Archives: July 2005
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We have a little population of silverfish in my kitchen. Is that their real name? I have no idea. Regardless, they are like silver worms with legs, a crossover between maggots (my favorite) and high-speed caterpillars.
Apparently, The Boy got up in the middle of the night for water, and was surprised to see lots and lots of them crawling and zipping around our trashcan. If he emphasized that there were TONS of them, I'm sure that in my version of the story, that would equal about 1,000; he is not so squeemish about the things but they really put me over the edge.
We discussed the details of what they look like, and I said, "Oh, are they a little bit argentin?" Argentin was my, admittedly, uneducated way of guessing how to say "silvery" in French. I of course, however, forgot that it is instead the word used to describe someone from Argentina.
One of the added incentives to dating a foreign person is that you can laugh at their expense. The Boy continued on as if nothing was wrong and we had the following conversation:
Him: Yeah, they are. I think all those Argentinians are actually living behind the refrigerator
Me: Man, I HATE Argentinians. They give me the willies. How do you think we got so many in our kitchen without seeing them before? Sometimes I find them under the dish drainer, though.
Him: I don't know, maybe there's a special Argentinian spray?
I still don't know how he got through the first few sentences with a straight face, but he eventually caved in after I said, "I wonder if there are Argentinians in the walls?"
After clarifying the error and having a good laugh, our problems with the people of Argentina has become a household joke. Meanwhile, however, The Boy still doesn't know what the creepy crawly creatures are really called. I have to go into a drug store and ask for a product that will get rid of them one of these days Good thing he told me about my faulty French before I went shopping. Could you imagine?
"Hello, sir. I have a serious Argentinian problem in my house, there are tons and tons of them living in my kitchen. I need a powerful anti-Argentinian spray. Do you have anything that is sure to get rid of them?"
I've had the last two days off. They are my first full days off since July 5... I have had a few half-days but have managed to work every day since then. If you'll notice, today is July 28. That's lots of working.
I should have spent my days off working on my thesis (T minus 8 weeks, people!), but I am waiting for a book from Amazon and feel at a bit of a standstill until I can read two of the essays in it. Do you believe that excuse? Well, I'm sticking to it, because it's at least a truthful way to avoid researching. I've dabbled, but would never dare say I actually got anything of substance done.
Instead, I have: taken a nap, cleaned the bathroom, gone to the grocery (yay! first time in two weeks!) , seen "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (trippy!), had a drink with a friend I've missed dearly, made fresh-squeezed watermelon juice, dropped off a video that was long overdue, comparison-shopped for sewing machines, sampled some music online, read, went to physical therapy, and spent quality time with The Boy.
I've been a little under the weather but otherwise the break has been a much-needed taste of heaven.
Fortunately, I'm just now starting to go a little stir-crazy, and I look forward to heading back to work tomorrow. It feels good to think I've gotten the system back in balance. I'm going to make a nice, slow dinner tonight, and around midnight I am going to curl up with my book again. A great way to close a two-day vacation.
Good to know, sorta. If I were in the States, that is. And also: most of the shit they're making "specially" gluten-free these days are things one shouldn't be eating anyway - pizza, brownies, etc. The real good news of the article is that the word is getting out. I believe that in the next 50 years or so, gluten intolerant types are going to start showing up at supermarkets in droves, demanding their GF Kit-Kats. I am wholeheartedly convinced this is a bigger health problem than people have previously realized. Kinda cool to see the (very tiny) revolution silently taking place.
Today was my last full day of being "in charge." So here's what I've realized about myself in the last three weeks: I like power. I like being considered the chief. I like when people think I'm actually capable of making important decisions.
None of this should be seen as a haughty, dangerous thing. I am saying this as a genuine, positive realization. I need a job where people turn to me; it's what pushes me to work hard. It energizes me, but I don't think I abuse the power. Hopefully my co-workers would agree. I don't feel like my authority high extends to others; I have simply noticed that my own work is far better when I am put in the head honcho position.
I have mixed feelings about Vegas' return. I'm excited to see him, I've missed him a sort of freakish amount over the last weeks considering how recently we've become close. I'm also looking forward to the relief of not working so much. However, I'm a little concerned that I am going to have a hard time going back to my previous position in the store. I know he's the boss, and I've known it all along - even in his absence. But still. Even just "playing boss" for a month sorta makes you feel like you are one, and I don't know how much of my inner boss is going to wince when someone else starts telling me what to do.
I'm sure it will be fine. But honestly? I feel that, along with Kathypath, we've done a pretty impressive job of running the show. In fact, numerous people have commented on improvements since Vegas' departure (particularly when it comes to cleanliness and/or organization matters). So it will be sorta weird when Vegas starts prioritizing and putting certain things fifth when I feel they should be third. Or first when I think they should be twelfth. Or whatever. It's his store, and we differ (a fair amount) in how we run things. So that might be tough. Luckily, I'll only have a week of working to re-adjust, and then I'm off to the States for a bit. A break will probably do me some good, too.
Really, though. This whole experience has been great. I am going to have to thank Vegas for the opportunity. Profusely.
I've written two entries and not posted because they were, in the end, crap.
I counted how many hours I have worked this week: 64 hours in seven days, and I also squeeked in time at the library in the mornings.
Yesterday, I re-organized the basement at the bookstore (again). After ten minutes of lifting boxes and moving books, I realized there was no point in dirtying my shirt: I worked for several hours in my bra, sweating buckets while lifting enormous boxes. That's probably good porn material, but the reality of it all is that I ended up with a broken back. Although I've learned the lift-with-your-legs, not-with-your-back technique, it was physically impossible in the 2 ft X 2 ft space I had to work with. So, bam. Something hurts on my lower right-hand side. No worries.
Later however, after the store was closed, I worked for awhile in the office. Once I finished, I headed downstairs. On my way down, I slipped and fell, breaking the fall on my back. Normally people don't like to break falls using their precious backs, but I'm sadistic that way. I had tried to use my hand to grab something, but my hand landed on the ladder, which promptly just fell on top of me instead of providing any sort of stable force. The back pain? Severe.
THEN, today - after ten hours of work - I carried boxes to a car that we drove to a truck into which I lifted said boxes. The driver pinched a nerve and is not allowed to lift, which meant I did the lifting. Although I began sweating buckets within seconds of my workout, I opted to keep the shirt on this time. I was, after all, on a major boulevard. I lifted lots and lots of boxes, and really? I'm very tired now.
Anyway, point of this post: I love my job, but I recognize that I have overworked myself physically in the last few days. I have also probably overworked myself mentally, but I am less willing to admit fatigue in that department. I haven't seen a good friend in almost two weeks, even though I would really like to... Time is a serious issue. I need to do even just simple things like go to the grocery. I'm not complaining; I like what I'm doing. I just wish I could have four more hours per day and the energy needed to do stuff with them.
It will come. This week, I will see my hours reduced significantly upon Vegas' return. However, I am glad to know what doing this sort of thing with one's life entails: long hours, patience, and one helluva strong back.
One unexpected bonus: I'm getting seriously buff.
On Sunday, Kathypath and I worked at the book market all day. The Aussie came to say hello, and ended up hanging out for several hours. It was relaxing and not-so-busy, and I took a bit of a break in the park next door. There I ran into an old friend, and he came back afterwards to visit with us. We called TheBoy, who showed up 30 minutes later. Some errands were run, and pretty soon we were an oddly assorted quintet of people drinking wine in the park after a day at the market.
Somewhere after the fifth glass or so, the park police began blowing whistles to signify the park's closing. I'm not sure who had the brilliant idea to hide in the bushes, but before I could really think twice, I was stifling giggles to avoid being spotted. Stupidly, our "hiding spot" was about ten feet away from the park offices, but we were (miraculously) never caught. I'm still not sure what we would have said had they seen us.
There was a magic moment around 23.00 when I realized we genuinely had the entire park to ourselves. The boys had gone in search of food (they jumped the grill and got pizza to go), so the girls and I went rolling down the hills in our underpants. We climbed trees and giggled and sang Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs. A light rain began to fall and I mumbled, while looking up at the sky from my spot on the grass, "This night is beautiful."
Of course, and hour later when TheBoy began puking and people received freaky phone calls and the entire evening took a rather sour turn, I began to question whether magic is really good or evil. But still: I'm digging this hiding-in-the-park thing.
It's incredible for me to read my last entry. Posted just six days ago, it feels as if I were in an entirely different headspace altogether. Maybe we really grow in fits and spurts, and this last week has tested me enough to cause some emotional/intellectual development.
I'm ok, but lots of people around me are not. It's funny, too, how when bad things happen, I tend to notice how little other people care. I'm not blaming them, I understand that everyone has their own thing going on. It's just a little alienating to be tossing and turning a strange variety of unpleasant thoughts in my head all day, and then have everybody else still talk about the weather.
Fortunately, I am remaining oddly zen throughout this moment of discomfort. Between the visit from The Little Guy (ending today after almost a full week), losing an employee at the bookstore for a week, and the odd social turn that has recently taken place, I haven't had a minute alone. That's not entirely true: two days ago I got smacked with food poisoning (or something equivalent) and spent a few hours at home in bed. I was alone, then, but far too delirious to think.
Sometimes that's for the better.
Kathypath returned from her (sucessful) trip this week, and it's great to have her back. I told her what's been happening in the store in her absence, and the two of us - as anal as we are - are set on cleaning the place up in Vegas' absence. I had been telling her that Vegas had gone way overboard in the buying department, but she couldn't fully understand it until she saw it. After receiving a delivery of seven more (huge) boxes of books for which we had to make room, she understood why I can't get over the mayhem. It was oddly reassuring to see that it bothered her as much as it bothers me (she kept saying, "Oh, God, we really have to do something about this pile..."). So we're going to get working on that.
Meanwhile, we both broke our backs bringing those enormous boxes upstairs. I looked down at my legs before I took a shower yesterday, and my upper thighs are black and blue all over (from hitting the boxes as I walk). As TheBoy said yesterday in his most deadpan voice upon seeing them "Well, that's sexy."
Yesterday, I went in for a job interview elsewhere. It went fine - I don't think I made any mistakes outside of the French grammar sort. But, still, I won't get the job. It was obvious from the outset, as the first question he asked me referred to my working papers situation:
"Do you have papers?"
"No, is that a problem? I thought that since the company is Franch-American, it would be less of an issue."
"Well, sure, but we would still have to prove to the French government that we couldn't find any FRENCH person qualified enough for the position. Considering we have already interviewed over 30 people, you'd have to be a far better candidate than any of them..."
Keep in mind, that was BEFORE the interview.
No pressure, though, really.
It's ok though. I don't think I wanted the job anyway, deep down. Too much sitting, not enough interacting. I like to be up and at 'em (even if I bruise my legs in the process).
Day three of running the show: so far, so good. Ok, so I have TONS of shit to do tomorrow. And yeah, I think I am going to go in on my day off to set up shop to maximize the efficiency of co-workers (and to get my "co-manager" up to speed after a six-week absence). But woo-hoo, I am having a ball.
A customer ordered a 120 euro book online and we couldn't find it anywhere in the store. I searched for hours. And then? Then? He showed up at the store, desperate to have the book before he left on vacation (even though he technically wouldn't have received the book until the next week if we had sent it by post). I freaked, having NO idea in the MADNESS that is our stockroom, where the hell his book was.
I kept looking, and, I shit you not, I heard the angels singing as I saw the title creeping out at me from amidst a pile of random-ass books stored in a back corner. They sang hallalujah as I lifted the 100 books on top of it, and when I ran upstairs - book in hand - I could barely contain my excitement. Over an hour of searching and then man and I both went home happy campers.
That's what feels so good.
I also managed to pay all the bills, make several important calls, place a few orders, clear the database, and so on.
I am exploding myself, as they say in French.
Yesterday, after working from noon until closing (midnight), Vegas and I stayed up until 5 am, organizing papers and setting up things for his month-long absence. As the sun began to rise, we both began to fall, and we finally caved in to the fatigue. Vegas left this morning to go to Korea, and I found myself in the strange position of more or less being in charge of a bookstore when I opened the doors to the place a few hours later.
On four hours of sleep - had only after fifteen hours of work - I have just finished a ten-hour day. I spent it lifting, calling, filing, packing, ordering, and calculating. Afterwards, I rode home on my bike, and I felt that the last three days of intensive physical labor and not-so-intensive sleep has turned my legs to jelly.
But, I am not complaining. I am instead, in my usual sick and rather obsessive way, trying to get across how much I am loving my job. I'm giddy and motivated and energetic, and I have that fabulous feeling that always makes me think of that scene in Clueless when Cher decides to give Ty a makeover. She claps her hands excitedly and says, "PROJECT!" And that's what's so great about this gig: it's an enormous, difficult, and sort of scary project. I know that I have always been someone who works better when challenged, and suddenly being responsible - more or less - for the store's financial welfare, is oddly thrilling.
I had a bad moment today, but I am trying not to dwell on it. Instead, I'm already trying to think of maybe putting in some "overtime" to reorganize some things. But what's "overtime" when you never even stop to look at the clock?
I've spent the last few days furiously trying to prepare the store for Vegas' absence. It's been entertaining. Today, for example, I lifted enormous boxes and rearranged the stockroom for two hours, dripping sweat the entire time. There came a point when I was climbing on so many boxes that it no longer made any sense to have on my flip-flops, and seconds later I found myself standing barefoot on a pile of William Klein restrospectives, curling around a tipsy pile of miscellaneous books, trying to grasp the Rothkos that we had stuck in a back corner. The Klein pile was so tall that I had to crouch to avoid the ceiling, and it occured to me that I might not be putting my weight on the most stable of supports. Curiously, I really enjoyed the procedure and looking forward to doing more of the same in the future. It's not all that strange - I love organizing and the bookstore needed some SERIOUS refreshing. The difference is astounding, and it feels good to SEE the improvements after having put forth so much physical effort.
Meanwhile, I left the Hipster upstairs with the clients to rake in the cash, which he did at a phenomenal rate. So all in all: we made lots of money and I cleaned the hell out of the downstairs. Tomorrow we tackle some last-minute paperwork, I sign some I-am-now-responsible stuff for the post office, and we line up the books in the order they are to appear on the sales floor.
I've also spent the last 48+ hours hanging out with two teenage girls - one of whom I used to babysit when I myself was still a tyke. They were sweet kids, and it was entertaining to show them around town, despite their penchant for McDonald's - something I obstinately refuse to enjoy.
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