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Bookselling
Sep. 10th, 2007 08:40 pmI'm so tired I'm kind of dizzy. I haven't been sleeping more than a few hours in one go lately, because I'm going through a phase of having lunatic crazy dreams. Usually I reach some state of sheer terror, jerk awake, deliberately keep myself awake a couple of minutes so I don't fall back into the same dream, go back to sleep. And in the morning I recap and wonder where the pulp-fictitious hell my brain is getting this stuff. Seriously, machete blades? Monsters? One particularly lovely detour into someone trying to chop my fingers off? It doesn't even feel real when it's happening.
Anyway, yes. So tired I'm dizzy, and I half-sleepwalked through an utterly ridiculous day at work today. See, there's this book. It's GCSE Business Studies for Edexcel, and its ISBN-13 is 9780340816561. (Yes, I know it. It's been that sort of day.) And there's a local school that has told each of its thirty-two pupils that they all need it, and they should come to the local shop to get it, and in the meantime the book has gone quietly out of print. I explained this patiently to thirty-two people, all of whom want the book, er, yesterday, and I'm trying, I said, really I am. I made a list, I rang publishers, I chased delivery men. Honestly. People are so rude.
After ringing up everyone I could think of, I realised that it's not, actually, out of print - it's just the computer thinks so. And I can get it from a fairly obscure distributor who blithely informed me they can get it for me in five working days. "Isn't there any way I can get it sooner?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"Not unless your order is over £100," was the very prim reply. "Which it isn't."
"What," I said, through grittier teeth, "is our order up to now?"
"Ninety-nine fifty."
AAAAARGH.
Oh, it was just that sort of day. Even when I walked into the shop in the morning, Bernie was on the phone having a fight with a customer, in her having-a-fight-with-a-customer voice (I have one of those too) - a tight, controlled, I'm reciting the multiplication table in my head to keep from strangling you, yes sir how can we help sort of voice. "Street map?" she was saying. "Which particular city?"
A pause.
"Ah, sir, a street map might be... unobtainable. You could get something for Beijing or Shanghai - no, sir, China is a country. I understand it's quite a big one." Another pause. "Yes, yes, Taiwan is too."
After a while I decided I just couldn't listen any more and went out the back to stomp on boxes. I do this every day, really! It's not something you need a particular talent for! You slice the sellotape, pull it off, stomp on the box and throw it into the recycling. So how exactly I managed to hit myself in the solar plexus and end up staring at the bright blue sky from a distinctly pavementesque position, I don't know.
It seemed prudent to just lie there for a while.
At least, until I heard the sound of raised voices from inside and went back to face one of our most annoying customers, a primary school teacher trying to buy sticky-backed plastic. I didn't have a clue what they were fighting about until Bernie asked me, somewhat desperately, "Iona, how many centimetres in a metre?"
"A hundred? Is this a trick question?"
"There's NINETY!" said the woman, and I boggled a bit. She was adamant. I picked up the pair of scissors to cut the plastic and managed to convince her that yes, she's right, the customer is always right, but if we do it my way, she actually gets more plastic for her money. (We sell it by the metre, so help me God.)
After that Bernie and I sat down and, as one person, went for the chocolate biscuits. Three hours and a lot of chocolate later, I was on my own. The minimum you can run the shop with is two, I think - one to deal with customers and the other to answer the phone - and although it was only for about an hour or so, but seriously, it's not good for your mental health. I sat on the counter and tried to keep the customers away through sheer force of will.
And just when Tony was back, we were doing all right, I was counting up the coins in the till, a customer came in with a long, detailed and complex enquiry about a second-hand book she wanted ordering from Canada. God, why do people do this? Don't they realise that it may be the slightest bit impolite to wander breezily in at twenty-five past five and proceed to take their sweet time? At five to six I went in and very ostentatiously picked up the keys to lock the door, but nothing doing.
Anyway. Finally got home about half six, am exhausted, have done nothing in the way of LSAT prep for, oh, weeks, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hawkfromhandsaw story is still non-existent. Well, no. It's 1845 words of total and utter tripe.
But! Tomorrow is another day! And there is still a half-full packet of chocolate biscuits in the till! Sigh. September really is loony season.
Anyway, yes. So tired I'm dizzy, and I half-sleepwalked through an utterly ridiculous day at work today. See, there's this book. It's GCSE Business Studies for Edexcel, and its ISBN-13 is 9780340816561. (Yes, I know it. It's been that sort of day.) And there's a local school that has told each of its thirty-two pupils that they all need it, and they should come to the local shop to get it, and in the meantime the book has gone quietly out of print. I explained this patiently to thirty-two people, all of whom want the book, er, yesterday, and I'm trying, I said, really I am. I made a list, I rang publishers, I chased delivery men. Honestly. People are so rude.
After ringing up everyone I could think of, I realised that it's not, actually, out of print - it's just the computer thinks so. And I can get it from a fairly obscure distributor who blithely informed me they can get it for me in five working days. "Isn't there any way I can get it sooner?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"Not unless your order is over £100," was the very prim reply. "Which it isn't."
"What," I said, through grittier teeth, "is our order up to now?"
"Ninety-nine fifty."
AAAAARGH.
Oh, it was just that sort of day. Even when I walked into the shop in the morning, Bernie was on the phone having a fight with a customer, in her having-a-fight-with-a-customer voice (I have one of those too) - a tight, controlled, I'm reciting the multiplication table in my head to keep from strangling you, yes sir how can we help sort of voice. "Street map?" she was saying. "Which particular city?"
A pause.
"Ah, sir, a street map might be... unobtainable. You could get something for Beijing or Shanghai - no, sir, China is a country. I understand it's quite a big one." Another pause. "Yes, yes, Taiwan is too."
After a while I decided I just couldn't listen any more and went out the back to stomp on boxes. I do this every day, really! It's not something you need a particular talent for! You slice the sellotape, pull it off, stomp on the box and throw it into the recycling. So how exactly I managed to hit myself in the solar plexus and end up staring at the bright blue sky from a distinctly pavementesque position, I don't know.
It seemed prudent to just lie there for a while.
At least, until I heard the sound of raised voices from inside and went back to face one of our most annoying customers, a primary school teacher trying to buy sticky-backed plastic. I didn't have a clue what they were fighting about until Bernie asked me, somewhat desperately, "Iona, how many centimetres in a metre?"
"A hundred? Is this a trick question?"
"There's NINETY!" said the woman, and I boggled a bit. She was adamant. I picked up the pair of scissors to cut the plastic and managed to convince her that yes, she's right, the customer is always right, but if we do it my way, she actually gets more plastic for her money. (We sell it by the metre, so help me God.)
After that Bernie and I sat down and, as one person, went for the chocolate biscuits. Three hours and a lot of chocolate later, I was on my own. The minimum you can run the shop with is two, I think - one to deal with customers and the other to answer the phone - and although it was only for about an hour or so, but seriously, it's not good for your mental health. I sat on the counter and tried to keep the customers away through sheer force of will.
And just when Tony was back, we were doing all right, I was counting up the coins in the till, a customer came in with a long, detailed and complex enquiry about a second-hand book she wanted ordering from Canada. God, why do people do this? Don't they realise that it may be the slightest bit impolite to wander breezily in at twenty-five past five and proceed to take their sweet time? At five to six I went in and very ostentatiously picked up the keys to lock the door, but nothing doing.
Anyway. Finally got home about half six, am exhausted, have done nothing in the way of LSAT prep for, oh, weeks, and
hawkfromhandsaw story is still non-existent. Well, no. It's 1845 words of total and utter tripe.But! Tomorrow is another day! And there is still a half-full packet of chocolate biscuits in the till! Sigh. September really is loony season.
