Boy, I'll be glad to see the Laughter Yoga ladies walk through the door of Miss Prothero's Books. I need to shake off the day's frustrations as soon as possible. Problems with email have been the major obsession. I can receive all those lovely notes about the Angolan lottery, the magic fix my you-know-what size (I don't even have a you know what), and pleas for help from Outer Mongolia. However, I can't seem to send anything, not even replies to friends, not even a test email to myself. I have reported the problem, but it took me an hour or two to figure out how to report it. Technology ain't so grand. Or maybe it's just as stupid as its users. And some of us are just getting more and more stupid.
I did get to meet my new neighbors -- Starlight Colorado. They help kids and families who are trying the halls of a hospital and the horrors of serious illness. Someone from the neighborhood actually poked his head in the door and said thank you for my this-day-in-history sign. He didn't buy a book, but he said thank you. The sign is a heavy metal contraption which I update and haul out every day that Miss P's is open. I find a quote to put on one side, three or four history facts on the side. I see people read it all the time...but no one has ever thanked me for it.
AND tomorrow night, Peg Meagher and Kathy Adams will be having their First Friday opening. It should be fun. I hope you can come.
Showing posts with label Laughter Yoga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laughter Yoga. Show all posts
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Book Crook
It was not a stellar day for sales yesterday. Miss Prothero's Books had one Internet and one walk-in sale. I added a little more than $15 to the till. Good thing it's laughter yoga day, I told myself. At 4:30, the ladies started arriving...Diana, then Jackie, then Karen. Karen brought hats so we could be particularly silly. We were just settling down to breathing and stretching when the phone rang. I ran to answer, the feathers on my silly hat bouncing down my back.
"You open today?" the caller asked.
"Yes," I said, trying to hide my irritation. The laughter ladies were chortling without me.
"'Til when?"
"We're open until 6 tonight."
"Where you at?"
"1112 Santa Fe Drive -- " Now there were whoops of glee. Whoops of glee without me.
"What's the cross street?"
"11th," I said.
"Okay," the caller said and hung up.
I got back to laughter.
The caller must have gotten in her big white gas guzzling broom as soon as she hung up the phone. She was at the store in five minutes after her call hauling two Walmart bags of mass market paperbacks through the door.
"Hi," I said. "We're in the middle of a laughter yoga session."
"Wanted to know if you bought books," she said.
Something told me to just say no. Then something told me not to be impolite.
"I can take a look," I said. I don't know why. Mass market means mass produced, means cheap, means too damned many and cheap. The most I've ever made on a modern mass market is a little less than a dollar. Most of them end up in my twenty-five cent pile near the front door.
"What's laughter got to do with books?" my visitor asked. She did not ask in a friendly or curious way. My visitor preferred serious books, I told myself.
I pulled out nineteen volumes that I thought might appeal to the whodunit club or maybe the odd science fiction fan. There was nothing there that I wanted to read myself. A dime a piece, I told myself. I offered my visitor three bucks.
"Put those books back!" My visitor shouted. "You're the biggest crook I've ever met."
I let her get to me. I felt greedy. As if I'd stolen the books from her. As if I wanted to steal the books from her.
My visitor waved her hand at the laughter ladies. "Did you see that?" she said. "She offered me three dollars for nineteen of my books!"
There were more declarations of my evil, shysterly ways. My back was beginning to ache from being so crooked.
My visitor finally swooped out carrying her two Walmart bags by the neck as if they were cats she was going to kill for dinner.
Good thing it was laughter yoga day. The ladies and I put on our silly hats. We giggled and chortled and guffawed all of the negative energy out of the room.
Good thing the laughter ladies left their silly hats!
"You open today?" the caller asked.
"Yes," I said, trying to hide my irritation. The laughter ladies were chortling without me.
"'Til when?"
"We're open until 6 tonight."
"Where you at?"
"1112 Santa Fe Drive -- " Now there were whoops of glee. Whoops of glee without me.
"What's the cross street?"
"11th," I said.
"Okay," the caller said and hung up.
I got back to laughter.
The caller must have gotten in her big white gas guzzling broom as soon as she hung up the phone. She was at the store in five minutes after her call hauling two Walmart bags of mass market paperbacks through the door.
"Hi," I said. "We're in the middle of a laughter yoga session."
"Wanted to know if you bought books," she said.
Something told me to just say no. Then something told me not to be impolite.
"I can take a look," I said. I don't know why. Mass market means mass produced, means cheap, means too damned many and cheap. The most I've ever made on a modern mass market is a little less than a dollar. Most of them end up in my twenty-five cent pile near the front door.
"What's laughter got to do with books?" my visitor asked. She did not ask in a friendly or curious way. My visitor preferred serious books, I told myself.
I pulled out nineteen volumes that I thought might appeal to the whodunit club or maybe the odd science fiction fan. There was nothing there that I wanted to read myself. A dime a piece, I told myself. I offered my visitor three bucks.
"Put those books back!" My visitor shouted. "You're the biggest crook I've ever met."
I let her get to me. I felt greedy. As if I'd stolen the books from her. As if I wanted to steal the books from her.
My visitor waved her hand at the laughter ladies. "Did you see that?" she said. "She offered me three dollars for nineteen of my books!"
There were more declarations of my evil, shysterly ways. My back was beginning to ache from being so crooked.
My visitor finally swooped out carrying her two Walmart bags by the neck as if they were cats she was going to kill for dinner.
Good thing it was laughter yoga day. The ladies and I put on our silly hats. We giggled and chortled and guffawed all of the negative energy out of the room.
Good thing the laughter ladies left their silly hats!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
