the buzzing at week's end

Saturday, the day of possibilities. Of sleeping late, of setting out on adventures, of partying in glitzy clothes and smoky eyes.

I used to love Saturdays as a child. I got up early in the morning to watch a long and boring Swedish talk show (it was before the time of children's morning TV) just to see a Tom and Jerry cartoon that appeared somewhere midway through. I didn't even like Tom and Jerry - too violent! - but it was my own Saturday morning ritual. I sat quietly, played with my toys and listened to the boring drone of the talk show, peaceful and happy. The house was quiet. A long day of freedom lay before me.

During my years in the hotel business I fell out of love with Saturday. It was a busy, long day of work and sometimes parties that were just a little too wild. During my time as a shop assistant, Saturday turned out to be a short and sweet workday, full of interesting people and with freedom dawning when I locked the door mid-afternoon.

Now I spend my Saturdays working hard at my laptop at home, looking forward to free days ahead. Watching people through the window, often still in my pyjamas. Taking a walk in the early evening on streets still quiet but brewing excitement for the party night to come. Returning home for a movie night with friends or in blissful solitude. If it's the latter, I still feel the Saturday night fever in the air - faraway friends suddenly message me and distant laughter is heard.

pomegranate day, without actual pomegranates

"As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks ..." was the Bible verse I dreamily quoted today. The context was a pomegranate poster and a discussion on the pomegranate's meaning in Jewish culture.

The Song of Solomon really is delicious. It also contains far more racy comparisons with the pomegranate.

return of the confused bookseller

A twist in my fate.

Today I was selling angels, wrapping presents and answering questions about books I don't know. In short, I was back in the Little Shop of Harmony, the little book/ gift shop I left exactly a year ago.

Most of the customers were familiar. A few asked me if I was back for good, others just looked slightly bemused to see me. The cashier system was the new, complicated one that was installed shortly before I left. I couldn't remember a thing about it and had to start by reading the manual I had written for my coworkers before I took off for greener pastures.

The only real change was that the charity shop in the basement was gone. The Aladdin's Cave filled to bursting with second-hand treasures of every kind, the meeting place of humanity, from women in hijabs to goth teenagers. All gone. It feels like the soul of the place is missing.

I'm not back for good, just helping out every now and then. That is fine with me. Going back to something I left behind me once feels wrong. I'm like a shark - I have to keep moving to stay alive.

But I still like the people here. I sold some books and some angels, wrestled them through the cashier system and was comforted by the fact that the coffee in this workplace is MUCH better than in my previous one.

coffee and zoology

Bookshop staff are interesting people. Where else do seemingly normal, non-academic people have conversations like this around the coffee table:

Staff member #1: "The Latin name of the lynx is Lynx Lynx."
Staff member #2: "And the common crane is Grus Grus."
Staff member #3: "And magpie is Pica Pica."

at the edge, the cutting one

And so I pack a bag with all the stuff that's been cluttering up my locker, and the little presents received from workmates. Last of all, I throw my own beloved coffee mug into the bag, hand over my keys to my boss and, after a hug and a choked-up "I'll miss you", I leave The Little Shop of Harmony.

I congratulate myself for all the things I leave behind. That smelly customer who always talks a mile a minute (but who is kind of endearing anyway). Always having to smile and be nice to everyone (but what a feeling when a sad face lights up in return). The knowledge that I will never get a raise or a real promotion (but always know that the money feeds a starving child instead).

The evening is cold and clear and there is a beautiful sunset in the western sky. People are heading home after work or hurrying towards the supermarket and I walk quietly among them with my heavy bag. The cold air speaks of winter but the evening light promises springtime. It's already March and today I'm starting a new life. A brand new life. There is so much to look forward to.

But right now, I just want to cry.

yawn and Valentine's Day

Got up at: 8.50 AM
Breakfast: Muesli with yogurt and honey
Weather while walking to work: Overcast, minus 2 degrees Celsius, snow on the ground
Work: Opened the shop. Sold books and second-hand clothes. Spent hours at the computer entering books into the database.
Mood: Cranky (morning), peaceful (afternoon).
Best things today: Chocolate mousse pastry brought by ex-workmate; the simple, pleasant task of monotonous computer work; taking a break to watch the penkkis tradition of students in fancy dress going around town in open lorries, screaming and throwing sweets to spectators.
Evening activities: Fanfiction and Pinterest browsing, a glass of wine.

And the award goes to: Me, for most boring blog entry of the year. Yawn.

counterfeiting Pollock

My first week ( unofficially ) in charge of the Little Shop of Harmony.

The highlight? That would be when I ( from the customers' point of view ) literally disappeared from behind the checkout counter by falling flat on my face, quite unexpectedly and spectacularly.

The most impressive side-effect of this was that the shop's expensive laptop, whose cable I tripped over, performed the same disappearing act half a second later. It made a much bigger bang than I did. Now the computer screen resembles a Jackson Pollock painting.

To preserve for posterity this memorable week, I want to include a picture of this hitherto unknown Pollock:

I borrowed it from mischiefmakersmanual.com. It never fails to entertain and amaze me how you can find pictures of anything on the Internet. Somebody out there apparently predicted that somebody out there one day would need an image of a cracked laptop screen.


PS. If a future, prospective employer of mine is reading this ( I might need a future, prospective employer much sooner than I thought ), please be advised that smashing computers is not something I normally do.

what my mind said at work today

- I'm tired.
- How come I have to type up all these hand-written lists?
- How come I have taken two classes to learn Excel and STILL don't know how to use it??
- Having a cheese sandwich for lunch is really getting old.
- God, I'm tired.
- Isn't it coffee break time yet?
- Oh no, not that customer again!
- That man better stop smiling right now or I will plant my fist in his face.
- What am I doing, checking Facebook again?
- Can I skip volleyball training tonight and still maintain my self-respect? No? Damn.
- Everyone should really feel sorry for me.
- Seriously, it can't be only 3 pm. It was 2 pm three hours ago.
- Didn't you hear me, I'm TIRED?

bored in a bookshop

Workplace boredom.

It usually hits around 3 pm. It doesn't always. Only on days when I have a sleep deficiency and hence an unwillingness to take on the more demanding tasks (this sometimes includes reading) that would otherwise keep me occupied.

Then I sort postcards or go wild with the discount stickers on books I don't like.

Or call my mum and say: "Can I come over after work? Can we eat something?"

Although if I had a bookshelf that looked like this I probably would find something to do.

staff room confessions

Found a pediatrician sitting in the staff room at my workplace when I came for a cup of coffee. Before I knew it, I had ditched my normal inhibitions and was spilling my guts to him about my adjustment problems in this town for the last seven years.

The combination of a doctor's authority and a fatherly attitude always knocks me flat.

roses and slime

Today's collection of random quotes from the Little Shop of Harmony:

"I want to try this blouse on, could you put it aside for five minutes while I go home and take off my coat?"
"I will shut up now so you can write."
"You have to get some prettier greeting cards in. Red ones with roses."
"This morning I broke a bowl just like this one."
"Nowadays it's mostly slime that comes up in the mornings."

try to work this day out

Opening shop three minutes late,
swearing, cheese sandwiches in the back office,
undrinkable coffee, the calming effect of spreadsheets,
a charity donation of 15 cent, a charity donation of "church hats",
an enquiry on how to import CDs, a malfunctioning cash register,
unwarranted crying once the doors are safely locked.

not so manic Monday

Colour: Dusky pink
Mood: Tired/slightly desperate
Greatest accomplishment: Car oil change appointment made
Greatest accomplishment #2: Three book orders sent
Favourite customer: Guitarist
Lunch: A small sandwich
Coffee break snack: A larger sandwich
Energy level: Very low
Envy: People living in large cities
Worry: Clogged drains
New idea: Visit the city museum
Song: Orphans of God
Existential inner debate: Who is fighting my battles?
Evening plans: Unclog drains / sort photos / none of the above and nothing else either

how to defeat a hostile life

Teenage distractedness in the Little Shop of Harmony, in the form of a 19-year-old summer help. In the middle of the "everyone-else-is-on-vacation" stress I'm frustrated and fascinated.

I thought I was lacking focus and a sense of direction. By comparison to a teenager, I suddenly seem wonderfully skilled, knowledgeable and, above all, wise to the world. I stand my ground when one particularly scruffy regular is trying to manipulate his way into a discount and I shrug off a nasty insult by a bitter old lady instead of coming apart at the seams as I once would have.

Maybe there are a few advantages to growing up after all. I may envy this teenager her fresh beauty and the adventurous years ahead of her. But I know things she doesn't. I know how to type fast, learn a language and fix a computer (if it's only a little broken). I know that when life tries to kill you, you defeat life by living it. Stubbornly and with dedication.

a tooth interlude

Was complimented on my beautiful teeth today. Over the phone. There's something that doesn't happen to me every day.

Felt a sudden urge to tell the almost-stranger at the other end the whole story about the braces I had to wear as a teenager and their terrible effect on my self-confidence. Managed to stop myself just in time.

brave new world that has such people in it!

An assortment of customers in the Little Shop of Harmony:

Jukka. My least favourite customer. Probably because he rarely pays for the clothes he picks up in the second-hand basement and seems to think he makes up for it by leaving an extremely smelly piece of his own clothing somewhere instead. He is arrogant, ungrateful and shouts at me when I refuse to give him things for free (forgetting that I gave him something out of pity only the day before). But he does have some entertainment value. He sometimes wears an orange wig and pretends he is John Lennon. He picks up Christian tracts and hands them out to people in the street. He carries around an old guitar which he never plays. Sometimes he asks me to kiss him (which I also refuse). And sometimes he shocks some of the staid, too-dignified customers that definitely need to be shocked out of their own world every now and then.

The war veteran. Almost 90 years old and he pedals for miles on a tricycle every day, usually in camouflage-patterned clothes (I wouldn't have thought that would be a veteran's first choice in fashion but maybe he can't afford to buy something else). Nearly deaf but fluent in two languages, always polite and ready for a chat with anyone. "Time to go home and count the kids", he jokes and it cuts me a bit to the heart because I witnessed the pain in him a couple of years ago when his beloved wife passed away after a long illness and I know his only child only rarely visits him. He has trouble with his heart and every time he leaves I wonder if this is the last time I see him, and I already know I will miss him.

Eeva L. A proper lady. Comes by every day, sometimes twice, and usually buys something from the basement - a silk blouse, a nice scarf, something expensive-looking. Always wears a skirt and heels, in winter a fur coat, plenty of make-up to hide the fact that she is over 60. In a town where elderly ladies usually are of the mousey kind, she stands out. She runs some kind of cosmetics business from her home and sometimes mentions needing all these nice clothes for business meetings, but my colleague warned me not to take everything she says at face value. She is quiet and has a beautiful, warm smile.

Old man Kanervikko. Smells of moth balls and his clothes look a hundred years old. Whenever he comes in through the door, I sigh because I know I will be listening to his chatter for at least twenty minutes unless I make an excuse to go off and do something else. But he needs someone to listen to him, so usually I stay for a while. He comes to buy some book recommended on the Christian TV channel (which he watches devoutly even though he is not a church-goer) and enthusiastically tells me about that book or some other he has read recently (i.e. within the last thirty years). However, chatting to him is usually rewarding, as sooner or later he will say or do something unintentionally funny. One day, he told me he had snuck out to buy a book while he was supposed to be baby-sitting his grandson - after making a deal with the boy not to tell his parents. "But I met the parents as I was leaving", he adds with a guilty giggle. Today, he took off his hundred-year-old hat, and small pieces of what looked like toilet paper fell out and snowed all over the floor. He picked them all up without a break in his chattering, stuffed them back in the hat and put it back on.

mom always said there's safety in numbers

One of those days. One of those days. At work. Hard to smile at customers, even more difficult to check emails and tidy the shelves, and absolutely unthinkable to get started on all those orders I need to put together. Brain working sluggishly at half-speed. Back aching from slouching in front of the computer, browsing anything even remotely interesting on the internet and being bored by all of it. Counting hour-long minutes until I get to close up shop and go home. Desperately in need of inspiration, excitement, a fairytale event crashing unexpectedly into my dull life.

One of those days when settling down to enter sales figures into a spreadsheet is the only thing that can soothe my troubled mind.

rule-breaking break-taking

Happiness is having a job where you can check FaceBook or chat with a friend or do something else completely non-work-related once in a while, even when your boss is watching. Even when you are not sure whether he/she will approve.

Being so sure of your own irreplaceability. Or just not worrying. Not feeling defensive. Being free.

moving literature in a cold climate

With thirteen cardboard boxes and a Swedish man... I aimed my car north and prayed its French engine would hold together in 23 degrees below freezing temperature. When you work with books, these are things you do sometimes.

It kind of feels good, transporting literature somewhere, despite the acute physical pain when you have to get out of the car into the Arctic weather.

In our sister bookshop in the town further north I loaded and unloaded boxes, discussed upcoming releases with the Swedish sales rep and my colleagues, had lots of coffee, took a good look around the bookshelves, checked FaceBook when there was nothing to do, had lunch in the Indian restaurant next door with my new boss and the sales rep. During the book talks I found myself uncharacteristically drifting off - into pointless daydreams of another life. What is wrong with me? Isn't this the life I should be dreaming of?

the kitchen of all humankind

"Wow, a personal visit by the Inquisition! Would you care for a coffee?"

When friends of mine drop by at the Little Shop of Harmony and I happen to be at lunch, my coworkers direct them to the staff kitchen where they inevitably find me chewing on a cheese sandwich while reading a book and brewing a pot of coffee. My coworkers never say so, but they seem to find these visits slightly odd. Can't say that I blame them. Various visitors in the staff kitchen during my half-hour lunch include:

* A giant of a man in black leather and tattoos weeping like a baby
* Another tall, muscular man striding in and going straight to the business of ripping a metal locker door off its hinges
* A third man in a long military coat who never makes it as far as the kitchen because he gets distracted by all the books
* A tiny Asian girl who looks no older than twelve and who leaves as quickly as she arrived without meeting anyone's eyes
* A doctor coming to tell me off (hence my Inquisition comment)
* My sister, bringing another cheese sandwich, coming to lunch not with me but with one of my coworkers
* An environmental engineer coming for hushed conversations with me regarding the Revolution
* Our landlord, bypassing my boss, breezing in to discuss the future of the shop with me

It's the kitchen that does it - never was there a better place for human beings.