Cranky Pants

Man, I'm not sure if it is the crappy weather, or if everyone is not getting enough sleep worrying about H1N1 or what but boy have people put on their cranky pants today. The worst part of this is that 'innocent bystanders' have to suffer for that most insufferable of qualities: entitlement. Both of the incidents I'm about to narrate could have been avoided if people just didn't assume the world revolves around them, or that the rules don't apply to them, or that everyone is out to ruin their day.

About an hour ago a gentleman came into the store and wanted to make a return. Here is, to the best of my memory, the transcript of his conversation with (unbeknownst to him, the worst person he could have possibly pulled this stunt on, let's call them Beth):

Customer: "I purchased this book yesterday because I couldn't find my other copy in my room. I found it now, and I'd like to return this. I'm returning this book."
Beth: "I'm sorry, but we can't do that. That is textbook; it's being used for a class. All books used for classes had to be returned by October 9th."
Customer: "But I just bought it yesterday."
Beth: "That... doesn't really matter, sir. The returns information is on that bright pink slip of paper stapled to your receipt..."
Customer: "I didn't read that. I didn't know. I'm returning this book."
Beth: "But you got in from the textbook aisle, right? And you didn't know it was a textbook?"
Customer: "Right."

long pause.

Beth: "OK, I'm going to make an exception, this one time..."
Customer: "Good, 'cause I make an exception to shop here. I've bought thousands of dollars of books here."
Beth: "An exception from what?"
Customer: "From shopping at other bookstores. From buying books on-line for a fraction of the price."
Beth: "OK, look, you've already won here. We're allowing the return. You don't have to yell anymore."
Customer: "Good, so let's just drop this, OK?"

long pause. transaction completed.

Beth: "Have a nice day." (said, amazingly, sans sarcasm).

There is lots to say here but firstly, even though I work here and have our best interests at heart, at the outset I hadn't taken sides. Our returns policy for textbooks is harsh, but it was enacted to prevent people from treating us like a lending library. Students would actually walk in, buy the book for class, and then return it an hour later after class was over. Most times the book would be damaged enough by handling, that the publishers we order from would deny us returns. In short, we're stuck with lots of books that don't look new and won't sell. Add that up every semester and in an unforgiving economy and yikes. No wonder bookstores are closing all over the place.

So yeah, the returns policy is harsh. And in this situation, I actually would have been inclined to cave. But it became very clear early on, perhaps the second "I'm returning this book" that this guy could give a care about us. He was used to getting his way, and in this case, being denied a return was the equivalent of telling him he failed at life. We were a tool at his disposal which when functioning correctly, always left him feeling better. Now I'm not sure if the whole "I already had the book" was true, or if he just did as he implies he goes out of his way to avoid, and his Amazon order just took longer than he thought to arrive. But the guy sure was a piece of work. We're not going out of our way to disservice you as an individual.

The second incident involved a woman who was asked to check her bag up front. She then proceeded to rattle on about how she "always hated this policy" and "been coming here for 20 years..." Well here's the thing. New people work the register every few months. To them it makes no difference if this was your first time in the store. And they aren't profiling. They are not judging you. You have to check your bag because everyone does. Everyone does because a few folks would like to fill their bags full of books and walk out with them. That, and its tiny and cramped in here. If everyone was walking around with a University sized book-bag stuffed with laptops and everything there would be no room to do anything. Don't be so entitled; it is unfair to give you preferential treatment.

rant over. sorry. weekend? ohsweetjesusyes.

Where Does Your Honor Lay?

Independent as fuck!

You've probably seen this phrase, most likely embossed in neon on a sticker affixed to a skateboard, streetlamp, or an otherwise "alternative" retailer's storefront window. It can mean various things, and i do not mean to suggest i am comprehensively aware of them all. But I do have a certain perspective, having worked for several years in an independent bookstore. I take a great amount of pride in where i work, and what I've been able to accomplish. And I've only just begun to understand the challenges and benefits of being independent.

Independent bookstores are dying, there is no denying this. Curiously, big chain bookstores are also doing downright poorly as well, but people have to be getting their books from somewhere, right? Turns out Amazon is that somewhere quite often. Amazon is wonderful for a great many reasons, some of which include information gathering, price discounts, and used goods. Serving a buying public in the hundreds of millions, Amazon purchases its products in massive quantities, often on consignment (i.e. under the premise that the goods are theirs forever, even if they do not sell). As everyone knows, the more of something you buy all at once, wholesale, the less you pay for it, and this is essentially how Amazon can offer such great prices.

An independent bookstore is a small operation, and cannot purchase things in large quantities. As such the products we receive are more expensive and need to be sold as such if we hope to break even, let alone make a profit. But this leaves us with a huge conundrum. Why on earth would anyone ever buy something through us, that they can get for cheaper elsewhere? In the end, we cannot hope to compete financially, but we can compete in the community, and that's where the 'Independent as Fuck!' attitude comes back into play.

Amazon is great in a lot of ways but it isn't a place and indie stores have some advantages. Some of these are tangible. You can't go to Amazon to see your favorite author give a reading. Some are less readily observable, and bit more, well, how can i say this without sounding like a bleeding heart liberal... economically moral. It is a difficult argument to make, and i do not even pretend to think that i can adequately explain myself here, but i will give it a try.

Every penny that comes in our front door goes to purchase more books for the store (and to pay our modest salaries etc.) With all of us living and working in the community, much of the money we make goes right back into the restaurants, bars, stores and venues around us. We also give small sums to various local charities and charge sales tax that goes to fix roads, fund schools, etc.

(Except in New York) Amazon does not charge sales tax. And with revenue in the billions, that's a lot of lost funds that could be used for all sorts of important things. As a 'store' that is not a place, Amazon does not give to your local charities. how could it unless it gave to all of them? So there is a whole lot of money coming in that has to be going somewhere, right? Amazon may even be very fair to it's many employees, I do not know. But what I do know is that the founder, Jeff Bezos is worth 6.8 billion dollars, and he is just one of it's board members. I'm sure that kind of corporate financial underpinning can make a great deal of good things happen, but that kind of accumulation and consoldation of wealth strikes me as exactly what your local community does not need. Surely some of that 6.8 Billion should be yours, yes? But then again you did not earn it, in fact, you may even have saved significant amounts of money by purchasing goods on Amazon for far less than you could elsewhere. you see how complicated this gets so fast?

I try and look at things as fairly as possible. This is less an us versus them scenraio, and more of a choice. You have a choice to buy independently, and a choice to buy from some entreprise like Amazon. It is not necessarily good versus evil, but do know that your choice has repercussions. Should you need to save those extra dollars by all means, do what you have to do to get by in increasingly difficult times. But also know that if you can afford to do so, shopping independently has its advantages. And a great many folks will benefit from your decision, not just a few.

The Thing in the Basement

Basements are gross. They are dark, cluttered with crap you don't even want to keep upstairs in your closets, let alone out in the open. They usually have big clattering appliances like washers, dryers and hot water heaters. And more often than not there's a funk. A basement funk of stale air, the vaguely septic quality of water moving through the plumbing and on the other sides of the walls and floor, and of forgotten things. And if your landlord is our landlord, you get to look at that hideous painting which was banished down there years ago. blech.

Speaking of our landlord, she's awesome. She's the sweetest lady, living right upstairs, often out of town, leaving us silly little notes and things. She sends us emails warning about attempted robberies in the neighborhood (it is Chicago after all) as well as letting us know the dates of various art fairs in the area. But she is also sort of absent-minded. Case in point: repairs.

The inner doorknob of our building has been hanging by a thread of a screw for several months. Our furnace has kicked itself off several times for no reason--the temperature gauge has gone a little soft in the head and sometimes thinks it's hotter inside the furnace there than it really is. Our bathroom was plagued with clogs of the non-human variety (a bunch of sand and silt had built up over decades deep in the pipes) and now the opposite has happened just under the kitchen sink in the basement. A pipe elbow that looks to be at least 50 years old (probably much older, the apartment dates back to the late 1800s) finally blew out.

At first the hole was the size of a pin-head. Then a dime, followed by quarter and half dollar. Now the water just flies right down our sink and out into the air between our dryer and furnace. Spraying bits of chicken and asparagus and all sorts of food particles that had built up inside over the years. All that filth is laying in a pool that drains slowly into the floor. Needless to say the funk has grown more powerful than can be imagined. Doing laundry has turned into a whelk hunting adventure in Ireland, replete with tall boots and rain gear.

But its getting fixed next week. It only took a month or so. *rolls eyes*

Chillax, Brah

You know that guy in Full Metal Jacket who wrote that Oppenheimer quote on his helmet, "I am Become Death." Yeah, he was being an ironic asshole. Still funny mind you, but definitely in the assholic/ironic subcategory of humor. And somehow, I find myself slipping off the paths of the righteous to join him. I may not Become Death, but I am Become the Thing I Hate. Namely, a hipster. At least, as defined by what I find funny.

Not a big surprise, really. Everything esle in my life has hipster spray-painted and sequined and bedazzled all over it. But consider the following.

I enjoy the 'wassup' Budweiser commercials way too much. Far more than I enjoy the actual beer they were used to advertise. It cracks me up every time I hear myself say 'wassup' all drawn out to a work colleague that just came in. There are several things wrong with that last statement, and grammar and syntax are the least of its problems. Yes, I laugh at my own jokes. I'm (suddenly?) that guy. However this is mitigated (somewhat?) by the fact that i genuinely find it funny. Irony free enjoyment. It almost makes up for the fact that nobody else laughs or even smiles. The best I get is a pair of rolled eyes.

I could go into my borderline psychotic adoration of shows like Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Mr Show, and Sea-lab 2021, but really, what's left to be said. If you don't understand their genius, no force on Earth can save you from a grim and dull hereafter.

I occassionally use acronyms like LOL, and their extended ridiculous relatives like roflcopter and LOLlerskates. Text speak to me is way too funny. Anyhting that makes you sound like a 5-year old with a learning disorder--sign me up!

I say things like 'brah' and 'chillax.' Again, not because I am making fun of anyone per se. I find it hard to believe that people actually said 'brah' at all really. They are like leprechauns or unicorns or compassionate conservatives (zing!, [see there's another example, I say 'zing!']), they only exist in theory, not in practice. So there may not even be frat-boys of this variety to begin with, let alone make fun of. But I find their words hilarious. I'm giggling to myself right now. Hehe.

the day the crazy guy at work was arrested

understatement of the year: people are freaking weird. yet this weirdness is exacerbated when you put lots of different people together. like at work. there are any number of truly strange individuals in your office or firm or fastfood restaurantorium, but seeing them all together let you really get a good sense of whose freak flag flies highest.

Gorbachev was that guy at my work. That's not his real name of course, and I say was because he is no longer employed here. because he was arrested. and fired. and now there is a restraining order against his ever setting foot in the building or the immediate blocks around it. Police thought the restraining order was a good idea considering what Gorby did to get arrested in the first place. but before that, some back-story.

Gorby had worked here for ten years or so. Kind of a lumbering guy, big and slow moving, useful in physical tasks like moving stock around and stuff like that. He was also counted on to shovel the walk and take care of what little grounds needed to be taken care of, and since he got to work as early as 6am, this proved useful for everyone else. But Gorby wasn't all there 'upstairs.' Any brief conversation with the man would tip you off. He was constantly talking, to himself and anyone he was around. It was an anxious voice, like he was nervous all the time and felt he needed to talk or make jokes to relieve tension nobody else felt, well, until he was around.

And his jokes were never mean-spirited and almost always only funny to him. I don't think he had a mean bone in his body, or didn't, rather, before the incident. You see Gorby liked to play pranks on the other tenants of this building. If they put up fliers on the communal bulletin board in the elevator he would deface them, always subtly, like he was afraid of getting caught but just couldn't help himself. From time to time mail would get delivered to our office which was not for us, which was for someone many floors up, and once this mail included several heavy boxes. Our boss told Gorby he needed to take these packages to their rightful owner, and Gorby resented this deeply. Not that anyone knew this right away, he never said a word, just smiled and went to his task. yet if you were a fly on the wall of whatever hallways he was lumbering down with those boxes, one by one, I'm sure you would have been privy to a very long and random stream of disgruntled consciousness.

So Gorby decided to exact some revenge. Over a period of months, he would often pillage a control box, or circuit board (mother board?) on the floor of the person who so deeply wounded him. He would unplug wires and tangle them, plug them in the wrong slots, and this caused all kinds of network problems for the entire floor. Not exactly a smart prank, even though he often did this well before anyone was in the building, let alone on the floor in question. Seeing as it was not even on my office's property, it was all the worse. Eventually the tenants planted a sting, purposely broke the circuit panel door so that it had to be pried open, then watched as Gorby came by, fiddled, left, came back with a screw-driver and levered the door open. he then began to messing with the wires and with that, the trap was sprung and the dude was arrested.

His original statement? "I just saw that the wiring were broken and was trying to fix it." Only after a half hour or so did the strange revenge drama come out. Needless to say, he was fired on the spot, and not just because he committed these acts against the same people we rent our space from (awkward!). We then got an disconcerting message on our intra-email system warning us to keep a look out, and to call the police if we saw Gorby anywhere near his former workplace.

So, for the past week I have perfected my drop and roll into the adjacent room. I have my back to the front door and if anyone came barging in with a rifle or anything, well, it's nice knowing you all for as long as I have. I am left only with the memory of on old prank he perpetrated on a colleague of mine on Halloween. From what I heard Gorby snuck into this guy's office wearing a Reagan mask and carrying a 2x4. he then lurked in the corner before the guy came back, sat down, and saw him in the reflection of his computer screen. I still remember the scream of terror.

where is my mind?

I'm losing it. It's gone.

The little moments that used to be 'ha-ha, isn't that funny' are now becoming 'maybe I actually do have some form of memory loss/dementia. A few days ago I attempted to do something as benign as clip my fingernails. Job accomplished, or so i presumed, I moved on to other things. Two days later i realize that I only did 60% of the job, leaving the fingernails of my right hand unclipped. 60% is telling, seeing as I actually made the mental jump and started to complete the other side of the job. I could see 50%. Maybe i just got confused and thought I'd already done righty. fine. But to stop after just beginning him? the very fingers I am typing this with are mocking me right now.

Second example. I have a friend coming in from out of town. Way out of town. England out of town. Granted, he's been stateside for a week now, and he and his girlfriend are not staying with me or anything. But I was all set to go out to eat with them both tonight. As if I'd made definitive plans to do so. But in reality I'm not even sure when he gets in. Might be 11pm for all I know. Looking back over our email correspondence there is absolutely no reference to dinner. Just which days he'd be in town and an exchange of cell phone numbers. Where did the phantom dinner plans come from? I mean, it was to the point where I was about to call and ask him where we had planned on meeting and at which time. That would have been an embarrassing phone call. But it makes for an even embarassing-er memory. Because friends can giggle and laugh it off. When I laugh to myself it just kinda dies out he he, ha ugh with a sheepish eye-roll for closure.