Not Like Most Days

This is what most days at the bookstore are like. I compile the previous day's sales for reporting to the New York Times, I shelve books, I open deliveries, I shelve books, I answer phones, I wait on customers, I shelve books, I open more boxes, I sweep, I dust, I wait on customers, I pull books from backstock to freshen up empty spots, I rearrange shelves so they'll look fresh, I wait on customers, I answer the phone, I gently guide a customer from the "C's" to the "S's" to find a copy of Julius Caesar ("No, ma'am, that's not the author, that's the title."), I take the trash to the back, I grab my purse and head out. Usually I get some visiting in with a favorite customer or two, and quite often hear the freshest Montgomery gossip from inside sources. It's one of those jobs that can go from dull to downright exciting in nothin' flat.

But the days do tend to run together, mostly.

Not today, though. Today will stand out in my memory for a long time.

It actually started with the delivery yesterday of this month's issue of Montgomery Living, a glossy mag that highlights the social, business, and cultural events of the city. It's light reading, but it's a nice little magazine. Well, this month's issue features a big two page article on Capitol Book & News , complete with full-color photos of my bosses. It's a pithy little article, which talks about the quirks and strengths of our store, and mentions how they do ALL the work themselves, bless their hearts. Oh, there is a passing mention of their sole part-time employee, moi, who apparently does nothing but serve as the person in charge of the children's books. Pffpth. (I don't blame them -- in fact, I happen to know that they specifically told the guy who wrote the article he'd left me out and needed to add something about me. I don't think they saw the final draft.)

Anyway, one of our customers came in and I was kind of hidden in the non-fiction room, re-shelving and freshening up, and I heard her say to the friend with her, "Did you see that great article about the bookstore? It kind of left Eleanor out, and she's the only reason I come over here."

Excuse me while I bask in that for a moment.

Well, I pretty much ran on that comment for an hour, and then one of my elderly customers came in, just after the bosses had left for lunch. She shopped around a bit, and then I caught her out of the corner of my eye -- white as a sheet, and walking slowly toward the counter clutching her chest. Oh, my lord. She said, "I am really sick. I don't know what's wrong, but could you check me out really quickly? I need to go home." Well, of course, I was standing there terrified -- heart attack? -- and said, "Mizz P.? I really think I need to call 9*1*1*," to which she was violently opposed.

"No," she said, "I've just got a horrid spell of asthma and I can't breathe."

Better, this does not make me feel.

She asked me to help her to the restroom -- all the way down the hall -- so I did. And then I waited, and waited, and waited, and then ran to the front of the store and googled "emergency asthma" and wrestled with whether to call 9*1*1, or OMG --what if she was DEAD in the bathroom?????

She finally emerged, took a seat, I got her some water, and she got composed enough to leave, but then I noticed her car was way at the other end of the parking lot (okay, it's not that big, but when you're old and it's 90 degrees outside, and you are NOT BREATHING) it's a whole fat long way. So I said, "Mizz P? Give me your car keys, and let me pull your car up to the door."

Amazingly, she handed me her keys, and I went and got her car and got her IN her car (against my better judgment), and I said, "Mizz P? Would you do something for me? Would you please call me when you get home?"

She turned and looked at me and said, "You're an angel."

So. I pretty much floated along on that one for another hour. (And yes, she called when she got home, and was fine. Of course, if I read her name in the obits Sunday I'm gonna feel like crap.)

Well, I finally got back to feelin' like regular ol' Eleanor and in walks Mr. A. Now, let me explain about Mr. A. He was, at one time, an incredibly brilliant and powerful person, but he suffered a horrific brain injury that basically lobotomized him, and the only thing he does anymore is come to the bookstore and totally monopolize whomever it is that "gets" to wait on him. He doesn't actually talk to you -- he just talks in your general direction, and he picks up no clues from the environment to let him know it's time to stop. We have a method in place, which involves all but one person (I swear, we take turns) leaving the front of the store, so as not to give him a chance to draw us all into his solioquy, and if he's not done with his transaction in 15 minutes, we call Line 1 (the primary store number) from the back office on Line 2 (which we use for credit cards and the fax line), which gives the unlucky person who's stuck with him a reason to break away. We have carried on phone conversations about football, the weather, whatever -- and if you can keep it up for 7.5 minutes, he usually forgets he was waiting and leaves.

Well, he was in fine fettle today, and I was the person who went to the back of the store. I rearranged the kids' books, dusted, re-alphabetized all the loose books in the boxes, and generally just waited until it was time to call the front desk.

I made a serious miscalculation, though -- I heard the door to the store open and glanced out the window, and could have SWORN Mr. A was getting in his truck, so I sauntered to the front of the store and NO -- there he was. Egads.

I set to work in a different corner, hoping he hadn't seen me, and then I heard him ask where I was.

Well, we are sneaky, but we don't lie, really, so my boss said she wasn't sure -- and here he comes.

Now, here's the weird part about this - it was the first time he had ever called me by name, and secondly, when I chirpily said, "Well, HEY, Mr. A!" he said, "I think you have gotten quite slender enough, Eleanor. You are looking quite superb."

No foolin' -- that's the way he always talks.

Well, you coulda knocked me over with a feather on two counts -- the first of which is that, as far as we can recall, it's the first time he has ever made a conversation that actually included the other person in some way, and second of which is that, OMG -- Mr. A was flirtin' with me.

I actually adore being flirted with. I'd just like to pick my own flirters, thank you very much.

Let me add here that it's not that we don't like Mr. A -- he is a good customer, as polite as his disability will allow him to be, and has certainly never (aside from the whole monopoly thing) given us a single reason not to want him in our store. But, well, you know.

So -- that was my weird little day. There was just something about the happy/scary/perplexed happy thing that made it special.

Obviously we live every day we breathe at both ends of it, but today felt like I lived IN it.

It's a nice thing.