Question of the week...

"So, what exactly is your job?"

Well, I have a lot of jobs.  I'm a part-time student in two schools, and haven't had a summer vacation in years.  I accompany services at my home church during the week, teach piano students there, assist with singing and playing for the senior choir, and also direct a children's choir, grades 2-4. During the year, I'm also taking organ lessons and preparing to give a recital, and starting work on my master's thesis doing research about a relatively unknown hymnwriter.  When I'm not doing that, I accompany music students at my alma mater, plus work night shifts at the library while writing and reading academic literature.

"No, I mean, do you have a real job?"

I give up...

You had me at "Let's go to Barnes and Noble."

You may wonder what it is with the obsession.  I'm always telling people about how we went to Barnes and Noble, and it's only fitting that I'm writing this post from one.  We did - we are either there checking in, coming back, or making plans to go there "when it's not busy."  That usually translates to "morning," but such plans never transpire as all of us get up late when we're at home - first me, then my mom, then my brother.

The two of us high school students had taken some homeschool classes at a church campus - pick and choose what you need to graduate, and we'll help what your parents can't do.  Gaps in the schedule were bound to happen, and there were these awkward gaps of 90 minutes at a time where mainly my brother had no class.  What to do?  Drive back home - impractical.  Wait in the car - fruitless and annoying.  The Barnes and Noble with cafe a mile-ish distant beckoned as a non-controversial location to look academic while being "homeschooled" at the same time.

Finally, I had a class while my brother was busy, and got to be treated by mom for a change.  Intro to Business lasted 12:00-1:30, and since I most certainly do not eat lunch before noon, aside from my two breakfasts (weird food rules...), this meant saving my appetite for a delicious treat PLUS a special coffee concoction PLUS a Seventeen magazine (buried in a Gramophone periodical or newspaper, or something).

The neat feature of that location is that while some Barnes and Noble cafes are crammed into an obscure corner (like the one I'm in right now), the thoughtful, strategically-mapped ones put it on a raised platform in the center.  This way, you may silently observe all surrounding occurrences:  the mom tracing her kids steps ("No, honey, you can't touch that.  Mommy will find you a book to read"), the weathered old men with rumbly voices having a semi-quiet discussion, the teens trying not to act awkward while their moms shell over the credit card for their cafe order, and occasionally that middle-aged woman on the phone with her sister about the mom in the nursing home.


Step one: Reconnoiter the premises, and spring on the prime property.  That means, the large four-person table over on the side with space enough for one or more laptops, a stack of cooking, magazines, a wobblier stack of fashion magazines, drinks, plates, and napkin piles (in case).  If you have the fair fortune of obtaining a Midwestern "bar," snag yourself a fork to make it a piece of cake.

Step two:  Leave the most decisive and stationary person to guard the table, who already has his or her order memorized.  This trustworthy saying is recited to the designated orderer, who has been awarded enough cash and the B&N membership card to retrieve all items from the counter.  If all goes well, the orderer will get the kind barista who remembers everything and smiles at people with his brisk countenance, who chatters to the one younger guy and the chirpy brunette girl while baking the premade frozen scones.

Step three:  Someone, probably the same person, has to wait around at THE counter with three other awkward people leaning on the condiment island thing with "Thank You" on the wastebasket flap. What exactly does the vanilla shaker do, anyway? You wait and watch all the other easier-to-make drinks go by until your tall "light" recipe pops out of the blender, they call your name, and you grimace as you turn around the damp plastic cup to peek at the spelling.  Miracle of joy:  they got it right.  Let's get the same barista next time.

Step four:  Crack open your reading material, if previously collected.  Otherwise, you have two choices:  stare at your laptop while it figured out that yes, the wifi network HAS been detected, or convince another person to wait at the table for you so that one older couple doesn't take it.  Hopefully this isn't the same person you asked before.

Step five:  Food item?  Okay, you have to stay and eat it - really slowly, so that the plate stays on the table and you look like a customer.
Drink item?  You are now free to move about the bookstore.  Now is the time to check out the music/DVD section, and attempt not to make it beep while you slip in.  It inevitably does, and then you have to declare your intent to the alert salesperson with something jingly on his neck.  "Just seeing what you have."  We actually know what you have.  Study the indie music so it doesn't look like you're actually eying the Top 40 releases, and spend a moment or two flipping over the vinyl bin for an extra 20 years of apparent wisdom.
Food and drink item?  Well, drink first, and then end with reading and a treat.  Still, make sure you get at least one bite of the two together.  Otherwise you'll never know...

Step six:  If you're trying to look like you're studying, you've done a decent job of it so far.  Keep typing (that's what I'm telling myself now).  People are probably not going to ask, "Are you in school?  Is today a vacation day?"  As soon as you peel open the sleek pages of InStyle, people have you pegged as one of those sorts of girls who orders chocolatey icy things and doesn't think critically.  In the case that you have some books and periodicals mixed in for variety, make sure that there's at least one serious-looking tome in there.  Like, "I go and read deep things for a nice break from reading more boring deep things."

Step seven:  In the event that your literature and homework situation is really static (congratulations, I guess!) the people-watching alleviates it.  Find at least one cute older husband and wife (let's face it, when they're together, they're all cute), one stylishly-dressed woman of unknown background, one mom holding a pacifying conversation with her tiny troop, and a man unaware of his loud political opinions.

Step eight:  It's time to leave.  Figure out how to not provoke others to shoplifting by leaving your technology on the table, and put away ALL the things you removed from their rightful places.  The eyes are sometimes more than the reading capacity.  Try not to run into the people waiting to snatch your four-person table upon exiting, and put back everything in the proper order.  Make a run for the car, so strangers don't pause to interview you about why you don't have class.  Of course you do; you're classy every day of the week.  But especially when you're at B&N.