Friday, May 27, 2016
Friday
What do I do? I'm all journal'd out. I posted something on The Facebook about Hillary Clinton, and even then I could feel all the words draining out of me. Oh no.
I used to work for a Walden Books subsidiary called Brentanos. I think there was a Seinfield episode that revolved around one of these stores, but I've not seen one before or since my time there. They have disappeared it seems, gone the way of all things.
Brentanos had a classier collection of books and finishes compared to old "Chicken Soup for the teenage soul" Walden Books. Don't get me wrong, if you were looking for a snazzy bookmark or a youth bible, Walden was just the place. But you were better off at Brentanos for pretty much anything else.
I only worked at the bookstore for a year before I was sucked back into the my family's bakery, but it stands out as an important period for me. I don't know how to put all of this down in the time allotted, so here are bullet points that maybe I'll get to revisit.
During my time at the bookstore:
I met Mark Pitts. The funniest man I know. He would become my best friend during that period and for years after. I loved Mark immediately and demanded we mind meld. I adopted his mannerisms and way of speaking, discarding my old persona like clothes that no longer fit. I was 19. Mark was 36.
I went on several dates with Seneca, a 16 year old girl who worked at the bulk candy shop across the hall from the bookstore. I did not know she was 16 until later. Seneca was smart and funny and she tricked me. She also stole my favorite jacket. I think still think about that jacket, it was green and had a hood.
Once I sneezed at the cash wrap and, unbeknownst to me, a large booger flew out of my nose and landed on my shirt. Well, sort of beknownst to me. I felt something happen. But for the life of me I couldn't follow it's flight path or trajectory and so I just gave up. I carried that booger on the chest pocket of my shirt for a few minutes, until my coworker Jennifer wandered up. "Hey, what's that on your shirt?" and she picked it off. I watched her face as we both realized what it was. I watched her estimation of the kind of person I was change. She had been wrong about me. I saw that thought clearly flash through her mind. "I was wrong about Joel". She wiped my booger back on my shirt and walked away.
A man asked me to show him some books on photography. He pulled open a book by photographer Herb Ritz. The store was quiet and we'd been making small talk. He paged through and asked me what I thought of the black and white photographs of semi-nude men. He pointed out lighting and angles. He wondered if I'd ever consider posing for photos like that.
One day the power went out in the mall. I'd been there for 3 months, and as these kinds of jobs go, I was the most senior person in the store. I didn't know what to do, so I left the doors open and let people continue to browse by the dim emergency lights. After a while, it was clear the power wasn't coming back on. I decided to close the store, but one customer wouldn't leave. I asked him politely a few times and then finally said loudly "Ok! Lets go!" to which he yelled "I don't need this SHIT!" and threw the book he was holding at me.
There was a woman that worked in the bookstore conducting a kind of sociological experiment. She had sex with guys. And she liked to talk about it. She slept with all kinds of guys. Guys at work. Guys at school. She liked sleeping with guys because they were all different, she said. Looked different. Behaved differently. Were built differently. I was a guy, I thought. And so every time I was in a room with her a siren wailed in my head "AWOOGA! AWOOGA! ATTENTION: She sleeps with guys! AWOOGA!" After closing up one night, I walked her to my car and we made small talk as I drove her to where she'd parked on the other side of the mall. We sat in the empty parking lot talking. It was raining and the car windows began to fog. (AWOOGA. AWOOGA.) After a while she just said "Well," and leaned in (AWOOGA. AWOOGA.) "see you tomorrow!" and then gave me a quick hug and fled into the night. I was never to be an entry in her log book.
One day my Mom called the bookstore. The delivery driver had quit. I needed to resign from the bookstore and come cover his shifts. I started tomorrow. Just to run that down again. My Mom called me at work and told me I had to quit without notice. And I did! I worked another 2 weeks, I'm not an animal, and started working for my folks.
I lasted at the bakery for about a year. We mutually agreed I wasn't very good at it and I was released from service. Useful in a pinch I guess. I tried to return to Brentanos afterwards, but the bloom had faded there too. I wasn't able to take mall work so enthusiastically or seriously on my second tour. I don't know why some years rush by without note and others spill over with characters and adventures that stick. Maybe it's the magic of being 19.
I used to work for a Walden Books subsidiary called Brentanos. I think there was a Seinfield episode that revolved around one of these stores, but I've not seen one before or since my time there. They have disappeared it seems, gone the way of all things.
Brentanos had a classier collection of books and finishes compared to old "Chicken Soup for the teenage soul" Walden Books. Don't get me wrong, if you were looking for a snazzy bookmark or a youth bible, Walden was just the place. But you were better off at Brentanos for pretty much anything else.
I only worked at the bookstore for a year before I was sucked back into the my family's bakery, but it stands out as an important period for me. I don't know how to put all of this down in the time allotted, so here are bullet points that maybe I'll get to revisit.
During my time at the bookstore:
I met Mark Pitts. The funniest man I know. He would become my best friend during that period and for years after. I loved Mark immediately and demanded we mind meld. I adopted his mannerisms and way of speaking, discarding my old persona like clothes that no longer fit. I was 19. Mark was 36.
I went on several dates with Seneca, a 16 year old girl who worked at the bulk candy shop across the hall from the bookstore. I did not know she was 16 until later. Seneca was smart and funny and she tricked me. She also stole my favorite jacket. I think still think about that jacket, it was green and had a hood.
Once I sneezed at the cash wrap and, unbeknownst to me, a large booger flew out of my nose and landed on my shirt. Well, sort of beknownst to me. I felt something happen. But for the life of me I couldn't follow it's flight path or trajectory and so I just gave up. I carried that booger on the chest pocket of my shirt for a few minutes, until my coworker Jennifer wandered up. "Hey, what's that on your shirt?" and she picked it off. I watched her face as we both realized what it was. I watched her estimation of the kind of person I was change. She had been wrong about me. I saw that thought clearly flash through her mind. "I was wrong about Joel". She wiped my booger back on my shirt and walked away.
A man asked me to show him some books on photography. He pulled open a book by photographer Herb Ritz. The store was quiet and we'd been making small talk. He paged through and asked me what I thought of the black and white photographs of semi-nude men. He pointed out lighting and angles. He wondered if I'd ever consider posing for photos like that.
One day the power went out in the mall. I'd been there for 3 months, and as these kinds of jobs go, I was the most senior person in the store. I didn't know what to do, so I left the doors open and let people continue to browse by the dim emergency lights. After a while, it was clear the power wasn't coming back on. I decided to close the store, but one customer wouldn't leave. I asked him politely a few times and then finally said loudly "Ok! Lets go!" to which he yelled "I don't need this SHIT!" and threw the book he was holding at me.
There was a woman that worked in the bookstore conducting a kind of sociological experiment. She had sex with guys. And she liked to talk about it. She slept with all kinds of guys. Guys at work. Guys at school. She liked sleeping with guys because they were all different, she said. Looked different. Behaved differently. Were built differently. I was a guy, I thought. And so every time I was in a room with her a siren wailed in my head "AWOOGA! AWOOGA! ATTENTION: She sleeps with guys! AWOOGA!" After closing up one night, I walked her to my car and we made small talk as I drove her to where she'd parked on the other side of the mall. We sat in the empty parking lot talking. It was raining and the car windows began to fog. (AWOOGA. AWOOGA.) After a while she just said "Well," and leaned in (AWOOGA. AWOOGA.) "see you tomorrow!" and then gave me a quick hug and fled into the night. I was never to be an entry in her log book.
One day my Mom called the bookstore. The delivery driver had quit. I needed to resign from the bookstore and come cover his shifts. I started tomorrow. Just to run that down again. My Mom called me at work and told me I had to quit without notice. And I did! I worked another 2 weeks, I'm not an animal, and started working for my folks.
I lasted at the bakery for about a year. We mutually agreed I wasn't very good at it and I was released from service. Useful in a pinch I guess. I tried to return to Brentanos afterwards, but the bloom had faded there too. I wasn't able to take mall work so enthusiastically or seriously on my second tour. I don't know why some years rush by without note and others spill over with characters and adventures that stick. Maybe it's the magic of being 19.
# posted by joel @ 11:13 AM 
