job but days like the last two leave me tired and demoralized. People who wait on others for money take a lot of shit and there is nothing we can do about it. Managers try to help but there is nothing they can do about some people's innate nastiness. There is nothing they can do about vile tones of voice, attitudes of entitlement and the desire to rain out rudeness. If someone hits me, management will do something about it. Possibly even if someone curses at me. But there is nothing they can do about people who drip contempt for me and it gets very tiring. Generally I have 20 wonderful customers for every bad one. Today I had three horrible customers for every good one. The hell of it is others see it too. Sarah, who has as much register time as I do, has become down a bit and a little bitter at the treatment we get. She's much younger than me and still capable of shock at the horribleness people exhibit. Today, a man came up to the counter and tossed a gift card at me because he wanted to buy it. Okay, not the first time it happened but unpleasant. I asked him how much he wanted on the card as I activated it. He then tossed a $20 bill at me. Never said a word. Just threw things at me, comfortable in the knowledge that he could do it and that I would figure out what he wanted as he refused to so much as speak to me. Sarah was appalled. "What an asshole," she said. All day, people were angry, contemptuous and hateful. It's been a long time since the barrage of shit came from outside my head rather than messed up brain chemistry and depression. I was so demoralized Henry suggested I quit. He's got a job now where five hours of overtime equals a week pay for me (not bragging - you all know the horror we have been through, and Henry had worked hard his whole life for the skill set that helped him land this job and he deserves every penny). But that's not what I do. If I quit it will screw people over, and I like my coworkers (even if many of them did not hear me calling for register backup today, dammit). I just... People are so worn down by life. The economy. And the holidays, which are meant to uplift us, invariably bring out the worst in a lot of people. It trickles down. People yell at their kids. They kick the dog. They are rude to cashiers. So it has ever been and so it will always be. The best anyone can do is remember what it felt like to be the dog or the cashier and just chill the fuck out when dealing with others. |
awdrey_gore
|
9:42p |
I'm exhausted...
 ...so all apologies to Jefferson Airplane when I say, "Remember what the Dormouse said! GO TO BED!" |
| Saturday, December 19th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
9:55p |
Note to customers, part 2
Bear with me. In approximately 4 weeks, I will be able to respond to comments again and comment in your journals. Right now I have just enough time to work, sleep, crap, do laundry and rant. 1) Pants have pockets for wallets and purses have spaces for wallets. Keep your money there. You should only keep your money in your sock or your bra if you have no intentions of spending it ever, ever, ever. True story: My second day at work, a woman who now haunts my dreams, came to the counter to buy a flat of VHS tapes (we put the tapes in a box, it's a bargain thing and you more or less buy them blind). I had no idea what she was doing as I was new and called Cameron, one of the shift leaders, over to help me. He gave me the lowdown on the boxes and the prices and I charged her for a box. She then reached into her ample bosom and pulled out a scented, moist ten dollar bill. Cameron, who has some of the best dead-pan facial expressions ever, glanced over at me to see how I would react. I did not react, taking the warm, sweaty bill and making change for her. The second she was gone, we both went to the hand sanitizer. She comes in once a week. She dresses mostly in tiger prints and metallics. She wears a musky perfume and she keeps all her money, quarters included, in her bra. :twitch: 2) Yes, yes, I know it seems insane that we don't have our inventory computerized, but see, we are a used book store and not, say, Barnes and Noble. We are fully aware that the technology exists to scan all the books into a computer. Thanks for calling us fucking morons for not being aware of that fact, but we are aware of it. Technology is not the problem. Manpower is. The reason you get books so cheap is because we keep costs low. If we scanned all the books we buy used into a computer, that initial scan is not where it ends. You see, paperbacks have a short shelf life and go from half price, to a dollar, to being donated to charity in a short space of time. If we have to scan those books into a system, change the prices then remove them from the system when they are donated, the man hours it would take would be extreme and we will pass the savings onto to you. Be rude to me about it again and I will explain this to you in excruciating detail. All the Dell assholes who shop with us, take special note: We know you could program a simple process to scan the books into an inventory. Why dontcha spend the time doing it and get back to us so we can tell you our specs and go from there. Thanks! 3) There is no easy way to alphabetize block books. Stop acting surprised when you see they aren't alphabetized. And even if we did arrange them by author, the author name is seldom on the spine anyway so would it really do you much good in the long run? 4) When you sneeze in my face, I am permitted by law to punch you in the nose. Check the Texas Constitution. It's in there, right by that law that forbids shooting buffalo from the second story of a hotel. 5) STOP ACTING SHOCKED, APPALLED, AND ANGRY THAT WE DON'T HAVE THE GODDAMNED TWILIGHT BOOKS IN STOCK. IT'S NOT LIKE THEY ARE POPULAR OR ANYTHING, AND GIRLS HANG ONTO THEM WHEN THEY BUY THEM. IT'S ALSO NOT AS IF THEY GET PURCHASED WITHIN MINUTES OF US BUYING A COPY, BEING SO POPULAR AND ALL. AGAIN, WE ARE A USED BOOK STORE. WE CAN ONLY SELL WHAT PEOPLE SELL TO US. THIS HAPPENS SO OFTEN THAT CAPS LOCK IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN ADDRESS IT. 6) ALSO, TWILIGHT IS TOTALLY A YOUNG ADULT TITLE. SO ARE THE VAMPIRE DIARIES. STOP ARGUING WITH ME ABOUT THIS. I KNOW YOU THINK THEY ARE ADULT SERIES BECAUSE YOU WANT TO DO THE MAIN CHARACTERS UNTIL YOU CHAFE BUT THE FACT REMAINS THEY ARE INDEED YOUNG ADULT SERIES. SO, BY ALL MEANS, GO WASTE YOUR TIME WANDERING IN THE ADULT FICTION AFTER I TELL YOU TO LOOK IN YOUNG ADULT (ESPECIALLY MYSTERY, WHICH TOTALLY MAKES SENSE, NO? CHECK THE WESTERNS NEXT!). 7) Please, in the name of all that is holy, decide what you want before you come to the counter to purchase items. When you fill a cart with bargain books, unload them on the counter, then dither over which books you really want, AND you do this during the Christmas rush, it means you are a moron or an asshole. Though really there is no reason you cannot be both. Select items to buy, then come to pay. It makes perfect sense to me. Let me draw you a map. Yeah, today sort of sucked. |
awdrey_gore
|
6:37p |
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| Friday, December 18th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
1:53p |
Holidays send mixed messages
 Not sure what message this ornament is meant to convey to this Yule. Be... expensive yet inexplicable? Or maybe misshapen but outrageous, Yeah! Be misshapen and outrageous this holiday season! |
| Thursday, December 17th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
8:35p |
Note to customers
1) This is not a marketplace in Kabul. It is a used book store in Round Rock, Texas. I don't care how many stupid money-saving forums tell you to haggle over every goddamned price you face in life. It's dumb. Haggle over your car purchase. Negotiate feverishly when you buy your home. Shit, haggle over a $200 pair of shoes. Don't waste your time asking me if I can give you a price break because you are buying ten books at a $1.98 a piece. When I say no, by all means, demand to see the manager! Demand that discount on already deeply discounted merchandise, especially if there is a huge-ass line behind you. In fact, the more people you inconvenience in your quest to save a dollar, the more you win at life! 2) When a bookseller stops what she is doing, looks up a book, gets the author's name and determines the genre, takes you the the appropriate shelf and does a check only to find the store does not have the book, here's what you don't do: You don't narrow your eyes indignantly and say, "Well, I wouldn't call it historical fiction, really. There's so much more going on in the book than that!" You don't turn your back on the bookseller, interrupt one of her coworkers and demand he look the book up. And, this is key, you don't look surprised when the other bookseller, once ascertaining that I have already schlepped across the store for you, says, "If Anita looked it up and says it's historical fiction, it's historical fiction and we must not have a copy." 3) When you ask an employee to help you search for a book, you do not wander off when the employee is scanning the shelves. It is especially important not to do this when you have asked the employee to search for several books. When you wander off, I assume you left the store and I stop looking for what you want, or other customers see me looking at shelves with no one around and THEY ask me to look for stuff for them and I stop looking for what you want. When you come back ten minutes later, appalled that I don't have what you want, I will lie to you and say, "We didn't have anything you wanted, kthxbye!" 4) Your children are adorable. I offer them stickers. I am nice to them. I clean their bodily functions and I don't blink an eye when you let them run amok, tearing the castle apart. However, when you are checking out, I must ask that you not permit or encourage your child, your very shy child, to hand me each item you are buying individually, one at an excruciating time. Your progeny, like a fawn blinded in the headlights, freezes, and has to be prompted to hand me the items. "Give her the next book, dear..." When you have 19 books, it takes FOREVER for the tyke to get the crap to me and EVERYONE IN LINE BEHIND YOU WANTS YOU DEAD. IN FACT, SOMEONE IS CUTTING YOUR BRAKE LINES NOW! 5) Accompany your kids to the bathroom. Especially if they are little boys. That way, I don't find sneaker prints on the tank cover and whiz all over the toilet when your menace of a kidbeast climbs on top of the john, stands proudly, and pisses all over the stall. 6) Do not include me in shaming your kid. I don't care if we're talking about the kid who pissed all over the bathroom, I ain't helping you discipline him. So don't say, "If you don't stop it, that lady over there will throw you out!" Because I will say, "No I won't!" Then I'll give your kid a sticker. Involve me in exercising your parental authority and I will undermine you to the best of my ability. Thank you. |
awdrey_gore
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8:01a |
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| Wednesday, December 16th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
11:19a |
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awdrey_gore
|
1:18a |
First lines in 2009
January: Ghostroses is dead. February: Henry made the executive decision to shield me from all the calls because of all that has happened over the last week, and I happily note that breaking my leg and requiring surgery when my COBRA has not yet gone into effect has buried us to the point that if I ever thought twice about our plan of action, I am not rethinking it now. March: If I am not already following you, follow me! http://twitter.com/awdrey_goreApril: I haven't been posting much. May: We are broke and cannot separate properly, though God I know I wish I could just leave now. June: Someone on my f-list mentioned this, and I figured why not. July: It would be safe to say that Henry and I should not have made it past the first six months of dating. August: I have no shame. September: We are all very saddened by Sweetness' death. October: Okay, locking down because I am getting a million Googles as a result of my job search and while I ultimately don't feel my prescription drug struggle or last year's Halloween unpleasantness are something I need to hide, the fact is I can see how it would be disconcerting to employers. November: I just had to spend the equivalent of a week's pay on two pairs of orthopedic (yes, orthopedic) shoes. December: Tuesday night around 9:30 I my throat started hurting. Wow, hasn't been a good year, but it should be mentioned that the cats are warm and snuggled in this warm house, which we will get to keep a while longer, I smooched Henry in the chips aisle at the supermarket and he smooched me back, and I have to get up for WORK tomorrow. Bad shit passes. Thank you, Universe and thank you to all who read and encourage me. My life is richer for knowing all of you. |
| Tuesday, December 15th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
12:52p |
Okay, sharing the good stories now
I have far more good stories than bad from the book store. It's just poo (OMG POO) and dead bats force my hand faster, blog-wise. My customers are for the most part an interesting, polite lot. Here are two of them for today. 1) My first day on register, I accidentally let a customer walk out with a dollar book. He had five and I charged him for four. My manager noticed and was cool about it but warned me to count better. The customer had paused by the door, looking at his receipt, overheard the conversation, and came back so I could charge him for the book I overlooked. He said in a near whisper that he did not want me to get into trouble on my first day, and that had he not come back it would have been stealing. This man is very distinctive. He's a tall black man, and I mean TALL. Like 6'8 sort of tall. He always wears a bomber-style jacket and he always buys discount Christian books. He came back about three weeks later on his lunch hour and I immediately recognized him when he came to my register to check out. A phalanx of Round Rock homeschooling moms who had been having an impromptu get together in front of the kid's castle queued up behind him. "Hey, I remember you!" I said. "Really?" he said. He is very soft-spoken, seldom speaking in more than a whisper. His face is always impassive and sort of blank. He's just big, stoic guy. "Yeah! I undercharged you the first day I was working here and you came back to pay what I left off the bill. You didn't want me to get into trouble. That was so cool of you. A lot of people wouldn't have done that." Upon hearing this, the homeschooling contingent of women started cooing over him. It was instantaneous, and very awesome. Five, tiny, extremely Christian women just lost their collective shit at how wonderful he was, being so honest and caring about my job. They noticed his books and a brief discussion of Jesus broke out, and after about a minute, he began to smile a little bit. Any other man would have been preening with all that sincere attention (and two of the moms were pretty cute), but he only managed a smile, which was no small thing for him. He looked genuinely happy. I get the feeling that he is one of the nameless millions out there, who work hard at a job that may not pay them well but who get up and make it through the day every day with little recognition. I think sometimes just being recognized for the little things we do, like making sure a n00b cashier doesn't lose her job, or making an active exercise of one's faith (not stealing even if it was my fault he accidentally almost walked out with a free book), can be enough to get us through. Now, whenever he comes in, I always greet him with, "Hey, it's my favorite customer!" He is my favorite customer. 2) Lots of elderly men come into the store in the mornings and drink their coffee and just sort of hang out for a bit. They flirt with the women who work there outrageously. One of my coworkers, a tiny, curvy, adorable girl named Sarah gets a lot of it, which, like all of us, she endures with good humor, but we all have one or two elderly men who flirt with us exclusively. One of mine always wears the cap from the destroyer he served on during WWII. He's probably 85. We developed a bond when I told him the name of the ship Henry served on during the Gulf War. He immediately recognized the name of the USS Leahy and told me some war stories, silly, light tales of the dumb stuff he and his naval buddies got up to. He began to call me "Sugar Booger," which many may think would be offensive to me, but really, when an old man calls you such a moniker, even if he does make the occasional horn dog statement, it's harmless and a little funny, especially when you can tell he means it in good humor. So I am Sugar Booger, and he calls me that whenever he sees me. One day my old sea dog came in and glanced over at me, then did a double take. He didn't engage me in silly conversation but kept looking up at me, squinting. When he came up to the counter to buy a copy of TIME magazine, I began speaking to him and he looked at me hard again. Then he said, "Sugar Booger, I couldn't tell if that was you or not!" I assured him it was me and wondered if he was getting a little senile as we discussed the latest outrage committed by the Round Rock city council. Later I realized that I had worn my brown glasses to work that day. Not my stained glass pattern ones, the ones that have caused others to refer to me as "the girl with those glasses." (Seriously, I get about ten compliments on those glasses a day.) While I am the fattest girl there, we all wear the same shirts, the same jeans, and most wear glasses. I had deprived him of the visual cue that let him know definitively he was talking to Sugar Booger. So I wear my stained glass glasses every day so as not to confuse my elderly salt again. |
awdrey_gore
|
12:20p |
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| Monday, December 14th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
11:33p |
One day soon I will share the awesome elements of my job
This is not that day. But soon. Until then... I skipped the Xmas party last night and am glad I did. I told one of my coworkers that I am a former substance abuser and am too fresh for a party to be a good idea, but the rest I just told I was tired and still feeling unwell. Evidently, it was a drunken mess with my store leading the pack. One of my coworkers, on whom I had a mild crush (in an "isn't he neat and goofy" sort of way - more than ever I think Henry is the motherfucking bomb), got so hammered he passed out cross-legged on a bar stool, head on the bar, and had to be carried out to a another coworker's car. Completely unconscious. Others shared today that he is a pretty profound drinker. I still think he's a cool guy but yeah, he sort of worries me now. None of my business ultimately, but you can't help but worry a little about people you like. Another equally hammered coworker tried to jump on stage to do a karaoke set and fell over, head first, knocking himself unconscious. Paramedics had to be called and he was taken to the hospital. Evidently, our store was the only one in Austin wherein employees had to be carried out. Nice... I was also told the cause for the stench in the backroom was discovered. One of the shiftleaders found a dead bat (yes, BAT) under the sink in the 5x5 closet we use for a breakroom/supply cupboard. But the smell did not leave. It stank just as bad. So I said to Andrew, the assistant manager, "What the hell?" Andrew said, "There are a couple of theories as to what makes it smell so bad back here. We found some dead rats up in the panels in the ceiling and there are probably more up there. Another theory is that the toilets leak into the wall the separates the backroom from the bathroom and the urine has soaked down even into the studs." He was deadly serious. If you need me, I'll be in the shower. Crying. |
awdrey_gore
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12:47p |
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| Sunday, December 13th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
|
10:00p |
Yule ornaments, yay!
I'm gonna post a pic a day of our Yule stuff until Christmas. Because I can. Some might say I must.  The Campbell kids in mortal danger is a tradition here at Casa Dalton-Clark. |
awdrey_gore
|
12:56a |
Just revel in it
On the twelfth day of Christmas,  awdrey_gore sent to me... Twelve cryptanalysis drumming Eleven vampires piping Ten cats a-leaping Nine gnostics dancing Eight politics a-milking Seven boys a-reading Six books a-writing Five ma-a-a-artin amis Four ee cummings Three henry rollins Two varg vikernes ...and a bizarro in a siouxsie. Duuuude... |
awdrey_gore
|
12:47a |
Job tales, and no poop this time! For once...
1) As some of you know (and some know from first hand experience), when I get tired, I sound like the hick that I was raised to be. My hard-defeated Texas accent comes out bad. This evening, I must have been very tired, for as I rung up a man, I noticed him looking at me strangely. Finally he blurted, "Are you from Arkansas?" Evidently, it was the way I said the word "ten" that caused the query. As in, "Your total is $7.01, out of $10.00." He noted I said, "Tee-uhn." And damned if he wasn't right. 2) A woman came in with the most adorable baby boy ever. Fat, blond, blue-eyed. Dressed immaculately. Gorgeous baby. He was teething and babbling in a charming way. Too bad he's probably dead by now. She let him crawl on the tile floor, damp fists in mouth. She let him crawl on the horrific carpet in the kid's castle, where kids routinely wet themselves and worse. She then let him teethe on a hand basket. I looked over at my coworker and she was watching the spectacle, too. Our customers have issues being able to crap successfully in a toilet. Who knows what is on the soles of their shoes. Yeah, the kid's a goner. 3) Why, oh why do people come up and ask me questions when I am behind the counter ringing up sales, interrupting me in the middle of transactions, asking the sorts of questions that would obviously require me to escort them across the store and do investigative digging. For example: Clueless customer: "Do you have any books on the Three Little Pigs?" Me, in the middle of ringing someone up: "Umm... Possibly. Do you have an author or illustrator in mind?" CC, irritated at my obvious stupidity: "I'm talking about the Three Little Pigs!" Me, and what I wanted to say: "Oh, my mistake. You mean the Three Little Pigs from the childhood story every American knows front to back. How did I get it wrong? My god! I'm such an asshole! But of course our children's department has an entire section devoted to the Three Little Pigs, with every rendition and illustration ever created. In fact, you can see the neon lights that spell out "Pigs" from where we stand. Please let me suspend this transaction with the person I was ringing up and leave the counter and personally escort you to our amazing Three Little Pig shelves." Me, and what I actually did: "Customer service to the register!" and forced poor, affable Clayton to dig around in the castle and see if he could help the woman. 4) A woman and her son entered the store. Woman, to her little boy: "Don't you want to walk with Mommy?" Little boy: "NO!" and streaks across the store. I begin to laugh and she shoots me the most evil look. I think this is pretty good evidence as to why I should not be a parent. Stuff like that cracks me up, but really, you ask a kid an question, you take the answer you get. How can a mom not know that when a childless whackjob like me does? 5) A woman comes into the store with her teenage daughter. They each have a dollar book. The daughter looks normal, but the mom has on a t-shirt with some slogan on it (no bra, as was quite evident), a leather bomber jacket and pyjama bottoms with feet. With feet! Waffle-weave, red, with little mistletoes on them. No shoes. In its own way, it was the best outfit ever. As they ring up, the daughter asks, "How are we going to get these past dad?" Mom tells me she doesn't need a bag and she slides the books under her t-shirt, fixing them in the top of the elastic on her pyjama pants, revealing a fish-white belly in the process. I am so stunned and tired by now that I don't even have the decorum to look away. "We're supposed to be buying cough medicine," the woman explains as her daughter erupts into a coughing spell. "Her dad will be pissed if he sees we got books." The pair then leave, exiting into the misty night. |
| Saturday, December 12th, 2009 |
tiggy
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1:15p |
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| Wednesday, December 9th, 2009 |
awdrey_gore
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4:31p |
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