Feeling: triumphantly bitchy
Listening to: "there's a bear in the fiellllld..."
Reading/Watching: GRE math can bite me

I realize that non-wealthy teenaged people have to find somewhere with central heating to go hang out on a Friday/Saturday night, but why does it have to be my Kids section at my bookstore?

There's a lovely cafe, some reading couches and chairs, benches outside for those willing to brave the weather, but instead there you are, sitting on the countertops and pulling out loads of picture books to look over and mock, then leave in sloppy piles all over the everything. You're playing hacky-sack with the stuffed duck from Charlotte's Web. You're flipping through the things I just finished straightening, and you have no intention of buying anything. In short, you're being enormous pains in my ass.

This, ten minutes before we close.

Forgive me if I send you thin smiles and ask pointedly, "Did you need help finding something?" Forgive me if I give you the "we're closing in _____ minutes" countdown.

Forgive me if I keep rotating the Reading For Beginners turnstile (which probably hasn't been oiled since 1989) while I put away Berenstein Bears, and it emits a long, undulating scream of rusty iron protest while you're trying to talk.

Forgive me if I keep putting books away between you and your friends, so that my shoulder accidentally bumps you and my ass is often in your face. I didn't mean to invade your personal bubble.

Oh, are you leaving? What a shame. We were still open for two more minutes.

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