It's Smart Bitches Day where I prove I'm TSTL

Every Monday, Beth celebrates Smart Bitches Day, a chance to be like those really snarky bitches over at SBRTN, or as she puts it:

But anyway, 'tis Monday, lovies! That's the day when we say whatever wewant to about trashy romance novels and the pathetic rural housemoms that readthem and the make-up-caked poofy-haired freaks who write them! Yes,
it's

Smart Bitches Day!

Where you prove all of the above dead wrong by being all intelligent and stuff about your reading material. You know how it's done. Comments open. Go!

Every week a SB day goes by, and every week I think, "Oh, God. Why am I so lazy!? I had the perfect topic about (fill in the blank) aspect that no one ever talks about. Well, I can't do it now. It's not Monday anymore."

Notice how I find that nice little loophole that allows me to avoid sitting down and typing anything? My mom always said I should have been a lawyer.

Inevitably when Monday rolls around again I'm running off to work (where there is no internet service, which is a good thing as it probably results in me getting actual work done), I'm doing those oh-so-necessary chores that must be done now (damn it) because I've put them off forever (resulting in no clean dishes), or I'm just plain lazy. But not this week. Oh no, not this week on which I took the most holy of holiest vows over the worst Caesar salad I ever had to pay for (long story involving way too much arugula. Who puts arugula in Caesar anyway?).

Today I would celebrate SBD.

I would ignore more lack of dishes, the fact that I have laundry all over my couch, the bills that needed to be paid. I would plant my ass in front of my computer and type until something wonderfully snarky and romance related resulted (and to hell with the fact that my very sentence format is anti the other holiday today: National Punctuation Day). And, indeed, here I am: planted, caffeinated, and ready to type...something.

And all I get is mockery from my stupid, blinking cursor. All that creative energy? That fevered vow? All directed at the damn cursor because this has to be good, great, stupendous! It must be worthy of the title of Smart Bitch Day post, and not some wishy-washy excuse for blogging. I swear to God, I'm sitting here filled with more indecision than a TSTL (too stupid to live) heroine after the hero has done something to make her doubt all of her past conceptions of his character.

Could he truly be kind and sensitive underneath that gruff exterior?

Could I be a complete dumbass behind this veneer of college education?

Big ol' yes to both.

I mean, I could go all fluffy and talk about how my mother got me hooked on romance novels when I was young. How we used to have some pretty good literary discussions over Kinsale and Phillips. Real good mother/daughter bonding stuff that contained no snark at all, but instead some cuddly, feel-good goodness that could out saccharine an after-school special that ended happily. The problem with this (other than the toothrot) is the fact that my mother is the Wicked Witch of the West, and most of our conversations have a tendency to end up pretty raunchy these days. While perfect for the internet, I think I'll save it for my tell all memoirs and yet-to-be found shrink, or wait until I'm more comfortable with this Monday bitchery.

Of course, I could have a snark off about some of the nicknames that show up in military romances, and are these for real? I've been around men all my life, and the only nicknames I've ever heard used were derivatives of last names, or words stemming from some embarrassing incident. I have never heard my brother, father, or one of my friends refer to another friend as Blue, Harvard, Crash, Kid, Hawk, or any other manly birds/actions/colors (apologies to the excessive use of Brockman's characters' names, but while I have Crazy Hot by Tara Janzen sitting next to me I don't feel I can fully mock it without reading the whole book first).

So another topic down (or tabled for later). What to write about? What to do? Does he really love me or is he just pretending to so that he can have his revenge? Oh the indecision!

Oh wait, I know. I'll completely negate everything I said in yesterday's post, and talk about the romance customers I've had that scare the hell out of me! Yes! Let me piss off romance readers everywhere by talking about the ones that have a stick shoved so far up a certain orifice that it punctured their funny bone and turned them into Miss Haversham (the scary years).

Oh glorious day, I have a topic. Now I'll just change the names to protect (myself from) the sue happy.

I've often found that many of the romance reading women dreaded by my coworkers through the years really just needed someone to pay attention to them and not visibly roll their eyes at their book choices. This is sometimes hard for 19 year old boy running the counter, but should not be for the mature woman he works with...in theory*. There are some women though who require more than respect, more than a friendly face. No. They must have complete and total domination of the counter zone and your attention!!!!

I had one customer, we'll call her Sarah, who expected her series romance to be put aside for her every month. No big deal, right? It's easy to just put aside one of each for her as you pull them out of the box...until one month when that box is late, or didn't have all the books in it. Oh yes, the shit royally hit the fan then. We were being lazy. We were falling down on the job. We didn't care about our customers. Outrage and disgust as she sat in one of those little wheely walker chairs that she didn't even need! The woman walked perfectly. Hell, her balance was better than mine. But when she was at the counter and we weren't doing our jobs, she was the poor little woman being taken advantage by the evil corporation. I think she even managed to squeeze out a few tears as she hunched down on her seat and raised her voice against the evilness of us.

On top of this display every couple of months, she would then bring books back, claiming that she had duplicates and demand credit. Yeah right, we were the only bookstore that would even deal with her. The other's had stopped putting up with her tantrums years ago. But no, somehow, somewhere she was getting these mysterious other copies and we absolutely had to take these back. She was reading and returning! It was so freakin' obvious! I knew it, my coworkers knew it, even my boss knew it, but we couldn't prove it so we had to switch the books out every month. Argh! Just thinking about her makes me mad.

The second woman topped Sarah, made her look like a saint. Joan (to go with the saint theme), demanded that we hold books so long that we committed audit violations, and when we politely tried to tell her this was impossible, she tracked down our distract manager's home phone number and called her at home! I can only imagine that the conversation sounded something like, "They are refusing to hold The Sheik's Baby for me! They are refusing me service when I ask for His One-Night Wife. What kind of store are you running?"

One that wasn't into male solicitation, apparently. Good Lord! When is it ever okay to call someone at home? Not to mention the inherent idea of stalking involved with that action.

Eventually she wore the poor woman down enough that we just held the books, anything, just to stop the yelling, but even then she would only deal with my male assistant manager. "He's the only one who does it right!"

Does it right? I see. Does anyone else sense a romance titled The Bookseller's Woman in their future, or am I the only one who's scared?

I could go on about Joan, but she currently embroiled in threatening to sue us, so I'll save my comments for a time when we are safe from litigation...you know, whenever the statutes of limitations runs out on defemation of character and stalking (if there are any). I'd be more scared if I hadn't know she was one of those people who pretend to slip in supermarkets so they can sue the company. I kid you not. The woman practically lives on worker's comp and payoffs, and is proud of the fact.

The concept makes my head hurt.

While I know these are only two women out of the hundreds of romance customers I see a year, they tend to over-shadow the good and give all romance readers a bad name. I've actually seen a coworker flinch when confronted by a romance buyer right after one of Joan's visits. I can only imagine how the customer felt.

Is it wrong for me to wish these women on another genre? Or is that even too bitchy for Smart Bitches day?

Huh, and does asking that mean that I'm still TSTL?

*Everyone has a point where they break. Mine happens to be role playing gamers who are still asking about Magic cards. I admit it. I don't see the appeal.