Bookworm's Retreat

Proxy problems

2005-10-19T07:24:00.000+00:00

Throughout the past week, I had been experiencing a mysterious problem - I suddenly could not open blogger.com, or any of the blogs on blogspot. It was quite puzzling since both the PC at the Retreat, and the one at home, experienced this inability to open blogger.com, and since neither had any trouble opening other sites. Yet, I knew that the problem must lie with the computers, and not with the website itself, since my aggregator regularly collected posts from other blogspot blogs, showing that other users were indeed accessing blogger.

I reasoned that it might be something to do with connection settings, because the Internet connections for both the computers mentioned had been setup by the same Internet service provider. My attempts to pinpoint the exact problem were unsuccessful, and its cause remained elusive. Until, that is, I finally got around to contacting support at my ISP. I was told to change the proxy settings for secure sites on my browser. This was something that I had considered as the probable cause, but I had dismissed the notion, as there was no trouble with other secure sites such as Gmail. Moral of the story being that proxy problems are foxy problems, and if you ever experience peculiar problems, contact the experts, as much as you might hate it.

Enough on browser problems. I've been extremely busy over the past few days, since there was work not only at the Retreat, but also at Bill's new store, which is going to open shortly. The amount of work involved is simply unimaginable - choosing, ordering and acquiring all the books to be stocked in a decent sized bookstore is in itself a demanding and unenviable task. But it doesn't even come close to the grueling labour involved in moving all those heavy cartons of books, extracting the books from the boxes, sorting each and every single one of those books, and stacking them in the appropriate shelf.

I'm glad to say, however, that a significant portion of the work is already complete, and the new store will be opened soon, perhaps by the end of this week. More posts shall follow soon!

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Barely legal

2005-10-11T08:07:00.000+00:00

It was afternoon, the time when the Retreat is generally at its emptiest. I had just completed reading Thomas L. Friedman's 'The World Is Flat', and was trying to stretch my limbs as I slouched in the swivel chair, when a boy stepped in. He paused and stared at me for a moment, and then hastily made off towards the bookshelves. He must have been around ten years of age, and was dressed quite normally, wearing jeans, t-shirt and baseball cap. But there was something about him that didn't seem right: he seemed very nervous.

I wondered why that might be the case, thinking he was a little too young to try pinching a book, or do that sort of thing. But deciding to keep an eye on him in any case, I turned on the monitor and brought up the view from the surveillance camera. The kid was in the fiction section, and he was fidgeting around, looking around unsurely. I was about to go and ask him whether he was looking for something specific, when I saw him grab a book, and stride rapidly towards the door.

For a split second, I thought he was really going to make a run for it, and was amazed at how early on in life he was starting off as a shoplifter. But then, I saw him come straight to the counter. He placed the book on the counter, face down, and looked away from me, staring at the floor as though it held something of great interest to him. I glanced at the book on the counter, and then it became clear to me why he was acting strange.

The book he had picked up was one by Nancy Friday, entitled 'Forbidden Flowers'. This is the sort of book that is often euphemistically described with words like 'insightful' and 'honest', but essentially, its contents are just porn. The boy, at his age, was obviously nervous about trying to get such a book, but I wondered why he chose that one in particular, since the picture on its cover page wasn't particularly explicit, compared to some of the other titles in that section (and a boy his age trying to satisfy his curiosity would generally pick the one that seemed most explicit).

Perhaps he'd heard somebody talk about this book, or perhaps he picked it because it was well within his budget. I'm not sure whether that book is strictly categorized as pornography, or whether there are any laws forbidding the use of 'honest, insightful' books by ten year olds. But whatever the case, I couldn't let him take that 'book of erotic tales and fantasies' because my conscience wouldn't allow it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't bill this for you," I told him.

He shifted his stare from the floor, to the counter top. "Why?" he asked.

"Well, it is an adult book, and you are too young for it. I'll be happy to bill it for you if you have an accompanying adult, but otherwise, I can't allow it."

"Uhm, uh huh," was his reply. He tapped his foot a couple of times, shifted his stare back to the floor, and then bolted out the front door.

"Kids," I said to myself, shaking my head. As I returned the book to the shelf from where the boy had taken it, I wondered what I would do if the boy did return with an adult, although not a parent or guardian. I sighed, realising that although that was not very likely, the boy was surely going to access porn if he wanted to, one way or another.

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Full scream ahead!

2005-10-09T12:01:00.000+00:00

Getting back to the normal routine was never so difficult. It was probably the first instance when both Bill and I were out of town at the same time, and the work had really accumulated by the time we got back. I must say, it was quite a reception we received when we got back to the Retreat.

The first thing we saw were a whole bunch of bills that had to be paid. Next came a multitude of messages on the answering machine, left by various people. Then, an inbox inundated with emails from several book distributors and suppliers, telling us we hadn't intimated them of specific titles we wanted them to include with our next delivery. This was accompanied by a vast array of forms to be filled.

After that, was the snack bar, with an assortment of cakes and pastries that had gone stale. They had to be properly disposed, and the odd odor they left had to be somehow got rid of. Not to mention the daunting task of dealing with the fierce lady at the caterer's, who would be especially fierce since we forgot to inform her that the Retreat would be closed, and she shouldn't prepare more eats for that week.

And then there were the bookshelves, which hadn't been dusted in a week, and had several empty spaces between the books, indicating where books hadn't been restocked. And the floor that hadn't been swept. The coffee machine, which hadn't been cleaned, and thus, stank of fermenting milk. The list goes on.

After briefly surveying the situation, Bill gave out a long sigh. "The joys of running a bookstore," he said, shaking his head. "Well... we better get down to it, if we hope to finish by the near future. Full steam ahead."

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Irregular Posts

2005-10-05T14:29:00.001+00:00

Bill's father died last week. The incident has come as a shock to all of us. Understandably, Bill is the most upset. Since he is away, I am trying to complete all the work that he was doing, in as far as I can. Most of these tasks simply cannot be postponed, so the posts on the blog may be irregular for a while (I'll be leaving soon too, to attend the funeral). Please excuse the lack of updates.

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Search and Reskey

2005-09-29T07:48:00.000+00:00

Yesterday, I was sitting at home, trying to rush through a huge backlog of work that had been accumulating for aeons. I was still only halfway through when Bill called. He wanted to know if I was free to discuss some plans and designs for the new store.

"Sure," I said, "I can head out by the time you close the Retreat."

"Hello, where are you?! It's 7 o'clock, I've already locked up," he told me.

"What?! Oh great, and I thought I'd get done with all of this by today, and it's already 7!" I whined.

"So... does this mean you're too busy?"

"Well... no, never mind. I can't finish this today anyway. Tell me where and when."

Less than fifteen minutes later, the two of us were sitting at [Cafe Name], and between us was a drawing pad that Bill had brought along, with what were supposed to be sketches of plans for the new store on it. I was consuming large amounts of much-needed-coffee from an oversize mug, a sort not seen at most coffee-serving establishments - which was a good thing, for between us, we'd need as much caffeine as we could get to figure out Bill's indecipherable sketches, and my even more inscrutable master-plan.

After achieving what we considered to be a fair amount of progress, Bill had to leave since he had a dinner to attend with Annie. As we walked towards Bill's car, he was saying something about how we'd probably have to consult a professional architect, when he suddenly broke off. A look of horror spread across his face, and he started doing what looked like a display of dominance by a male silverback gorilla, thumping his chest and his sides with his arms.

I was getting a little alarmed, wondering whether the researchers who had said that caffeine has negative side-effects were right after all. "What?! What's the matter?" I asked him. "My keys," he replied, "I've lost my keys." Greatly relieved that he had only been patting his pockets to check for keys, I said "Oh, is that it? You had me really worried for a second there."

"What do you mean, 'is that it'?!" he exclaimed. "I'm gonna get late for that dinner. If Ann's not on my arm, going in there at 8.30, I might end up in her plate later!"

"Alright, alright, calm down for a second. Where did you last have the keys?" I asked.

"Just two minutes ago, inside," he replied as he bolted back into the cafe. I scrambled after him, and found him examining the floor on all fours, near the table where we had been seated. That table was now occupied by a young couple, who were regarding him rather uneasily. "I'm sorry, he's just looking for his keys," I assured the big guy at the table, lest he get the wrong idea that Bill was staring at his girl's legs. I looked around too, but it was quite evident that a set of keys could not lie hidden anywhere on that shiny black floor.

Bill rose and stood around scratching his head, while I went and asked the steward whether they had found any keys. He said they hadn't. "Were the keys in your pocket or in your hand?" I asked Bill. "In my hand, in my hand," he said, still looking around at the floor hopelessly. "Then you might have dropped them outside on the steps," I said, heading out. We looked around there too, but the keys were nowhere to be found.

"Great. Just great. That was the only copy of the car key I had," said Bill, cursing.

"Let's see now," I said, deciding to employ my amazing analytical skills, "you had the keys in your hand. You also had the drawing pad. Do you have that?"

"Yes, it's in my pocket, but no keys. I checked all my pockets, there are no keys."

"Ok, recall all your movements between the table and the car. Each action," I instructed Bill.

"Well uhm... I signed the cheque and then we left... We came straight out the door... I threw away the paper napkin and put the drawing pad in my pocket..." he paused. We looked at each other and our eyes widened as the realization dawned upon us. "The trash can!" we chorused.

"Billl! Dont tell me you dropped the keys in there!" I groaned.

"I wont tell you that," he said, as we examined the object of our aggravation, wondering how we would extract the keys from deep inside it. It was a large cylindrical plastic bin, the kind with the rotating swing-door-type lid. Deciding that we needed help, I went back into the cafe, and explained the situation to the steward. After listening patiently to my story, he went into the kitchen briefly, and came out with a large polythene bag. I followed him as he walked straight out the door and towards the trash can.

He grasped a small rim that ran all the way round the bin, slightly below the swing-door, and twisted it with both hands. The top came off, revealing that the whole swing-door-lid was part of another, bigger lid. I realised that that was a necessity if the bin had to be emptied, and I felt quite dumb for not having thought of that earlier. The steward then proceeded to don the polythene bag like a glove, wrapping it round his hand several times. He reached into the can and found the keys, wrinkling his nose slightly as he dropped them onto Bill's open palm.

Bill was about to say something to the man who had just resolved his crisis, when I reminded him that he better get going since he was already late. We watched as Bill scampered off towards his car, the steward shaking his head. After thanking him profusely for his help, I set off back home. I haven't yet met Bill after that. I'll find out today whether he was steak or mince meat at last night's dinner.

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Contemplative

2005-09-27T20:05:00.000+00:00

An evening entirely to myself at the Retreat, courtesy the heavy downpour. It's been raining nearly all day, and the timid inhabitants of [City], hydrophobic as they are, haven't been venturing out on to the streets much. Feeling rather sleepy, and not much inclined towards finishing a rather voluminous novel by Ken Follet, I settle down on the couch and watch the sheets of rain, now coming down nearly horizontally (how can rain be said to fall down, if it's horizontal?) through the glass doors.

With a fine layer of condensation on them, the clear glass doors have turned translucent, and look like frosted glass. I just sit there for quite a while, staring at the rain, listening to the sounds produced by rain drops falling on different surfaces. My mood turns philosophical, and I ponder over my life and the path it has taken. Sitting in the warm, peaceful milieu of the Retreat, surrounded by some of the best books in the world, it should be hard to be anything but content. And yet, I'm surprised to find, I am not.

A visitor of the blog had once left a comment, saying he'd kill to be in my place. We often find ourselves wishing for circumstances other than ours, wanting something we don't have. Perhaps ambitions, goals and aspirations are what make life worth living. But they do have the tendency of making one dissatisfied. No doubt, the Buddha was right when he said that desire is the root of all sorrow. But his solution of working towards a state of no desire, is something about which I am a bit uncertain.

I don't have the faintest idea what life might be like with absolutely no desires, nor am I likely to find out. I wonder though, whether such a life would be worth living: do I really want to live a life where I am not interested in anything? Where I'm not interested in reading another book, seeing a new place, or trying out any new experience? Where working towards a goal (worldly pursuit, if you'd like to put it that way), and living through the joys, frustrations, or anguishes, holds no sway? A life with no rich contrasts like love and hate, or even the more tepid surprises and disappointments in between?

Such a life seems strangely devoid of life, as most of us know it. Sure, one may avoid sorrows, but it would seem that one encounters no happiness either. I, for one, am not attracted to such an existence. I am content in my discontent.

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Child progeny

2005-09-25T17:43:00.000+00:00

It was Saturday, a typical lazy weekend day. There hadn't been a single soul at the Retreat since morning. The temptation to relocate from my congested swivel chair behind the counter, and go sprawl across the couch was very powerful (the extremely boring Harold Robbins I was reading contributed in no small part to that). Yawning widely, I glanced at my watch for the hundredth time. It was past noon. "When is Bill going to get here?" I wondered.

Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, I reluctantly returned to the book, and it was a few minutes later when I heard a voice saying something I couldn't quite hear. I looked up, but saw nothing in front of the counter, from where I thought the sound had originated. I heard the voice again, and this time it sounded like "have the robots for dinner". Rubbing my eyes, and musing over how boring a book must be to cause auditory hallucinations, I looked around for the source of the voice.

It spoke again, and I realized it was emanating from a point near the floor in front of the counter, below my field of vision. I stood up and peered down over the counter, to see a small face in a black cap, staring back at me - it was a boy, perhaps eight years of age. "I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked, realizing that I hadn't clearly heard what he had said about having robots for dinner.

"Do you have books on theropod dinosaurs?"

"Dinosaurs," I repeated slowly. "Oh yes! Dinosaurs, of course," I said, leading him to the children's section, glad to be relieved of the monotony. I picked up a colourful picture book on the subject, one generally popular with the kids, and told him, "Here, this one has loads of pictures, and amazing facts." He just looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Like the biggest dinosaur, err... uhm... Seismosaurus... was longer than ten cars parked nose-to-tail!" I continued, trying to awe him with a fact from my utterly inadequate dinosaur knowledge base.

"The biggest dinosaur is probably Sauroposeidon. But that's not the point," he replied matter-of-factly. "I dont want a picture book. I want something detailed."

"Ah!" I said, digesting the piece of information handed to me, "I have just the thing for you. 'The Complete Guide to Dinosaurs' by Steve Par -"

"I got that one two years ago," he cut me short, shaking his head. "Besides," he said (in that 'Oh brother' tone), "I'm looking for something a little more informative here. That book just glances over most topics. Not much detail to taxonomy and physiology. I was hoping you'd have something specifically on the dromaeosaurids."

"I see," I said, reflecting over the fact that I had trouble reading the name of my favourite breakfast cereal when I was his age. Here was a boy using large multi-syllabic words I still had trouble saying, let alone comprehending. "He must be older than he looks," I told myself. "Well, I'm not sure whether we have books about dro... err... that dinosaur species -"

"Family," he smiled understandingly, "dromaeosauridae is a family."

"Of course. Well, the most detailed book I can find here is, 'The evolution and extinction of the Dinosaurs', but it's more like an advanced textbook," I told him, scratching my head.

"Oh. Okay," he shrugged, taking the enormous volume from me. I felt sure that book weighed as much as he did. He went and settled down on the sofa with the book, after telling me that his dad would be in shortly to pay for it. I got back behind the counter and pretended to read my book, glancing at the boy (who was completely absorbed in the huge book) every now and then.

Shortly, the door opened, and a man who I inferred to be the boy's father, stepped in. "Have you found your book then?" he asked, and the boy looked up and nodded. He seemed to have found the book satisfactory, for he smiled and said, "Yeah! This book has got a whole chapter on thermoregulation!"

"That's nice. Let's get going then," replied the man, and walked to the counter extracting his wallet. "Your boy is very bright. How old is he?" I asked as I prepared the bill. "Thank you. He turned seven two months ago. He reads a lot," explained the man.

"Right," I said hazily as I handed him his change, and stared on as they left. Seven years old. A real paleontological progeny. Err... prodigy.

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Birthday Bashes and Bank loan Blues

2005-09-20T07:03:00.001+00:00

Ugh... I just got up and have a terrible hangover. So you will kindly excuse any speling or gramar errors, amd typos. As I mentioned in my previous post, yesterday was Bill's birthday. So after closing the Retreat a little early, it was just go straight out and parrrtay, for us.

As parties go, it wasn't a very large one, with just the three of us (Bill, his wife, and self) around to eat, drink and make merry. And I'll tell you right now, drink we did. Majorly. The reasons for going on such a binge were twofold. First of all, it was Bill's birthday party. Secondly, Bill finally was sanctioned that bank loan he'd been trying to get (READ the previous post, lazybones, there's no getting round it). No, wait. Reverse the order: firstly, he got the bank loan; secondly.... he got the bank loan. Ok, ok, secondly, he got the loan on his birthday.

I wasn't responsible for getting us started on our drinking spree, it was all the waiter's fault. Bill got all sentimental when I gave him his gift (the night before, when he asked me to explain the lighter incident, I pretended the lighter belonged to a friend of mine, and another friend had borrowed it, and was returning it through me). I then proceeded to narrate to Bill's wife, a greatly exaggerated version of what happened the previous night, and how Bill reacted.

I was too busy narrating, and the other two were too busy laughing, to notice that the waiter dutifully kept refilling our glasses (we'd asked for a refill only once - after that, he took it upon himself). Of course, we never gave a thought to the fact that the glasses never seemed to empty. The last thing I can recall was Annie (that's his wife) saying something about how, were it not for the occasion, she'd have reprimanded me for giving such a gift to a person who already smokes like malfunctioning steam engine. After that, it was just giddiness and giggling.

We had to leave Bill's car there and go home by taxi. All of which explains and justifies my current state. I'll go and get some coffee now.

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The Old Man and the Story

2005-09-15T18:53:00.001+00:00

It feels good to be back at work. No, really, I haven't gone mad or anything like that. After a whole week of being sick at home with nothing to do, getting back to the Retreat and the books really feels great. Especially since today's first visitor was perhaps one of my favorite, among the Retreat's most distinguishable, if not distinguished customers.

The man (I'll call him Perry) has been a regular at Bookworm's Retreat for quite a few years now, coming in once every fortnight or atleast monthly. At 54, he looks like someone ten years younger, and dresses like a teenager: wearing the baggiest T-shirts and pants, sunglasses, stetson hat (which generally only hangs behind his neck by its elastic string) and sandals. Always sandals.

"My toes feel constricted in shoes," he once told me, "they find this liberating." (He wiggled his toes as he said that). He is every bit the antithesis of the conventional 'old man' stereotype: not in the least bit grouchy or grumpy (quite the opposite), not at all old-fashioned, very up-to-date, and highly intelligent and witty. However, the first impression I formed of him was rather different.

It was a few years ago, on a slow weekday, when not many people were turning up at the Retreat. The old man came in a little while after the store opened, and settled down on the sofa with a book. I didn't pay him much attention, and continued reading the book I had started the previous day. An hour later, I was thoroughly enjoying myself, since not a single person had come in to interrupt what was a rather good thriller.

That was when I noticed that the man was still on the sofa. Now don't get me wrong here: we at Bookworm's Retreat understand that readers would want to browse through a book before deciding to buy it. You can spend a whole day if you wish, going through as many books as you like before buying one, or even not buying one at all.

But for reasons you can surely imagine, we don't encourage people to read a single book for over half an hour. Not only is it highly improbable that a person will buy a book after he's finished reading it, it is also generally true that most people don't handle books very well, and after prolonged handling, they end up with dog-eared pages, stains, bent spines, and various other undesirable and incurable medical conditions.

I rose to go and enquire whether he liked the book, or whether he'd like to look at something else, but before I could, he looked at his watch, exclaimed about the time, put the book back, and left. I smiled to myself, since I knew well how time can slip by unnoticed when you're reading a good book. I was also pleased that he'd put the book back on the shelf.

The man returned the next day, but unlike the previous day, he wasn't the only visitor, and I was rather occupied with enquiries from and billing for various customers. However, there was no need for any intervention on my part, since the man left in around thirty minutes. He came again the next day, and also the day after, and it was only on the fourth day that I noticed what was really going on: he had been reading the same book each time.

I stared at the book, and sure enough, it was the same book that he'd picked up on his first visit. And sure enough, he was reading the last few pages of the book. I was wondering what sort of cheapskate would do a thing like that, and wondering what one could possibly do in such a situation without being outright rude. That was when he came to the counter, put the book on the counter, and said, "It wasn't very good. But I could finish it. Please bill it for me."

Over the years, I've come to know Perry well. He owns a remarkable collection of books, with the complete works of a whole range of authors: Dostoyevsky, Voltaire, Conan Doyle, Christie, Shakespeare, James Herriot, Richard Bach, Bagley, Wilbur Smith... But more remarkable than the wide array of genres that the collection covers, is the way in which the collection was built. Perry never buys a book before he reads it completely, from cover to cover.

"If I read a book, and find I don't like it, I surely wont finish reading it. So what's the point of buying a book you wont read?"

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Blogsphyxia

2005-09-14T07:44:00.001+00:00

Early last week, I was heading home from the Retreat when I noticed that I had watery eyes and nose (mucusy nose, to be precise, but I won't be gross). The condition heightened through the night, and by bedtime, after much thought, I came to the brilliant conclusion that I was exhibiting (no, not streaking) the symptoms of a cold.

By the next morning, it was apparent that I had caught a virus or rather, a virus had caught me, and it had gifted me a set of unlimited sneezes and a splitting headache (those of you who claimed I don't have a head: ha). I called Bill to say I wouldn't be turning up at the Retreat because I was down with a fever, and he consented, albeit reluctantly and after much suspicious questioning.

I thought that I would be ok in a day or two, but by the third day, the fever still showed no signs of leaving, and I was getting a bit concerned (not about me, but about my blog - it had been over three days since I'd updated it), and so, it seemed, was Bill. Of course, his reasons for concern had nothing to do with me, or my reasons. He came to visit me on the evening of the third day. I guessed that he'd come to see for himself whether I really had a fever, or whether I was just skipping going to the Retreat because I had something more interesting to do, like maybe twiddling my thumbs.

I told him that I would be at the Retreat the next day, but after one look at me, he refused my offer. In fact, he forbade me from even venturing near the store until I was fully ok. Now before you start coochie-cooing about Bill being such a sweet guy, let me tell you he is no such thing: "I don't want all the customers to drop dead, catching some sort of Ebola variant from you," were his words.

But then, my intentions weren't exactly noble either. The reason I really wanted to go to the Retreat was to update my blog (by one of those weird twists of fate, it so happened that the computer at home had also been infected by a virus and had suffered a total hard drive crash).

It had been well over a week since I'd posted on my blog, and I was nearly dying of agony. As an aspiring blogstar, I am well aware of the fact that building up readership takes regular updating. Letting a blog lie around un-updated for weeks (that too, just within a short time of having started it) is hardly the way to go about achieving stardom. But as anguished as I was, there was really nothing much I could do about it.

After one more day, I could stand it no more, so I headed to the Retreat, equipped with a handkerchief the size of a king-sized bed-sheet. Bill however, had other plans, and shooed me off. It must have made for quite a sight, him chasing me, armed with a dangerous hardbound volume, as I ran with my hanky fluttering behind me like superman's cape.

Resultantly, I have only been able to update my blog now, after such a long time. Lord knows how many million potential fans and worshippers I lost out on in the interim.

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Accidental meeting

2005-09-01T06:25:00.001+00:00

Being the corner-most store on [Road's Name] main, Bookworm's Retreat has a clear view of the junction where two streets form crossroads. The junction is one of those places where motorists have absolutely no view of the perpendicular road and the traffic that is on it, until they are at the very intersection. It is also one of those places where neither of the two roads is a 'main road', and neither is the 'bigger one'. So there is a fair amount of confusion among motorists as to who has the right of way, and consequently, the intersection has seen quite a few near misses and even collisions. Luckily, none have been fatal, so far.

The victim of a mishap that occurred yesterday was especially lucky. It was 9.a.m., and as usual, Bill had left the store to me. I had just got to the Retreat, and was fumbling with the keys to unlock the door. The process of finding the right key and inserting it correctly into the keyhole was made considerably difficult by the fact that my head was turned in the opposite direction, and my eyes were focused on an attractive young woman who was cycling along the road.

She was about ten feet away from the intersection when it happened. A car suddenly turned onto the road from the perpendicular one. It was moving with considerable speed, and the driver was going on the wrong side, cutting across the corner like a race car. The driver must have slammed on the brakes as soon as the cyclist came into view, and the tires screeched loudly. The woman on the cycle swerved too, but with the car's speed and the distance between them, a collision was inevitable.

The car stopped, but not before hitting the bicycle's front wheel, and throwing its rider forward, off the bike and into the car's windscreen. It was a pretty scary sight, and it looked as though she might be seriously hurt. I dropped the keys and scampered down the three steps in front of the store, rushing to the accident site. I was worried about the fact that I wasn't well versed in first-aid, but was reassuring myself that I could call an ambulance from a hospital nearby.

My fears were allayed when I saw that the woman was moving, and she was getting off the car. The driver was also getting out of the car.

"Are you okay?!" I queried.

"Aww shhhhit," she groaned, as she tried steadied herself.

This was reassuring: she could speak, so the Broca's area of her left cerebral neural cortex was undamaged. By this time the man who drove the car had fully emerged, and he repeated my question.

"Are you okay?"

"Ow, my head. Yeah, no thanks to you, moron," was the reply.

The guy started to offer excuses for his mistake, "I'm sorry, I was -"

"Save it", she waved aside his explanation, "I'm not interested."

She bent to pick up her bike, and that was when I, who had so far been just stupidly staring at the proceedings, moved in.

"Let me get that for you," I said, quickly picking it up before she reached it.

I lifted it off the road and stood it up against the steps of the Retreat. The front wheel was no longer a wheel, looking quite like something one might find at a modern art exhibit. Meanwhile, the guy from the car had got back into his car, and drove off, probably having decided to get out of the place before his victim decided to sue. The woman looked on as he drove off, and then turned towards me.

"What an asshole," she muttered.

"Yeah, I know. But it's really fortunate that you're not seriously hurt".

She gave me a wry look. "Uh huh. What a start for my day-off," she said as she walked towards her bike.

"You're not getting anywhere with that," I said.

"How perceptive of you," she retorted.

I shrugged, grinning. "That I am... I also perceive that you could do with a cup of coffee. We can get some in the store. It's not much, just machine coffee, but it'll be fresh."

She stood rubbing her head for a moment, obviously not very inclined to take up my offer. But I'm not one who gives up that easily.

"I could give you and your bike a ride home, or wherever it was you were heading," I added. This ploy worked, and she agreed, although slightly hesitantly.

"Alright... my bike would appreciate that," she said smiling.

"I'm sure it would," I replied laughing. "Come on, I better get the store opened up if I'm to ever give you that coffee."

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the day. It'll suffice to say, my new friend (Renee, her name is) turned out to be - err... a highly interesting person. She didn't like the coffee (it was hard for me to load the vendee very precisely). So we decided we'd rather get coffee somewhere else, next time.

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Small change

2005-08-28T13:53:00.001+00:00

If you read my previous post, you might remember that Bill wanted to add a snack bar at the Retreat. You also might remember that I was very much opposed to that idea. But when Bill and I settled our differences ultimately, I relented and agreed to the idea. And so it is, that the past few days have been rather filled with activity. We had to do everything, right from contacting a caterer and deciding on the menu and prices, to actually building the shelf (which explains why there were no posts the past week).

All that work was finally completed today, and we installed the snack bar, replete with its delectable delicacies. So now, other than Camus, Crichton and Chekhov, visitors to Bookworm's Retreat can also avail themselves of Chocolate Mousse and Cheesecake. "It's just a small change," Bill had said, but I'm not so sure about that.

The first person to walk in to the Retreat today, settled down to check out a Dan Brown with a piece of chocolate mousse. He handed me a hundred buck bill for an eight buck slice of cake, so I had to return a full ninety two bucks. I'd say that's pretty big change.

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Retreat Remodeling

2005-08-23T06:20:00.002+00:00

"I think it's time to make some improvements here," Bill was saying yesterday, "add some refinements."

I was instantly on guard: when Bill talks about making changes, you better proceed with caution. "Such as what?" I asked.

"Well, you remember that snack bar I was talking about -"

I groaned loudly, cutting him off, but he continued, "It would be great for business, you know, and -"

" Billll! No! It wouldn't be good for business. It's a proven fact: Barnes and Noble register more sales of Chocolate Cake and Starbucks Coffee than of books."

"Oh come on. It will be an added attraction for many customers, and you know it," he argued.

"There's no space for it. And it will ruin the aesthetics of the place. It'll be an eyesore."

"Nonsense! There's more than enough room for it. It won't take up much room at all, just a glass counter with some space behind it. Right next to the vendees. And it'll blend just fine with the styling of this place."

This was true. But I was just trying to stall him. I was not going to allow a snack bar in the Retreat. I just shook my head, no.

"Come on... we'll stock your favorite... chocolate mousse." Now he was trying to bribe me.

"I am not going to have a snack bar in here for me to spend my time catering to the nourishment of the people that come here, serving mice or moose or whatever!" I yelled. Now we had got to the real reason I was opposing it.

"Be serious. What can be so bad about it?" He was whining now.

" What can be bad?! If you're going to put a snack bar in here, then I'm outta here. Don't count on me to manage the place anymore," I blurted. I realised immediately that it was probably not the best thing to say.

" Fine. Thank you for your services. I'll see about that snack bar. Good night," he said, turning away to rearrange some books that needed no rearranging.

I'd gotten Bill really upset now. I stood right there, waiting a couple of minutes, but he went on fiddling with the books. Then I left, since there'd be no point in talking to him right then anyway. I'll give him a day or two to cool off. Then I can go set things right. Of course I'll still be hanging out at Bookworm's Retreat. I just hope Bill doesn't put in that snack bar.

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The Half-Wit Prince

2005-08-18T13:26:00.001+00:00

As indicated by my previous post, I was quite busy early this week, and as a result I left Bill largely to his own devices to manage the Retreat. However, when the phone rang at 7.30 a.m. this morning, and I heard Bill's scratchy voice frantically squawking that he needed me to take care of the Retreat, I groggily agreed without really knowing what the Beelzebub he was saying, just so I could get back to sleep as soon as possible.

Later on at 9, I was blissfully chewing breakfast, when he called again, enquiring in a - err... not so polite manner - why I wasn't yet at the Retreat. After ruminating for a moment (pun intended), I vaguely remembered his call earlier that morning (now look: if you choose to call me at unearthly hours, you can't hold me responsible for not remembering the conversation later).

Anyhow, that should be enough of background information to explain why I was sitting in the store shortly afterwards. The first person to walk in wanted to buy a copy of The Half-Blood Prince (for the blissfully unaware i.e, those who have just landed on earth, The Half-Blood Prince is the sixth book of that global phenomenon - the Harry Potter series). I promptly gave it to him, but my hopes of a quick return to an interrupted Gerald Durrell were dashed when the chap wanted to know if a copy of 'The Sorcerer's Companion: A Guide to the Magical World of Harry Potter' was available.

I told him no, but he lingered on, talking about how his friend had recommended it to him saying it was an absolute must-have for the Harry Potter fan, blah blah blah... As a non-member of the Harry Potter fan club, neither the books, nor the rants of the fans interests me. For your benefit, I'll state the first rule from the 'Rulebook of what to do if you ever visit Bookworm's Retreat to buy Harry Potter-related stuff when I am at the counter': do NOT make conversation about it.

I do not like the very theme and concept of Harry Potter. It's a complete rehash, entirely unoriginal, a hotchpotch of various pre-existing children's stories. Mediocre and kitschy. As a book meant for children, the first volume was fine, but even there, the sequels are stretching it. How adults can enjoy that extraordinarily overrated stuff beats me. Furthermore, I resent the author's success, which in my opinion, is undeserved - considering the fact that fantasy is a genre that is not bound by any of the constraints of reality, and is thereby probably the easiest thing to write (no research required!), the rewards reaped seem inordinate.

But I was managing a store, and customer is king, so I was not at liberty to express my opinions to the guy. I nodded at everything he said, while periodically hinting at the time. He left after having a thirty minute monologue-conversation (if such a thing exists). As he went, he said, "Cool man, you get that book for me then. I mean like anybody with any sense of humor is surely gonna buy it." What possible connection there is between that book and humor is beyond me. But obviously, one gathers from that statement that the guy thought he was among the aficionados of wit, since he wanted to buy it. I think he was half right.

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Brief hiatus...

2005-08-15T07:12:00.001+00:00

I'm gonna be rather busy through the coming week, and I'm not very sure whether I'll be able to post here... So just in case I can't, and you check, please do check again a couple of days later. Well, I guess that's it for now then.
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Looks like there's something blogging it...

2005-08-13T09:06:00.001+00:00

It's common knowledge among my friends that I am a major blog addict (i.e., they know I read blogs - not that I write one). In fact, the only other thing I do apart from reading books, is reading blogs. Such being the case, I didn't think it odd when one of those friends recently asked me to give him ideas for his blog. This friend of mine has been running a blog for quite a while now (I'd link to him, were it not for the fact that that would give away my identity to some people), and at first I thought that he'd come up against the inevitable 'writer's block'.

But after I heard him out, it turned out that the case was slightly different. He was sick and tired, he said, of the theme of his blog: "Originally, I thought that writing about [Subject] would be a great idea for a blog, and that I'd find plenty of ideas. But now I find that it's not in the least bit original, and everything I come up with has already been written about, and it's not turning out be as novel as I imagined. Worst thing is, I just can't think of good [Subject] ideas."

You get the picture. I told him that just because he'd started blogging on a certain theme, it didn't mean that each and every post just had to be related to the same topic. And that even if whatever he wrote wasn't entirely new, it would still be different from pre-existing compositions. He wasn't entirely convinced. To illustrate what I was saying, I gave him examples of themed blogs.

"Take Waiter Rant, for instance," I said. Get this: he didn't know about it!!! I was stupefied: how can you possibly spend months blogging on Blogspot, and not know about Waiter Rant?! I tried some other examples. Nothing. The problem was becoming clear. This guy was so insularly submerged in his own subject that he hadn't a clue about anything else. And he'd never bothered to check out anything else. Very parochial.

So I tell him: "Okay then. You better read it, I'm pretty sure you'll find it interesting." I was trying to think of something from Waiter Rant that was 'out of theme'. Offhand, what came to mind was the Lawyer Blog. "There's this post called Lawyer Blog. It has nothing to do with the theme of Waiter Rant. But that's fine."

Speaking of Lawyer Blog, I remembered Opinionistas, something I came to know through the above said post (and have been following since). "That one's by a lawyer, and most of the times, it has nothing to do with law, but it's still good. You better check em out, if you wanna get what I mean."

The guy called me later to thank me for the suggestions. He said they helped. I visited his blog after that... I'd have to agree with him :P.
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Two of a kind

2005-08-12T12:03:00.001+00:00

Last night when I was covering for Bill, a good friend of mine turned up shortly before closing time. It had been nearly five months since I had last seen him, as he'd moved out of town on his new job. We thought it would be a good idea to do some catching up over a few drinks. It was only 6.30, so I decided I'd just wait another fifteen minutes before closing the Retreat, and then we could get going.

Half an hour later, we found ourselves talking and drinking at [Bar's Name], one of our favourite haunts. It was then that he dropped the daisycutter: he'd broken up with his girlfriend. I was completely stunned by this piece of news, since the two seemed to have been absolutely made for one another. When I realised that I hadn't asked him a thing about [Girlfriend] the entire time, shock gave way to embarrassment.

"But - but... Why?!" I stammered.

"Aaah... I dunno... Things just weren't working out," he replied.

I could see that he didn't really feel like discussing it. He'd just told me because he felt he should let me know. I didn't want to press for reasons, but I was still quite shocked - I'd never really known [Girlfriend] well, but I knew this guy, and he seemed like the love-for-life sort.

Me: I never imagined! I mean, you guys've been going out for like three years! I thought you'd get married any day now!

Friend: Yeah, well...

A short silence descended on the table as neither of us knew what to say. After a few minutes of desperate searching, I came up with nothing.

Me: When did this happen?

Friend: Three weeks ago.

Me: Are you sure it's -

Friend: - yeah, yeah. Sure.

Me: I'm awfully sorry... I don't know what to say...

Friend: Yeah, well... I guess this whole one-true-love-thing just comes to so much anyway. Whole bunch of two-heart-one-soul-crap.

I didn't want to continue on the subject, especially since [Friend] wasn't excited about discussing it. He changed the subject shortly, to my great relief. But even after we were through with dinner and I headed home, I was still thinking about the same thing. I guess we both were.

As a person who has never quite been able to decide either way on the true nature of love, I was thinking about what [Friend] had said about 'one-soul-crap'. If I've ever known a real romantic, it's [Friend] - at least, he was one. If he couldn't last in a relationship after being in it for three years, there was something disturbing about it. Do those fairy-tale relationships exist in reality, then, I wondered. Are people really meant to be together?

Those thoughts brought back to mind an incident that had occurred around two years ago. Two middle aged people, a man and a woman - probably colleagues or friends - were looking around the store, and it appeared as though they were not sure where to find what they were looking for. I asked them if they were looking for anything in particular, and they said no, so I left them to continue looking around.

They browsed various sections for over half an hour, but I didn't pay them much attention since that isn't very unusual, and I had another customer's billing to attend to. Before they left, however, I noticed that they seemed to be attracted by a glossy coffee-table-sort of book, 'Grzimek's Animal Life Encyclopedia'. I smiled to myself, appreciating their taste, since that volume was one of the two that had been stocked for a year, and nobody had ever bought either one. At $527, that wasn't surprising.

After they left, a cursory inspection revealed that they had replaced each book they had checked out, back in its proper place. I was impressed. The day went on uneventfully, and later in the afternoon at around 4.30, the woman returned to the Retreat, straightaway picked up Grzimek's Animal Life Encyclopedia, and placed it on the billing counter. Wow. Now I was really impressed. Smiling widely, I got her the bill and put the book along with a complimentary Bookworm's Retreat fountain pen in a bag and handed it to her.

But as it turned out, that was not to be the only amazing incident to happen on that day. A few hours into the evening, the middle aged man turned up. My mild surprise at seeing two returning visitors on the same day turned to major astonishment when he walked to the aisle with the only other copy of Grzimek's Animal Life Encyclopedia, and brought it to the counter. Dazedly, I repeated the actions I'd performed earlier, and was smiling vaguely even after the man had left.

I soon forgot about the whole thing, as we are bound to forget with the goings on of everyday inanities. Until six months later, that is. Six months later, I was processing a bill for a woman who'd just bought a whole bunch of books. Her face seemed very familiar, and I had trouble placing who she was (of course, all the while I was smiling n nodding at her as though she and I were old buddies - standard storekeeper practice).

Suddenly, I realised that she was the woman who'd bought that Encyclopedia.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "I'm sorry, I had a little trouble placing you. I remember, you're the lady who bought Grzimek's."

"Yes," she smiled.

"The other gentleman you were with came by later. He bought the same thing too."

"I know," she said sheepishly. "We gifted the same thing to each other."

As it turned out, the two were a couple who'd been married for twenty years. They had come to Bookworm's Retreat on the day before their twentieth anniversary. They had both seen the book, and they had both liked it. Not a word had they exchanged about it, but each had decided that that was what they would gift the other.

It has been over two years since that incident. The couple are regular customers of the Retreat, and I've got to know them better. They're still happily married, still blissfully in love with each other.
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The Retreat

2005-08-11T10:52:00.001+00:00

Nestled on one of the side avenues of a fairly busy road of XYZ city, Bookworm's Retreat is sheltered from the constant blare that afflicts most prominent stores. Yet, it is not so out-of-the-way as to be hard to find or difficult to reach. It's not exactly the world's largest bookstore, but as bookstores go, it's fairly modest, and you can hardly call it cramped.

Excluding the banner on top, the store's facade consists only of the large display windows. Obviously, it is not very remarkable, but hey, which other store is, these days? The interior isn't very chic either, but it does have some styling, albeit along modern-glass lines - not cozy, but bright and warm, to help the browser. Apart from the billing counter in front, the three sofas n coffee table before the entrance, and the coke and coffee vendees, there aren't any other trappings about the place (other than the nine aisles of bookshelves, of course).

It's at the billing counter that I spend quite a bit, but not most, of my time (when I'm 'helping' ole Bill, that is :P), reading. However, it isn't as enjoyable an existence as you might imagine. Consider the fact that on the average day, Bookworm's Retreat attracts around thirty people: since the store is open for from 9.a.m. to 7.p.m., that's one person every twenty minutes (do the math!).

And anybody who has ever read a really interesting book and been interrupted every twenty minutes will tell you, it can get to you after a while. Now I know what you're thinking: I shouldn't run a bookstore if I'm going to whine about people coming in to buy books. That's what I tell myself too, and manage okay... most of the time.

Yesterday was not one of those times. Considering it was the middle of the week, there was an unusual number of visitors, in excess of fifty, I think. Good business? Wrong! Not one of them bought a single book! Ideally, that should mean that I had less work to do. But when are things ever ideal?

So it was, that I ended up answering a whole stream of silly questions ("Do you guys stock OHP markers?" or "Don't you have the abridged version of War And Peace that we're supposed to use as textbooks?" or "Can't I get this complete special edition hardbound set in those low-priced version thingies?"), keeping an eye on suspicious-looking individuals (regulars of Bookworm's Retreat, I do not refer to thee; no offence intended!), trying to clear out sitters who seemed to have permanently moved in on the couch, and putting books left on the coffee table back in their proper places.

Yes. All isn't fine even in the Retreat. Ruined a perfectly good Alistair McLean. Uh oh. Excuse me - I have to go attend to somebody assaulting the vendee with a large paperback. Probably isn't going to buy it. Sighhh.
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The veritable bookworm

2005-08-10T13:29:00.001+00:00

As an avid bookworm, I suppose I am somewhat luckier than the millions of other book-lovers out there - I can be classified under that not-so-large species of worms: those whose friend has a book store. This is surely an unmixed blessing, since I get all the benefits of virtually unrestricted access to books, and not too many of the problems of actually having to manage a store.

However, other than the fact that I get to read a nearly limitless number of books everyday, since I hang out so often at the store, I also have the oppurtunity to meet new people regularly. They come in all shapes, sizes and types: interesting, weird, rude, crazy, nice, eccentric... Naturally, with such variety also come new experiences: something different happens almost everyday (be it unpleasant or pleasant).

I thought it would be a good idea to share some of these experiences with people. And the simplest way of doing so, is of course, to blog. Ergo, Bookworm's Retreat (which, incidentally, is also the name of my friend Bill's book store). I hope you find that the posts here make for an interesting read. If you have anything to say, just leave a comment - whatever you have to say, it will surely be appreciated.

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