Customer (dis)service
It's been another one of those beautiful, blue winter days, and I am listening to the suburban noises of dusk: heavy traffic on Milton Road; the outraged yaps of yard-bound dogs at the sight of their luckier peers walking past on leashes; and the shrieks and growls of neighbourhood children at play. Heather has just gone to the shop to buy ingredients for tonight's dinner. One of the best things about being in a relationship must be that you don't have to cook every night. Oh, sure, the union of two souls is great, top of the list, but the diminished chore-load is right up there too.
I have been technically unemployed for the past month or six weeks, but I have two jobs starting up next week. The last six weeks haven't felt like a holiday, since I've been so worried about money, but now I feel like I can actually watch a little daytime TV and generally lounge about guilt-free until next week. And read books!
Yesterday I went into the city and bought another David Sedaris book. I bought Naked a few months ago and loved it. For anyone who's not familiar with Sedaris, he's a gay American guy who writes hilarious autobiographical essays. Read 'True Detective' from that collection for a story so funny that you run the risk of choking on your own saliva.
Anyway, I saw another book of his, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, at a bookstore in the city and decided I could really do with some more of his humour. I was kind of excited, the way you get (if you're a book nerd) before the purchase of a promising book. I took my book to the counter, wondering if the sales assistant would recognise me for the woman of taste that I am. I proudly slipped the book across the counter.
'Just that one, thanks,' I said. I seem to say this frequently, even though I'm always stating the obvious.
The sales assistant took my card and swiped it. 'Have you read his stuff before?'
Finally! Acknowledgement and a sense of communion would be mine.
'Yeah, I read Naked, and I really enjoyed it,' I answered coolly, as I entered my PIN.
For a minute, the woman didn't respond. The minute my receipt started printing, she said, 'Yeah, this one isn't as good as that. Not as funny.'
I felt as though it was Christmas Eve and Santa had jumped up and down on my gifts, handed them to me amid the tinkle of smashed glass, and said to me, 'Here you go. Merry Christmas, kid.'
I have been technically unemployed for the past month or six weeks, but I have two jobs starting up next week. The last six weeks haven't felt like a holiday, since I've been so worried about money, but now I feel like I can actually watch a little daytime TV and generally lounge about guilt-free until next week. And read books!
Yesterday I went into the city and bought another David Sedaris book. I bought Naked a few months ago and loved it. For anyone who's not familiar with Sedaris, he's a gay American guy who writes hilarious autobiographical essays. Read 'True Detective' from that collection for a story so funny that you run the risk of choking on your own saliva.
Anyway, I saw another book of his, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, at a bookstore in the city and decided I could really do with some more of his humour. I was kind of excited, the way you get (if you're a book nerd) before the purchase of a promising book. I took my book to the counter, wondering if the sales assistant would recognise me for the woman of taste that I am. I proudly slipped the book across the counter.
'Just that one, thanks,' I said. I seem to say this frequently, even though I'm always stating the obvious.
The sales assistant took my card and swiped it. 'Have you read his stuff before?'
Finally! Acknowledgement and a sense of communion would be mine.
'Yeah, I read Naked, and I really enjoyed it,' I answered coolly, as I entered my PIN.
For a minute, the woman didn't respond. The minute my receipt started printing, she said, 'Yeah, this one isn't as good as that. Not as funny.'
I felt as though it was Christmas Eve and Santa had jumped up and down on my gifts, handed them to me amid the tinkle of smashed glass, and said to me, 'Here you go. Merry Christmas, kid.'
posted by Michelle | 5:07 pm
4 Comments:
Hey Michelle: Buying new books! You lucky duck! Well, it looks like you proved the sales clerk wrong (if you go back to that store in 6 months, will that clerk still be working there? seems like she's not so great on the "sales" part of the job). Hope you have a good week with your feet up. I know the feeling of not working but worrying about money so much you can't relax. Take it easy -- toni
I think Sedaris also wrote "Me Talk Pretty One Day' - that too is hilarious. I know what you mean about being all thrilled about buying books and hoping for that 'sense of communion' with bookshop staff. I tell you, if I work in one (as will possibly happen next year) I'll be givin' and givin'.
love
Katherine
Katherine, Toni, Mydogmo, good to hear from you guys. Mydogmo, your suspicion is actually wrong. Not a multinational. Oh no. McGills.
Normally they don't do banter at
all, they're all so dour they barely speak (which is fine by me), so I don't know what was going on.
Let's hope they go back to taciturn and churlish soon.
Clearly the problem was that she wasn't used to speaking at all. Her manager had probably told her that her usual series of grunts and sighs weren't moving the merchandise and to turn on the 'charm.' I too, love to buy new books, but I find that by the time I get to the front of the line, I'm three pages into the first chapter and I'm the one with the monosyllabic responses. But cheerful smiles, I hope! I love Sidaris' descriptions of being on the subway in Paris with folks who assume the French don't speak English. And of course, I'm deeply ashamed of my countrymen, who are perpetuating the stereotype that all Americans are complete and utter merdeux.
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