I can try, I can be given chances, and I’ll still fail. Always.
“This is why I can’t let you shelve on your own.” She waves her hands across the entire row. “You placed the book correctly between dot twelve and dot twenty, but those books were misshelved.”
“Oh.”
“The patrons never know how to put them back correctly.” She grabs a clump of four books and sets them back in the cart, rearranging the last one somewhere into the middle of the long collection. “Shelve again from the new leftmost book. Check the three books to the left and the three books to the right to make sure you’re not building on a misshelved section.”
I nod and comply. My check for the surrounding books comes up fine, but that only makes me anxious as it’s a lot harder to show that I checked when there’s nothing to grab or pull.
And I could be wrong! There’s a lot of numbers, and they blur together very easily.
“Do you see something out of place?” she prods at me.
“No.”
“Continue, then.”
“That one’s way out of place—wrong section.” Mistress Vincenza grabs a book off the shelf. “This will need to be checked in before it’s shelved, in case it was marked as missing.”
Isubtlycheck my watch. 6:23.
Long and exhausting, or long and boring. Which one is it? I guess neither is so bad when the worst injury I can carry to bed is a papercut.
“You look like you’re about to fall over.” She leans close and stares into my eyes. “You’re notonanything, are you?”
“No! Absolutely not, Mistress.” I’m just always told that I look like I am.
And maybe it’s been a while since I’ve had water.
“Either way, sit down at the desk.” She grabs the cart. “I’ll organize in the back. If anyone tries to disturb you, tell them that the parlour opens at seven.”
“But—someone just came in.”
“Piero can come in early. Tell him I’m in the back if he needs me.”
Excessive nodding.
“And, note, keep your arms bent when you move the cart.” She leaves.
Just leaves.
No one’scoming in. It’s fine.
It’s great.
It’s gone to 7:02, and it’s not great. I’m bored out of my mind sitting hereandcompletely alert. I stare at the wall clock for it to go faster, but it denies me this undue kindness.
7:04.
If someone asks me something, I’ll go to the back. Sure. I’ll excuse myself. Say it’s my first day. Just grovel and hope they understand—hope Mistress Vincenza understands.
Two women in dark red dresses enter the store, dropping some books on the counter.
I throw up a quick smile and announce, “hello! Welcome.”
“Hey there, sweety. Just returning these two.” The woman with a cigarette lung leaves with her partner, not waiting for any confirmation.
I guess I have an excuse to search for my mistress now. Maybe she won’t yell at me.
