Hang ups.

Strange. When I last answered a call on the switchboard it sounded like a hang-up, but whoever it was didn’t really hang up on me because the line wasn’t dead. I waited. It started to ring. A man answered, and not knowing what else to say, I told him it was the bookstore. He hung up.

Also: Helmet Comb-over has returned. I still can’t get over his disastrous attempt to cover his bald spot.

 

Too many books.

“There are too many books!” yelled an old man wielding a hearing aid and a cane. He shook his head. “There are too many books. I wish I had time and legs to explore all of these books.”

Then he hobbled over to me. “Concierge.” He pronounced it CON-sir-gay. “Does that mean information?” I told him yes, it does.

 

Young one.

“Thank you for being so helpful, young one,” he said to me.

I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or condescending.

 

French is a beautiful language.

“Concierge — that’s a lovely title to give you,” she said.

Yes, I agree. French is a beautiful language.

 

Memorial Day.

I’m not even a half an hour in to my shift and already I’ve had about a dozen calls asking “Are you open today?” This is going to be a long day. Thankfully, I get holiday pay.

 

Compliment.

“You’re looking wonderful, my dear,” he said. Why, thank you.

 

Orange.

A man shopping at the bookstore today was wearing all orange. He had on a bright orange hat, bright orange corduroy jacket and pants, orange sock and orange shoes. It doesn’t stop there: His hair and beard were dyed neon green, yellow, pink and orange in a way that was reminiscent of a tub of sherbet ice cream.

I wonder.

 

Black eye vs. Boredom

“You look bored,” the old man said. I admitted that I was.

“I’m 74, and I have a saying: I’d rather be punched than bored. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been punched.”

Hmm. Black eye or boredom?

Question of the Day: “Could you tell me how to get downstairs, Madam?”

 

Solitude.

“You look lonely,” she said to me, sympathetically. “You need a partner to talk to.”

It’s true, you know. It can get lonely at the concierge desk. At least when you’re a cashier or working at the book-information counter, you’ve got somebody else standing there with you to keep you company. At the concierge desk, I’ve got nobody.

It’s like I’m sitting in Time Out for 4-5 hours at a time, on display so everyone will see the bad girl being punished. The only thing is, I can’t remember what I did wrong.

Observation: These past few weekends, I’ve been getting more and more calls requesting the Clinique counter.

 

Working hard or hardly working?

“You sure are working hard sitting there,” he said to me, jokingly. “I’ll see about getting you a raise.”