How to Anger Employees at Your Friendly Neighborhood Bookstore

I suppose there are many many methods, but this one comes with a money-back guarantee. It will work even on employees who are generally calm and easygoing. Trust me.

First, show up at or slightly after closing time to purchase a book you had special ordered. If necessary, get a friend to go in before you and ask lots of questions so that the employees are distracted into not locking the doors right at closing time, so that you can make your entrance at the appropriate time. This won't do much to accomplish your goals yet, but it will be important later.

Now, be sure not to purchase your book right away. First, ask about another special order you had made that afternoon. You must act very confused. Talk about how you thought it was one title, but now someone has told you this other title. They should both be very common titles, of course. Give them as little information as possible. I wouldn't even give them author names, if I were you. Make it sound like it is the fault of the employees and the bookstore that you don't know which book you want. Rebuff every attempt to help by asking further questions.

Soon you will be able to ask for employee names. Complain about how many people you have talked to, even if it's only been two, and a third to tell you what time the store closes. In fact, you really shouldn't mention that last part. Just call it three. After all, employees should be on call 24/7 so that customers can always talk to the same person. Of course you can't say that, and the employees won't say it sarcastically to you, but at this point, they will be thinking it. See, you're doing well. By now the average employee should be quite upset.

Ask for the manager's name several times. Continue to be confused about which book you want while blaming it on the customer service. Say things like, "So which is it?" and "But she said..." For example, you could expect them to comply with the statements someone else made a couple weeks ago about a book which was probably an entirely different title in any case, which wasn't even special ordered at the time (that last part's important, because it means they won't have a record of it). But now, do this while being easily distracted. Flash from one question and assertion to another. This will be very effective, because it will make it harder for the worker to help you, which will in turn make him or her madder when you take offense at how unhelpful he or she is. Oh, and don't worry -- if your assistant mentions that the store is closing and they don't have time to do your research, you can just explain why it's so important that you have this book. It's a gift, of course. It always is. A short explanation will do. Then you can keep right on talking, ignoring the hour.

It should be at least ten minutes after closing by now. Acknowledge this. Say something like, "I know you're about to close, and not to make you hurry, but..." -- then proceed with talking and talking and talking. Eventually bring it up again, with a comment like, "I know you girls probably want to get home." Continue to talk. You can make your original purchase now, although you should probably ask about the hardback edition's price as well. Something of that nature. Once you've bought it and the person assisting you has miraculously helped you to see that the book already on order for you, is still, in fact, the one you wanted, you can begin to make your farewells; but be sure to be long-winded about it! Be as talkative, needy, and ADD as you possibly can be. Talk about the lotion next to one of the computers, if you have to. Or the mug they keep their pens in.

Congratulations, you win! However, I must warn you -- if you don't want to stop at making them mad and getting them to talk about you behind your back, but want to receive less than excellent service as well, you must do more. I can't help you there. Short of stealing from the store, I don't know how to accomplish that. And I hope I never learn.

The Quotidian Mysteries

The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work" by Kathleen Norris
Read: 7/4/08-7/14/08
LibraryThing tags: Theology, Benedictine, Spiritual Disciplines, Life Management

I was already intrigued by this book, which I'd seen at work, and then it was recommended in another book I read and liked, Receiving the Day, reviewed here. It's a quiet, rambling sort of book, good for meditating on. It doesn't go directly to any point, but is full of good thoughts. It talks about the precious value of the everyday, while at the same time very much acknowledging the many frustrations of the everyday. Reading it made me want to read another one of her books, The Cloister Walk. It confirmed my musings on the spiritual value of our mortality, our neediness. And on FlyLady!


“The Christian religion asks us to place our trust not in ideas, and certainly not in ideologies, but in a God who was vulnerable enough to become human and die, and who desires to be present to us in our everyday circumstances. And because we are human, it is in the realm of the daily and the mundane that we must find our way to God.”


“Ironically, it seems that it is by the means of seemingly perfunctory daily rituals and routines that we enhance the personal relationships that nourish and sustain us. I read recently, in Martin Marty’s newsletter, ‘Context,’ of a study that monitored the habits of married couples in order to determine what made for good marriages. The researchers found that only one activity seemed to make a consistent difference, in terms of the ability to maintain a stable, happy, long-lasting relationship, and that was simple affection, the embracing or kissing of one’s spouse at the beginning and the end of each workday.

Most significantly, as Paul Bosch, the author of the article reports, ‘it didn’t seem to matter whether or not in that moment the partners were fully “engaged” or even sincere! Just a perfunctory peck on the cheek seemed to be enough—enough to make a difference in the quality of the relationship!’ Bosch comments, wisely, that this ‘should not surprise churchgoers. Whatever you do repeatedly,’ he writes, ‘has the power to shape you, has the power to make you over into a different person—even if you’re not totally “engaged” in every minute!’”

"The Return of the Genre-Zombie"

Wow. You've got to read this. Ursula K. Le Guin On Serious Literature (as opposed to genre fiction, of course). Joi, it's too bad you never read my blog anymore, because you would love this. Hmm, maybe I'll send it to you... Yes, very funny. I found it, if you care, because I recently read Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier, which I'll probably review sometime soonish. That led me to the author's website, which led me to Writer Unboxed ("about the craft and business of genre fiction"), a comment in a recent post led me to a post on Genre and Literature, again by Juliet Marillier, which led me to the topic of this post.

The Saga of the Sore Thumb

So what do you think? Does it stick out like a sore thumb? Does it make you think, in Willow's words (as I remember them), "Man, that baby's sore!"

Many months ago, I burned myself and wrote up this post. But I hadn't uploaded the pictures yet. So. I burned myself making cookies. The potholder slipped or something (at any rate it obviously wasn't quite where I expected it to be) and my bare thumb grasped the pan.

Really, it sticks out like a sore thumb by definition, although sore is hardly the word. It didn't start feeling that good until the next day.

I'm always rather fascinated by my own wounds, and so John always jokes when I hurt myself that I'm probably thinking of taking pictures and posting about it on my blog. This time, I decided it'd be fun to humor him. I didn't realize how hard it would be.

The camera refused to focus on my thumb at the distance necessary to show detail. And, of course, my thumb refused to stay away from cold water or ice for any considerable length of time. I normally am against giving in to hostile demands and threats, but it seemed that doctors would take the thumb's view of things.


So I provided it with a bowl to carry everywhere, before getting out some ice, which required more dexterity and patience. (Have you ever tried to open a zip-loc bag without using your left thumb? Apparently it's a funny sight.) What was shown to be nearly impossible, however, was taking a picture of my good hand for comparative purposes. I will prove this by putting up a low-quality photograph. Yes, that'll prove my point. Really. See?


Prop the camera on the knee so the index finger can snap the picture, try not to get water on the camera... ack, too much! Plunge the thumb back into the water! Ah, blessed relief...

Seemed like a pretty bad burn at the time, but two days later and I can easily rub it -- it just feels like skin that's been pinched a little. Yesterday morning I instinctively stuck it out to avoid brushing whatever my other fingers were holding. But I put a band-aid on and that began to subside, and no one asked me what had happened to my thumb, so I guess, even sore, they can be rather inconspicuous. Like cutting a couple inches from waist-length hair. Now I know.

(Later, as my hands are dried out and dirty from packing books, there's a patch on my thumb both more shiny than the other skin and with more lines across it, as though first melted into glass, and then cracked. I know you wanted to know that, just as I now know of the relative inconspicuousness [but wouldn't it be more fun to call it inconspicuosity?] of sore thumbs.)

Goodbye to My Phone and Other Woes

My phone is broken. Physically. First there was just a little piece of the casing missing. But it was right on the corner that pivots every time you flip the phone open, so it quickly deteriorated. Soon the data cable was the only thing holding that side together. Data cables are not made for holding phones together. Don't work too well for that purpose. Apparently the bit of technology that tells the phone it's open is in the number pad section, as opposed to the screen section. So my screen doesn't work. It seems my phone can still call other phones, and if someone picked up they might even be able to hear me, but I couldn't hear them. So I am sorry, Mr. Phone, and it is very sad, but goodbye. (Oh, and the final bit of breakage was just this morning -- yes, Robert, I know I need to return your calls. And I should be able to check my messages using John's phone, although I forget how to do that at the moment.)

In other news, I arrived home from work at the perfectly respectable time of 6:20 p.m. There should be parking spots, when one is home so early. But were there? No. Of course not. Why not? Because it's Saturday. Bad, stupid Saturdays! ::insert cute little deviantart icon of a shaking fist here::