The Amazon is a jungle.

Today is my last day ever clocked in at Black Bear Books. I'll just say the customers have made it an easy day to leave. Don't get me wrong; I've loved my job here. I sell books and knit. What really could be more awesome than that? But I'm also damn excited about my new job. I'm an assistant manager at a new pet supplies store! The new job also fits me perfectly, and I'm looking forward to starting. But, on this last, lonely night at BBB, I've been reflecting on all of the terrible customers. You know who you are. I swear to God, I think some people try to be jerks. Let's lay them out.


Ms. Frizzle
Unfortunately, Ms. Frizzle is not the crazy-ass lovable 3rd grade teacher with a magic bus. She's just a crazy-ass. This is the customer who comes in 15 minutes before close and takes her precious damn time criticizing all of your merchandise. Typically, she's a middle-aged woman with frizzly gray hair, gaudy jewelry, and demeanor that could rival freaking Morgan le Fay. "Are you serious? THESE are ALL the audio books you have???" "Honey, if you're not Barnes and Noble, you're a used bookstore." She likes to ask "How much is this book? How much is this book? How much is this? Do I get a discount on this? This looks damaged. Why can't I get a discount?" Keep in mind, the items for which she asks about the price typically have giant-ass sale price stickers on the front. When she is refused the discount for an item that is obviously not damaged, she sighs loudly, throws money at you, and walks out the door. 


Mr. Amazon
Hey, pal. We're not Amazon. Nobody but Amazon is. I"m really sorry that we can't give ridiculous discounts on hardcover new releases, but please remember-we're a business! When you come up to the counter, scoff at our price (which is list price), and say "Well, I can order it on Amazon for 2.00," it's insulting. REALLY. Amazon is putting businesses out of business and taking people's jobs away. They did it to me. They are the reason I no longer feel safe working a job I love. Would you go to Food Lion, take your groceries to the check-out line, and then tell the employees you can get it at Walmart cheaper and that Food Lion is trying to rip you off? No, you don't do that. Believe it or not, publishers, not retailers, actually set the retail price of a book, or anything else for that matter. Amazon is the one who cuts the price so dramatically, because they own the market. Normal business actually have to pay for their merchandise and make a profit in return. Don't come crying to me when Amazon realizes what they've got and start raising prices on your e-books. It's going to happen. And it's your own damn fault.


The Phone Customers
If you call and I put you on hold, it's because I'm busy. Hanging up and calling back every time I put you on hold will only make me want to make you wait longer. You don't get through any faster and I promise I will answer you. For the rest of you, I don't want to hear your life's story. Yes, I'm really sorry your dog died and I'm really sorry that you threw out your back last week and just CANT pay for your book and I'm really sorry that you blew your nose too hard in 1977 and now you're partially deaf, but LISTEN TO ME. I am at my job with customers in front of me. Stop it. Stop talking. I don't care. Just tell me whether or not you want me to hold a copy of The Help for you.


Customers who have NO BRAIN
These are the customers who come up to the counter and say things like (and I swear, this has actually happened to me) "I'm looking for this book, and haha, I'm sorry I have no idea what the title is or who the author is, but it was published in the 90's and it's about biology and it has a blue cover. Do you have that book?" Oh, right right, I believe it's called Biology: How in the Hell have Humans made it this Far? Another customer with no brain are the customers who can't decide if they'd like their purchases in a bag. "Ma'am, would you like your things in a bag?" ::mouth drops:: They stare at me, agape. "I don't know. Is it raining? Am I going anywhere else? I guess I can carry my books [the horror]. Well, do you have a small one? What's it look like?" Please. Yes or no.


The Waldens
Customers who get us confused with Waldenbooks, which used to be in our current location. No, we did not put Waldenbooks out business. Borders went out of business, and since Waldenbooks is owned by Borders, it also closed. No, we do not carry magazines. Don't pretend like you bought them when Waldenbooks had them. You didn't. You pilfered them while your wife was in Belk. When you angrily yell at me "Where's Walden?!" the only thing I want to do is to tell you that it's in Massachusetts and watch you get confused.


And finally, unless I think of some others--


Girls
"The character development in Twilight was just incredible!"
"Please, it's pronounced Maaahn-ga."
"Ya'll got Confessions of a Video Vixen?"
"I read Their Eyes Were Watching God, and it's exactly the same book as The Awakening."
"The Chronicles of Narnia was a book first?!?! I di'n know dat! By the way, are ya'll hirin'?"
"Um, do you, like, have that book, like 1894? Or maybe it's like, 1948?" (1984. George Orwell. And yes, we have your high school summer reading books.)

No. Emo. Writing.

I'm sitting here in bed, staring at the harsh white of my computer screen. I sat down to start my blog (I know, only about five years late to the party) and I realized that only fragments were popping into my brain. Fragments, not sentences. I suppose that should be the first reason I start this blog. It's becoming harder for me to write sentences since I've been out of college. I blame Facebook. I won't even blame the stupid character count of Twitter, since I'm only on Twitter to follow Conan O'Brian. Nope, I think it's Facebook. I've gotten too comfortable with the prefix "Molly ........" Thank you, Facebook, for training my brain to write only half-sentences.

The second reason I'm starting this blog is because I'm a little tired of throwing away emo journals. I hung onto my journal writing for years. Actual journal writing, that is, with a pen and paper. What usually ends up happening with that pre-bedtime activity is emo-writing. I know that no one else will ever see what I write in that journal. For me, it's more free than posting every thought I have on the Internet. I can write down every insecurity inside me and I'm not accountable to anyone for it. Of course, that sounds awesome. But in reality, I usually end up falling asleep in a depressive, wallowing, it-doesn't-matter-what-I-do-nothing-will-ever-happen-for-me state of mind. So this is my "someone may actually read this shit" blog. Hopefully, it will help me avoid becoming Bridget Jones, because...come on, bitch is annoying.

Finally, I've got so many stories and memories I want to save. Really, I've got some great stories. This will give me not only a cemented place to save them, but I also get to share them. I want to talk about my cats. I want to talk about my family. I want to talk about this punk 9 year-old on XBOX Live who thinks college kids party by "drinking Mtn. Dew! Going outside...having sex!" That's a direct quote. I want to tell my stories. And I also want to chronicle what's going on with me right now. In the next few months, my boyfriend and I are moving into our first apartment together. This isn't just a "want-to" for me. I feel like I HAVE to write this down. I don't want to forget anything. I'm at a point in my life where I know that in 10, 20, 30 years, I'm going to look back to this moment, this time, and think it was some of the best times. I can recognize that now, so it MUST be written. I'm setting myself up for failure here. I know that most nights when I get home from work all I feel like doing is having a bowl of cereal and watching The X-Files. My biggest motivation for wanting to become a regular blogger is my stories. I have to preserve them. Maybe someone else will get a kick out of them, too.