Quirky Job

I'm going to tell you something;

My professional life has become a book.

This book was written by an individual who really must be from England or Ireland. American authors just don't typically have this amount of quirk in their writings. Think character-based, think subtle but quick, silly humor, think Vicar of Dibley meets Waking Ned Devine.

I am a twenty, maybe thirty-something with all the usual relatable nonsense about my life not being in order. But only "not quite" being in order. Not the kind of not-in-order that a real life is ("Why won't he ask me out??" *womp womp* queue laugh track). And upon re-entering my old stomping grounds, I manage to casually meet up with an old friend who sends me to interview for this frame-shop in town (a sure godsend, as I am sans employment from leaving the old town where my long-term boyfriend and I just broke up). After surely having some kind of lukewarm mishap ("It shrunk?? But this was the sweater I was going to wear at the interview!"), I get through the interview and get the job.

Here's the good stuff:

* We're open Tuesday-Friday.
* I work in the downtown area of a community-strong little town. I am friends with plenty of people who frequent/work/picket/are involved in multiple organizations on this block.
* My boss/owner and the head framer are brother and sister. 50's. They are adorable. They lightly quarrel, as siblings do.
* Boss is ex-psychiatrist, helping me work through life stuff in the way that only ex-psychiatrists do. Also delivers hot toddies to me on the day I call out sick.
* Head framer is just shy of an art historian's degree and listens to NPR while sharing with me the most interesting fact-based stories about the first French mouldings, the next great politician and Depeche Mode.
* Landlord is patient, kind and comes down to ask us about the heaters.
* There is a man, let's call him Joe, who comes in on Wednesdays and Fridays to sweep, mop, etc... is older, very straight and is of few words.
* Upstairs tenant is older (not sure how old) gay gentleman artist who is brilliant and hates others' works, for the most part. We all have suspicions he is an actual genius. Loves conversation. Holds grudges.
* Joe and tenant are bosom buddies and essentially family. Spend holidays together, do errands together etc...

There could be a scene beginning with Head Framer cursing at the radio (politics), something about the picketers outside (more politics) and then, to break the tension, I drop my mess of filing all over the floor after attempting to ferry too many at once. I think I'm onto something.

Of course, there is my other part-time job to consider; the record store I work at as a lazy clerk. But that's more a Nick Hornby novel.