Working at the bookstore, as promised...
A while ago I started to write about former part-time jobs I've had while I was in school. Now is the time to document "the bookstore", for it should go down in the annals of history as one of those "truly weird times" in my life.
I took the job in the bookstore because a) I thought it would be easy, b) I liked books and c) it wasn't dangerous. Turned out it was easy and I still like books, so this must have been the perfect job right?
Oh so very wrong. Before I relate this story, let's just get one thing straight. Me = bad. I was bad, very very bad. I accept this, and have moved on.
Okey dokey, so I began work in March (shortly after the nipple incident at the bar) and proceeded to learn how to use the systems, talk to customers without strangling them and sandpaper the books (yes, sandpaper the books...to send them back to the publisher for a refund if they didn't sell, they had to look in pristine condition. Therefore I was told to get a fine grade sandpaper and buff off all of the marks they had picked up through manhandling. Quite a trick!). That's when I met Kenny, who was technically my superior. Kenny was sweet, Scottish, utterly mad, a political genius, crazy smoker, and was working in a bookstore. We hit it off right away. I guess at that point I should have told him I had a boyfriend, but further and further we went into this friendship, the stupider I felt for not bringing it up. Besides, I liked the attention, I liked HIM, and I liked where this was going. So I stayed schtum*. I drove myself to work, my boyfriend never came in, and I worked evenings, so everything supported this ommission. Kenny asked me out for drinks, I said yes, and oops, now we are kind of dating. I liked him, I really liked him, but I was living (yes, living...remember me = bad....I know, I know, I know) with my boyfriend at the time. The whole thing was great, expect for the overwhelming feeling of "wrongness", that I felt whenever I went out with him, but Kenny just put it down to me being a private person...he didn't know exactly where I lived (ommission, not lying on my part) and I stayed at his place frequently (I told my boyfriend I was staying with friends....ok, THAT was a lie).
I didn't know what to do, it was spinning out of control so fast. If I split with my boyfriend (a distinct possibilty...we were great friends, but not great anywhere else) I would be homeless...how do you explain THAT to someone who thinks you are seeing each other exclusively. I had no money, and I was tied to the lease to boot. But I LIKED Kenny, and it was all agonizing. In the end, I drove him even more insane with my "private" nature, increasing his already present paranoia about the whole thing. At the end of those few months, I had him going almost 'round the bend with my excuses, makey-uppeys and outright lies (like when one of the girls at work saw my boyfriend drop me off one day when he needed the car. She told Kenny, he confronted me, I denied it (I know, I know, I know) and he apologized).
In the end, I called it all off; sick of the sick feeling I had everytime I went outside, sad and lonely and needy still, but unable to do anything about it. I said it was because I was about to graduate (true) and I said I loved him (true, insofar as a 21 year old is capable of love) and I said I'd think of him (true). But I was going home and I couldn't keep it up, despite all of that.
I left him a broken man, saddened and torn up inside over this woman who said she loved him but still left. I asked his forgiveness later on, never quite revealing the truth, but trying to make my peace. We left it where it was, fond memories of botanical gardens, mad late night conversations, and overcooked pasta in a tiny flat in Leith. I will always miss that; his oversized jumpers, his face. I think of him often in regret.
Kenny C. bless your heart. I'm sorry.
Bookstores are bloody dangerous.
* This means "quiet" in English slang
I took the job in the bookstore because a) I thought it would be easy, b) I liked books and c) it wasn't dangerous. Turned out it was easy and I still like books, so this must have been the perfect job right?
Oh so very wrong. Before I relate this story, let's just get one thing straight. Me = bad. I was bad, very very bad. I accept this, and have moved on.
Okey dokey, so I began work in March (shortly after the nipple incident at the bar) and proceeded to learn how to use the systems, talk to customers without strangling them and sandpaper the books (yes, sandpaper the books...to send them back to the publisher for a refund if they didn't sell, they had to look in pristine condition. Therefore I was told to get a fine grade sandpaper and buff off all of the marks they had picked up through manhandling. Quite a trick!). That's when I met Kenny, who was technically my superior. Kenny was sweet, Scottish, utterly mad, a political genius, crazy smoker, and was working in a bookstore. We hit it off right away. I guess at that point I should have told him I had a boyfriend, but further and further we went into this friendship, the stupider I felt for not bringing it up. Besides, I liked the attention, I liked HIM, and I liked where this was going. So I stayed schtum*. I drove myself to work, my boyfriend never came in, and I worked evenings, so everything supported this ommission. Kenny asked me out for drinks, I said yes, and oops, now we are kind of dating. I liked him, I really liked him, but I was living (yes, living...remember me = bad....I know, I know, I know) with my boyfriend at the time. The whole thing was great, expect for the overwhelming feeling of "wrongness", that I felt whenever I went out with him, but Kenny just put it down to me being a private person...he didn't know exactly where I lived (ommission, not lying on my part) and I stayed at his place frequently (I told my boyfriend I was staying with friends....ok, THAT was a lie).
I didn't know what to do, it was spinning out of control so fast. If I split with my boyfriend (a distinct possibilty...we were great friends, but not great anywhere else) I would be homeless...how do you explain THAT to someone who thinks you are seeing each other exclusively. I had no money, and I was tied to the lease to boot. But I LIKED Kenny, and it was all agonizing. In the end, I drove him even more insane with my "private" nature, increasing his already present paranoia about the whole thing. At the end of those few months, I had him going almost 'round the bend with my excuses, makey-uppeys and outright lies (like when one of the girls at work saw my boyfriend drop me off one day when he needed the car. She told Kenny, he confronted me, I denied it (I know, I know, I know) and he apologized).
In the end, I called it all off; sick of the sick feeling I had everytime I went outside, sad and lonely and needy still, but unable to do anything about it. I said it was because I was about to graduate (true) and I said I loved him (true, insofar as a 21 year old is capable of love) and I said I'd think of him (true). But I was going home and I couldn't keep it up, despite all of that.
I left him a broken man, saddened and torn up inside over this woman who said she loved him but still left. I asked his forgiveness later on, never quite revealing the truth, but trying to make my peace. We left it where it was, fond memories of botanical gardens, mad late night conversations, and overcooked pasta in a tiny flat in Leith. I will always miss that; his oversized jumpers, his face. I think of him often in regret.
Kenny C. bless your heart. I'm sorry.
Bookstores are bloody dangerous.
* This means "quiet" in English slang
posted by Jennifer @ 4:38 p.m.
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