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She Sells Sea Shells
Apr. 10th, 2005 07:32 amLost my sense of humor. I think maybe it's in one of the databanks at Bartleby Inc. or maybe on top of a white cabinet in a vacation cottage off the coast of Italy where I can't afford to fly and get it back.
"Money is sea shells," that woman from the Judaism 101 class told me. "It only matters if you don't have it."
Amen, sistuh.
Her name was Jean. She was rich and a cancer survivor, had that ashen pallor of someone whose mutinous cells were already conspiring again behind her back. If I had to guess, I'd say she's dead now.
I'm not.
But the sea shells stay by the sea shore.
This was a bad week, and I wasn't prepared for it. The last ten days of March and first four days of April, the store did very well and every night, Ben and I got giddy counting out the cash drawer, doing our After You, Alphonse routine – "You da MAN!" "No, YOU da Man!" "No! YOU da Man!"
But this week, all that stopped. Sales went drastically down. Three days in a row we didn't even clear a hundred. Then came the weekend and it was still bad. Yesterday we didn't break $500. We depend on clearing $1500 over a weekend and even that in the great big world of business and futures trading and Donald Trump is pathetic. (Less pathetic in a world of AIDs epidemics, tsunami victims and the homeless guys living under the wharf, but we won't go there now.) What gives? If it's the price of gasoline – currently $2.65 a gallon at the local Chevron – then we are screwed since my best guess is that gas will hit three and a quarter before the summer is through. Clearly the Monterey Aquarium is not enough of an attraction to sustain the medina of retail shacks that have grown up in its shadow. But where else could I have put the damn store where it would get foot traffic in Monterey?
I've been working as hard as I can work. I don't really see how I can work any harder.
"Write a book," said Abe over the phone. "That's why I wrote mine. I was at the absolute end of my rope, I had nothing left."
Slow Burn, An Uplifting Memoir of Retail and Redemption! Somehow, I don't think this is exactly what that guy in the suit is looking for at the airport bookstore but maybe I could fit in vampires somewhere.
"Money is sea shells," that woman from the Judaism 101 class told me. "It only matters if you don't have it."
Amen, sistuh.
Her name was Jean. She was rich and a cancer survivor, had that ashen pallor of someone whose mutinous cells were already conspiring again behind her back. If I had to guess, I'd say she's dead now.
I'm not.
But the sea shells stay by the sea shore.
This was a bad week, and I wasn't prepared for it. The last ten days of March and first four days of April, the store did very well and every night, Ben and I got giddy counting out the cash drawer, doing our After You, Alphonse routine – "You da MAN!" "No, YOU da Man!" "No! YOU da Man!"
But this week, all that stopped. Sales went drastically down. Three days in a row we didn't even clear a hundred. Then came the weekend and it was still bad. Yesterday we didn't break $500. We depend on clearing $1500 over a weekend and even that in the great big world of business and futures trading and Donald Trump is pathetic. (Less pathetic in a world of AIDs epidemics, tsunami victims and the homeless guys living under the wharf, but we won't go there now.) What gives? If it's the price of gasoline – currently $2.65 a gallon at the local Chevron – then we are screwed since my best guess is that gas will hit three and a quarter before the summer is through. Clearly the Monterey Aquarium is not enough of an attraction to sustain the medina of retail shacks that have grown up in its shadow. But where else could I have put the damn store where it would get foot traffic in Monterey?
I've been working as hard as I can work. I don't really see how I can work any harder.
"Write a book," said Abe over the phone. "That's why I wrote mine. I was at the absolute end of my rope, I had nothing left."
Slow Burn, An Uplifting Memoir of Retail and Redemption! Somehow, I don't think this is exactly what that guy in the suit is looking for at the airport bookstore but maybe I could fit in vampires somewhere.
