Five hours just crawls by when you have no extra credit work to do.
Backstreet Records is a store I've worked at for a perplexingly large fraction of my life. It is both the wind beneath my wings and the occasional toilet flushing of a commercial airliner from above.
When all is streaming along the new music pours in and pours right back out like the finest homemade tipple you've ever sampled... and with a better soundtrack too. However things occasionally stall... and when they do the tipple turns brackish and rises, subtly first, seeping through the bottom of the boat, then faster until the bailing must begin. Meanwhile the boat is stuffed with names and titles and phone numbers in ink on paper, and you have to keep moving them around so the ink won't wash off, but you have to keep bailing too. You know you're going to lose some of the names... others you will misread and call past the date decided upon... by then you're bewildered, and sodden, and ready to jump ship... arg.
But this is a cycle you see. Like the rain cycle. All that evaporation and condensation and reseeding. Next week I'll feel better.
If everyone will promise not to make me feel worse in the meantime.
I have to write down a plan. With out the extra credit work to do, at least IT will pass the time.
Yeah, suggestions... ideas... a plan.
A drier one.
No comments:
Post a Comment