Today's musical accompaniment will be "Violent Mood Swings" by Stabbing Westward.

Having been too sick on Friday to work, I had my first day today. It's a discount bookshop that I'm working at, so not a 'real' one, and anyway, half my job is spruiking. You know, being the annoying one standing out the front saying: "15% off for another fifteen minutes, that's 15% off everything in the store, come on in..." (There is no punctuation in spruiking other than the comma. You talk in continuous sentences that last twenty minutes.)

I skipped class today, to do this working thing. Then again, class was only computer studies. Work got me out of four boring hours in a computer lab! I love my job!

Of course, I slept in a little, but I was still feeling unwell, and it was lovely and warm in bed, but I had to get up and get dressed and go out into the cold world. I hate my job.

I got there, and was told to look around the store for a while, getting the hang of the layout. I looked at the fiction, I looked at the SF, I looked at the art and decorating and cooking and self-help. I looked at books and books and books. I grinned a lot. I love my job!

Even spruiking didn't look too terrifying. The boss showed me very graphically that you can say anything you like; no one is really listening to you. ("And we're giving away free bow-ties in store...") I've always been a good public speaker. I stepped up to the mic... and one of the five people I know in Melbourne walked past and said: "Dee! Are you going to sing? Can I watch?"

But really, it wasn't too bad. I lost the jitters after five minutes, and then it... well, it just got boring. And I have to do this for half-hour lots at a time. Sigh. I hate my job.

Then, the clincher. Chat with the boss. "Spruiking will be the main job," he says, "but once you're more confident (read: good) at it, it pays double." ($core!) "Once we get the computers in, we'll get you typing too." (It always amazes me how people are impressed by a 70/80wpm typing speed. People need to spend more time trying to be witty in chat rooms. Nothing like it for boosting your typing speed.) "Oh, and what are you studying?"

"Writing and Editing," I tell him.

"Really? Well, y'know, we've always got editing work in the self-publishing side of all this, so we can hook you up with some of that too. Wow, what a bonus."

You're telling me! I love my job!

[Space for gilmae to trump in with his bitch card.]

Meanwhile, I really, really wish I had a scanner, or a webcam. This absolute muppet who keeps fucking up my life in the ANZ back gave me his business card in case I had any queries, and I'd just love to be able to post up a picture of the card and say: "See this guy? See that name? Stay away!! If you value your sanity, steer clear. He's an idiot. He's an absolute munchkin! No, wait, that's insulting munchkins, who I'm sure are on average more intelligent than this guy and probably better dressed as well!"

But I don't have either of those pieces of technology, so forget I said anything.

Spruiking is an interesting word. Spruik, spruik, spruik.