It’s a usual Saturday afternoon, I’m back from break. It’s scheduled too early for my liking but that’s the way at the store when Dea is working; breaks start at eleven thirty and are finished by four, even though the store is open until six.
There are always at least ten people rostered on: grey faces at ten to nine in the morning, hair frantically air-drying as we scorch our tongues on nuclear-grade black coffee in randomly salvaged mugs and get our breaths back from the wind tunnels that command Wellington City.
The day begins with a lady in an overcoat from the 1890s, and an umbrella not much younger, demanding the paper and dropping change on the counter. She turns and wrestles the door, unable to decide whether to push or pull (we should enlarge that dumb sign), her wheelie bag trailing despondently, the weekend paper stuffed under her left arm.
Kia ora, how’s it going? Don’t mind us, just catching up all all the ‘bad dog’ notes from yesterday and drinking magical wake-up juice. Anyway, how can I help?
The computers need to be backed up which makes for some fun caffeine-addled conversation between employees.
... Where’s that copy of The Power? It’s not in fiction...
... Can you recommend a good book for a twelve year old who doesn’t like horses or fantasy?
... Who wrote that bestiary that we were looking at the other day?
Making mindfulness from repetitive work is easy when it’s books. I can sit there for hours reading and organising the overstocks, shuffling and reshuffling the books to make the shop pretty. Finding books others have lost, more often than not it’s some dafty who can’t be bothered popping it back. Shelving, shelving, always shelving.
Can you help me find a book?
Well, it was a usual Saturday afternoon until now. Hair that is windblown into place and gently hand-swept out of stunning grey eyes. An olive skin tone, a prominent nose and a crooked smile that could warm frost bitten toes. You’ve been here before. I’ve seen you around, intimately familiar with the science section. We have a mutual friend. Driven, introverted, with gentle lines caressing the inner corners of your mouth, indicating more humour than stress. Your hands have guitar calluses on each fingertip. I wonder who you think about as you drift off each night.
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