05-21-2014, 07:48 AM
Ach I know! Poor melancholy screed of a fellow.
In Dublin a few winters ago the pipes froze then burst in my pal's bookshop, subsequent snow melting through the roof shorted out the electrical wiring and ran all over the antiquarian section, leaving us in a wet, papery mess of darkness. Fuckers still tried to buy books. One came in with a little candle. No that doesn't help. Please take the naked flame away from what remains of my livelihood, said my friend.
My own bookshop nearly suffered a similar fate when a rather ditzy student I'd hired decided to light some incense in the front of the shop whilst making himself an egg-nog in the back of the shop (he wouldn't drink the wine I left out for the staff) and the incense dropped onto a rag soaked in lighter-fluid (used for cleaning glue off ex-libris hardbacks) which started a small conflagration. My level-headed employee screamed (he told me) and ran down the road to the next bookshop, and waited there. I don't fucking know why. I came back from the pub to find the shop half-soaked, full of smoke and a customer sitting behind the desk drinking the shop wine. Watching Stuart putz around despondently amidst the wreckage made me think of this, and I mourned along in sympathy.
Requiescat in pace, Comic Book Store.
In Dublin a few winters ago the pipes froze then burst in my pal's bookshop, subsequent snow melting through the roof shorted out the electrical wiring and ran all over the antiquarian section, leaving us in a wet, papery mess of darkness. Fuckers still tried to buy books. One came in with a little candle. No that doesn't help. Please take the naked flame away from what remains of my livelihood, said my friend.
My own bookshop nearly suffered a similar fate when a rather ditzy student I'd hired decided to light some incense in the front of the shop whilst making himself an egg-nog in the back of the shop (he wouldn't drink the wine I left out for the staff) and the incense dropped onto a rag soaked in lighter-fluid (used for cleaning glue off ex-libris hardbacks) which started a small conflagration. My level-headed employee screamed (he told me) and ran down the road to the next bookshop, and waited there. I don't fucking know why. I came back from the pub to find the shop half-soaked, full of smoke and a customer sitting behind the desk drinking the shop wine. Watching Stuart putz around despondently amidst the wreckage made me think of this, and I mourned along in sympathy.
Requiescat in pace, Comic Book Store.
"WHERE THE HELL'S MY PARACHUTE?"