i met your children. what did you tell them?
So I was straightening books this afternoon in YRHC (that's Young Reader Hard Cover in fancy pants bookseller talk, now making you just as qualified as me for a bookstore job!) when I happened upon the tragic scene pictured above. My first thought was, "Awww!"
Except that is a total and complete lie. My first thought was not, in fact, "Awww!" but instead was a stretched out version of that - "Awwwesome!!" And, in a blatant disregard for company policy, I whipped my cell phone out of the pocket of my sensible work slacks (Slacks? Who says slacks? Really, really old people, that's who. Come here, sugar. Granny's got a butterscotch candy for you.) and snapped a photo of the pussy cat that had apparently gone off to Cat Heaven. You can't see it here, but to the left of the dearly departed was Cynthia Rylant's prequel to Cat Heaven, DogHeaven, and two plush dogs who were perhaps pinin' for the fjords.
(p.s. Cynthia Rylant? If you ever get tagged with that meme where you type your name into Google and tack on 'needs' after it and somehow end up on this post, know that we love you here at my house. My oldest son devoured your Henry and Mudge books. Oh, and when I play that Google game, it tells me that I need my mouth wired shut. Appropriate? I think so.)
Anyway, it was a good thing I was feeling all uppity today about company policy, because not five minutes after I tucked my contraband cell phone back in my pants (pant's?) pocket, it began ringing, and nothing is more awesome than to be talking to your work boyfriend (about zombies)(what else?) and have Now or Never from High School Musical 3 come blasting out from the vicinity of your crotch. And then standing there wondering what that sound is for a minute because no one typically calls you (because you are a big old loser who has it bad for the youngun's) before coming to the slow realization that what you're hearing is your phone, and that the look in your work boyfriend's eyes that says he's probably going to break up with you now. Yeah!
Back to anyway.
Anyway, it was good I had my cell phone on me because the nurse at my oldest's son's school was calling to tell me he was in her office with a low-grade temperature and I was all, "Of course! OF COURSE!!" because now that I'm getting over the Zombie Virus (though I still sound like I chain smoke a chain smoker), now my kid is sick. And did I mention Tool Man is sick now, too? Well, he is, and guess what? He went to the doctor yesterday and the doctor gave him medicine!! Did I get medicine when I went two weeks ago? No. No, I did not! I asked Tool Man if he flashed the doc his boobs, but he says he didn't. Personally, I don't believe him...because Tool Man...may need to lay down on the sweets for a couple weeks....
Anyway again, this isn't even what I was going to post about tonight, and I just did a 'preview' check of this post and seriously, I'm sorry. If you're still with me, come here, let me kiss you. I'm apparently free game since the work boyfriend (loser!) ditched me. I was going to post about what a seething ball of rage I was while on the clock today. I know what you're probably saying. "FADKOG, honestly. You work three hours a day, four days a week. In that amount of time, what could possibly irritate you?"
Well, first off, I now work four hours a day, three days a week, but that's a detail. When I'm at work, I have a variety of assignments designed to make the consumer's experience with us pleasant. The trouble with working in the children's department is I'm often not dealing with people who are consumers of anything but space, and today, two very perky women and their brood of insanely perky children planted themselves in the department for nearly three of my four hour shift! THREE HOURS!!
Here's what that meant - for three hours (or THREE HOURS!!, depending on how you want to read it), I babysat these womens' children while they sat comfortably and discussed God. Listen, I know that Jesus loves the little children, but after one hour, I could no longer follow Jesus' lead! While the ladies chatted, I abandoned all hope of changing out the five displays I needed to get done today, and shelving the four v-carts I had to finish, and instead spent the time hovering over the damage being spun around the place by their children sent books flying off shelves, grinding Goldfish crackers into the carpet, pawing through game boxes, and dancing on the Thomas the Train table (I hate that thing with the power of a thousand burning suns that I wish would ignite it in a blaze of glory). For the love of all that is holy, people! I know we all like a little grown up time when we've been around our kids constantly, but when you're out in public with them, do not forget you helped create them! Do not look at me like I'm a creep when you suddenly remember that hey, you've not seen little Timmy for 30 minutes after little Timmy got bored tearing up the Scooby-Doo books (yes...he absolutely did...) and decided to wander two aisles over to books for teens, because (in my head)(or my blog) I will freakin' go off on you!
Ladies (these two particular ladies, because I'm sure none of you parents allow this), did you tell your kid to behave? Did you tell your kid that you were just going to be a minute, and that, "Oh, look, do you see that nice lady over there? She's working really hard (four hours a day, three days a week) for a teeny weeny little paycheck so she can help take care of her children, so why don't we put all these books, toys, mysterious brown thing, and this magazine you ripped apart back where we found them so she doesn't have to!" Or are you one of those who, when you're in Super Target (kisses!) and decide you don't need that gallon of milk after all, you just tuck it behind the 10 pound weights in the sporting goods aisle because no biggy, right?
I know that the very nature of where I work lends itself to this kind of thing. Don't even get me started on the dude who comes in and adheres his ass to the comfy chairs with his stack of sci-fi books for the day. It's annoying, but at least he's not screaming or running or throwing books everywhere. I experience this kind of day every time I work (four hours a day, three days a week). Some days are better than others. Not Tuesdays, though. Tuesdays are always bad. What the hell, Tuesday?
I had to straighten the shelves of HCYR (and much more) after the chaos brigade finally left, and there's a chance one of those kids may have been responsible for the demise of the stuffed cat in the photo. My first thought was no, probably not, because those particular books are on the second of a six level shelf, but I didn't tell you about how I had to kindly remind them that, "Hey, climbing these shelves probably isn't the best idea! Let's try to be careful, shall we?!" I had to say it, because their mothers were talking about purses.
So yeah, long story short,thank cat heaven my kid decided he was sick this afternoon, because, as my shift drew to a close, I found the poor plush pussycat's fate so perfect because it looked exactly the way I felt by the end of my shift. Totally paws up.