cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am actually pretty fucking good at this. As far as working at a funky, weird old bookstore goes, I am pretty fucking good at it. Today I sold around $600 worth of books. Getting a kid with his grandmother into a collection of Kipling's short stories since he was reading old Hardy Boys and Moby Dick. Selling a dudebro who wanted to read Edward Gibbon on reading Tacitus and Livy first. Explaining how, if you want to understand the way that men in America prior to WW1 thought, you need to read Ivanhoe and the Waverly novels and G. A. Henty with a strong eye towards their biases. I actually like doing this. I priced some antique books, including a copycat "Uncle Tom's Cabin" faux sequel, and a collection of Thomas Jefferson's letters. I know how to do appraisals after collecting once upon a time. I am actually really good at this job. Too bad that it only pays $15 an hour. SPIN was supposed to pay me $350 a few days ago and they didn't. Which means that I am waiting for the 15th for that. Fuck. I have so much shit to pitch. I don't want to be pitching at this point in my life. I want a salary. I have not been applying to enough jobs because I work 12 hour days driving for Grubhub and working at the bookstore and I have no laptop time left in the day. If I wanted to push it, I could be running the bookstore within a month. And be paid probably $17 an hour. It isn't worth doing. This week I got the owner's wife to buy smoke detectors and extinguishers. This Wednesday I will try to get the duct tape and white plastic removed from over an octagonal window where it was clearly placed at least a dozen years ago to simulate the energy efficiency of a double pane window. Surely there must be a tech company in need of a science communicator and journalist who would like this level of giving a shit from a new staffer. Surely there must be a woman who bothers to put on nice clothes for a night out and has all of her hair and is pretty and can commit and who likes someone who cooks and writes and gardens and fixes things. Apparently not. Among all of the women who have surrounded me for the last year they have all been in service of people at different points in their life. A hairdresser, a social worker, a nurse, a mortician. All with major flaws. Too overweight and non-intellectual; too reserved, lacking hair and timid; unable to actually commit; hose-faced (but a a wonderful person), infertile, and inclined to sit on the couch and watch reality TV shows. I wish that I could take parts of each of them and mash them up into one woman. 2:34 a.m. - 2023-07-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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