Rants that you will enjoy

Sunday morning after another day of working at the l.n.c.b.. Yesterday a woman with two children brought a fancy pen and notebook to the register; the total was nineteen dollars and change. The card she gave was “declined,” the first time that’s happened to me. She asked for an ATM, was sent to the food court adjacent to the l.n.c.b. and never returned as far as I could see. It was also the day that a woman called on the phone asking for a book supposedly entitled Sandwiches That You Will Enjoy -- a book which, according to all the computer records at our disposal (including Books in Print) does not now exist, if it ever did. Due to a miscommunication, the woman was left on hold while the employee who was helping her left for her mid-shift break, and when I finally picked up the line after five minutes, she was madder than a drunken trailer wife on Cops. She asked to speak to the manager so I had to hand her over to the supervisor of the hour who endured her angry rantings for several minutes.

I read a novel called The Monk Downstairs. It was short and rather shallow, I thought. But despite those characteristics, it was widely and positively reviewed. I have ordered another by the same author, because I found out that his agent lives in Berkeley and is connected to a powerful New York agency. Perhaps I can finagle a way to get my novel to this woman.

I’m also reading The Crazed by Ha Jin and The Book Against God by James Wood. I’m really into reading novels since the l.n.c.b. job started.