Okay, a new question- Am I taking crazy pills?
Oh Bozack, having worked in a book store for over three years I can tell you that the whole situation isn't all that unusual for the environment. You need to understand that your store is a place where various social strata that would otherwise never cross paths do. You have the intellectuals and the poser-pseudo intellectuals - two clans, who though similar in coat and markings, are actually natural enemies. You have the people who are functionally mentally ill and those who are totally off their nut – again difficult to differentiate which is which. Then you have the specialized eccentrics – those that have such a micro-focused area of specialized interest/fetish that it is nearly impossible to find common ground with. Some one will want a book on Siamese cats, and you might say something like “Oh, I like cats.” And the person will seem deeply insulted, and correct you that they are looking for a book on Siamese or maybe say ‘Meesers, and you will feel deeply alienated and wonder if the general public is actually made up entirely of people with no social skills. But have faith it’s just your store.
A bookstore story of my own:
We had one customer named Desmond who was one of the worst human beings any of the staff have ever encountered. Indeed, if one of us were to glance out the window and see Desmond we would argue over who had to help him, then everyone else would go hide in one of two stock rooms. Why? Well, one, he smelled really, really, really bad – like over-ripe cheese, death sweat, pickled eggs, stale morning breath, garlic and mothballs. This was a strong, all consuming stench that filled the whole store and stayed long after he’s left. Two, he was always sweating to the point where it was rolling down his face. Three, he had this long greasy hair that was just so greasy that you could tell, even without the smell, that he rarely bathes. Four, being one of the largest people I’ve ever met, and looks a lot like Veruca Salt after she turns into a blue berry – he has these short limbs are so disproportionate to his body that it’s hard to believe he’s real., and he was always out of breath to the point where him asking a simple questions took three times as long as a normal person would. Something about he mechanics of his being always resulted in stacks of books being knocked over. Five, he maintained a deep certainty that I and all other staff members were Arthur C. Clark fans, secretly hiding all the good books in the back room, and always treated us very rudely, especially if the out of print books he was seeking were not available to him.
So one day I’m in the cramped back room of the store, and in fact, our back room was so cramped that I had to lay down on the floor, on my side to check the books in the stock room. So I’m on the floor lying on my side between two stock shelves that are about two ft apart. A co-worker comes running into the stock room. “Oh, crap, you’re already in here.” Me: “Is Desmond here?” And indeed he was, at the precise moment that I was re-stalking the sci-fi shelves. I tell my coworker that he’ll have to deal with him since I’m busy, and I stay in the back room as long as I can. Then I come out and set one of two stacks of books that are to go on the shelves down. He sees me, but since I move quickly he doesn’t catch me and, while holding my breath, I get away. I go to get my other stack of books and I come back to find him standing next to the earlier stack of books, which is no longer an alphabetized stack but a messy pile all over the floor. He is wheezing with an Arthur C. Clark book in his hand. I smile politely and go to reorganizing the pile of books again. He smells so badly that I consider just hiding in the back room until he’s gone. He asks if we have any more Arthur C. Clark books and I tell him, no, that the one he took from the pile was the only book I had to re-stock, and that I’ve already gone through all the C’s and moved on to the F’s & G’s. He nods and goes back to looking at the shelves. I head back into the stock room, and again lay on my side in the tiny isle, checking books on the bottom shelf. I’m working away, when suddenly I smell and hear a presence. Desmond has walked into the back room and his standing over me wheezing and stinking. “Are you sure you don’t have any other Arthur C. Clark books?” “Yes the rest are all doubles of what is out there – and the stock room is only for staff.” He slowly leaves, taking the time to examine books on a near-by stock room shelf, and his brief presence has scented the entire stock room. Finally he leaves, we all come out from our hiding places and my boss appears from the other stock room where he was hiding, yielding a can of air freshener which he sprays all over the store.
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Topic: Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies. (Read 25293 times)