Here's a helpful hint, from me to you: never read T. Coraghessan Boyle's, "The Love of My Life" when you are young, infatuated, in a long distance relationship, and currently planning a spring break trip with the object of your infatuation. It's a little too close to home. Instead, read David Schickler's "The Smoker" and indulge those fantasies about your English teacher that you never knew you had. Or just enjoy the detail of Schickler's narrative.
I have now been back home for two weeks. It feels like a lifetime. Time is a tricky devil like that. I'm falling into step here though. Work is going well, routine, the hours of the day are starting to fit together with ease, sleep comes easier, my skin is adjusting to its new role here. It's interesting how geography dictates so much of perspective. I spent the last 3.5 years living on my own, or living with Hailey, rather. And now, I'm here, and in two weeks, this already feels like the norm. The way it has always been. I never thought that I would be a quick adapter. I lived in the same house for 18 years before college. But maybe after the first move, it becomes easier to adapt to the next.
Other than the move, I'm finding other things to fit into my new daily routine. Like tea. I've decided to get hooked on tea, because it's healthy and pretentious, and I can make it at home, since there are no coffee shops open past 6. The tea I'm drinking tonight reminds me of an abandoned crayon in a pack of 64. That weird mix of green and yellow that didn't look good, no matter what you were drawing. I've also started eating yogurt, and oatmeal, both things I tried when I was 8, disliked, and had assumed that I would hate them forever. Turns out, not so much. This revelation had me cheering for Brett Favre and the Packers again, but sadly, they have broken my heart and I am officially off the NFL again.
I've also decided to turn my Hastings job into some sort of anthropological study of Garden City. So far I am learning about the wide variety of people who purchase dirty magazines. The type of small talk in a situation like that is a gold mine of awkward and uncomfortable dialogue. I'm hoping to get some serious inspiration from the job to make up for the lack of decent pay. I'll keep you all posted.
6 comments:
The Starbucks inside Target is totally open 'til 9.
Turncoat.
Sometimes I indulge hurried porno-purchasers and ring the transaction at lightning speed, and others I like to draw out and get their guilt-feeling flowing really strongly. Just last Friday, I tried to sell a Barnes and Noble Membership to someone who was just trying to get his Playboy in a hurry. Much to my amusement, he nearly took the bait! Yay for retail!
Oh, I hated selling porn to people at Hastings! Have you had to sell it to someone you went to high school with yet? That was the worst. My goal was always to ring the person up as quickly as possible, not make eye contact, not look at the porn, and get them out of my line ASAP. I do think you could do a great study of people working at Hastings. I liked that job quite a bit, actually, other than the porn sales.
bahaha porn sales!
I bought a cheap edition of a classic and I felt trashy based on it's cover. But the lady at Hastings only made me feel silly about not driving out to Wal-Mart to recycle my plastic bags.
BIL- Not a turncoat. Starbucks is corporate brew and I don't touch that stuff.
drrty joe- what a great idea! Mostly though, these Hastings customers seem perfectly nonchalant about their porn purchases. Don't they know about the internet?
Trinket- Oh dear. I can't even imagine having to sell porn to someone from high school. It's bad enough just seeing them and making the forced "how's your life" small talk.
Jo- I miss you, bff.
Linda- I take the Wal-Mart thing back. I had a run-in with the guy, and he is now part of the con list instead of the pros. My apologies for the guilt trip and for thinking that you were buying a racy romance novel instead of Jane Austen. Come back soon.
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