When your knee bone's achin' and your body cold, Means you just gettin' ready, honey, for the cypress grove

We are taking the leap. We have just given our two-weeks notice to the bosses at the corpo wack-job. When we were making allusions to some big time life changes ahead, we weren't kidding you, folks.

We have enlisted for another tour of duty in the Myopic Wars. We are ready not to take CTA for an hour and a half on the daily (although we will miss some of our CTA girlfriends that we see every day). We are ready to work at night and write during the day and to sleep in when we damn well feel like it. Fuck bad, expensive Loop fast food. Fuck typing numbers into a computer database all day, day after day. There are some people at the corpo wack-job that we really like, and we'll miss them. But we won't miss emerging carpal-tunnel syndrome or the feeling we get when we royally fuck up an account and somebody else has to talk to the angry merchant and we feel all assed-out.

We miss the bookstore as our day to day. It is the opposite of the corpo wack-job. It fucking rips. In coming weeks we'll tell you about the joys of working at a used bookstore/neighborhood institution that is open all hours of the night and day where the crazies run free like some medicated safari. The basic thing is that it is the most bananas job of all time. Once you do it, you can do anything. No situation escapes your command. You are a regulator, and you can mount up. It is like being on an English ship of the line in bad seas, people are going overboard like ragdolls, and a French frigate is shelling you from 250 yards, and her guns are hot. Do you turn into the wind and risk ruin, or draw down your sails and fight? Do you fix the leak in the basement where the biography section threatens to become a mildewy paper swamp, or do you clear the rocks out of the drain and pray that helps? Do you take the possibly piss and or jizz soaked bum-change so that you don't have to go to the currency exchange later? Do you show the obvious schizophrenic who is spewing gibbresh at you and getting too close to the cash register the baseball bat behind the counter just so he knows just who is in charge here? Do you? Do you?




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