raybear | It's true, what they say about you.

On Saturday before meeting Educating Esme for dinner, I went into Feminist Bookstore, my place of former employment, for the first time in....a very long time. I chatted with one of the owners (the "dad" of the mom&dad) and left feeling that any residual guilt, stress, agony, and frustration from the experience had finally disappeared into the ether. I've been spending lots of time in bookstores lately. It's soothing again.

Last night we went to Barbara's Bookstore in Oak Park before dinner. I was about to check out but wanted to take a glance at something first, so I went to the information counter.

Clerk: Can I help you?
Me: Yeah, I couldn't find it on the shelves, but I'm looking for The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath? The edition that came out a couple years ago.
Clerk: Okay. [typing on a computer] Hmmm, I don't see it. Do you know what it's called?
Me: Um....The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath.
Clerk: Oh.

He should be happy I didn't ask for "the red book". We used to joke about this all the time at Feminist Bookstore, about how people would come in looking for a book, insisting we would know it because "it was on the front table a couple weeks ago....a red cover...." Um, hi? Can I get some more clues like title or author or what it's about or even the picture on the cover? One time someone asked about a book we had in the window display weeks earlier and I said, "I can't see the front of those books because I'm always inside the store."

Ah, retail jobs. Another gentle reminder that I shouldn't complain about my current gig.