11,451. RUDIMENTS, pt 557

RUDIMENTS, pt. 557

('book 'em, Danno,' part one) 

It's sometimes all you 

can do to stay in place

Meaning, remain in place :

in the context of meditative

contemplation of the very

moment passing through.

I've had some pretty weird

later-life moments myself,

along the way. Such as?

When I first got the job at

the bookstore in Princeton,

after leaving Barnes & Noble 

for that job, serving the

University community with

what was to be the University

coursebook and bookstore

adjunct, fairly cool gig, they

sprung on me, after the fact,

that while the physical store

and location were still being

built, on Nassau Street, they

hoped I'd not be amiss to

traveling each day to 

Millwood, New York (just 

off of Chappaqua, about 90

miles along, from where I 

was living). The idea was, 

and was already underway, 

that three of four others, and

myself, were to be, by computer,

'inventorying' the store, before

it was built; expected to be, in

perhaps, eight weeks. I figured,

'well, I've gotten this far, might

as well stay with it.' I had a

halfway decent car, and sat 

myself down to figure this all

out. (I called this my 'yellow

sweater job,' because I'd never

before so geeked myself out,

haircut, clothes, etc, AND a

with a yellow sweater that I

wore to the job interview that

clinched it for me). All the 

actual 'books' were up there, 

in that warehouse, and after

we entered them into the 

computerized inventory (by

subject, author, ISBN, etc., 

etc.), they'd be crated and

put on skids for eventual

trucking to Princeton, and

placement within the new 

shelves, etc., of the location.

All well and good. Later on,

laughable enough, one of the

Princeton locals working for

us, with me, my staff, as it

were, in Receiving, politely 

refused a form of this work,

saying 'That's data entry. I

didn't take this job to do

data entry.' I thought that 

was pretty ballsy, and was 

impressed by her, let's say, 

chutzpah. (She's now, last I

knew, a happy and successful 

teacher in Brooklyn, as part 

of the New York City School 

System. Now if THAT'S 

not data entry I don't know 

what is!). I had never thought

of the work we were doing 

there in those terms, but really 

that's all it was; but that was a

modern, 'techno-kid's' term.

I'd never thought of anything

like that before, and found 

it an odd way to approach 

anything. All of life was data

entry, in some way, and, besides,

each item I handled brought me

knowledge  -  the book, the

subject matter, the author.

Anyway. I drove up their on

a dry-run, determining my

route, the time involved, and 

the rest. A lot of problems 

cropped up, but they were

unforeseen at first, and were

more of the sorts of things

that arose from my feeling

of being uncomfortable with

the enforced confinement

with other people I didn't know

and had just met  -  plus, at

first I had no clue what the

heck I was doing, and no 

one explained anything. So,

I just fell in, bluffing what

I had to  -  which all caused

problems later on anyway.

-

91 miles ain't hay. That's one

way to say it. I was sort of

flabbergasted, as I've noted,

by the entire request, but 

went along with it. It was a

little weird; no gas money

offered, or any of that. Tappan

Zee Bridge tolls too, for that

matter. One hell of a daily 

commute, for about 60 days. 

I had, fortunately, no car

trouble at all. I did shop

around up there for weekly

rates at extended-stay motels

and all, but they were ridiculous

and those prices, perhaps normal

to others, freaked me out. The

whole NJ Turnpike thing was

an outrage, timing was always

off, traffic, jams, accidents,

and construction. A few days,

it was downright hideous. My

routine came down to starting

out at 5:30, to beat most

traffic, and arriving for 7:30 

or so. We'd leave at 3, which

was good, to accommodate the

avoidance of traffic. Which

worked 90% of the time. The

others were all car-pooling

together (4-people) while 

leaving from Bridgewater each

day. Interestingly enough, they

would take 287 the entire way,

until it ended at the Tappan Zee

Bridge, and then go north. I did

that once or twice, but never 

liked it and found it to be longer, 

when not starting from Bridgewater.

I carpooled with them once, to

see if that would work, but it was

pretty cramped, the car was small,

and they really drove fast. It

all unsettled me, plus the two guys

asked a lot of questions of me  -  

politics, opinions, etc., trying to

get some info on me. I didn't

like that much either, mainly

because had nothing, really, 

and they were all high-faluting 

about theirs. There was a really

nice lady named Chris, and a

cool girl from Brazil too, here

for a while while her husband

went to Princeton. It all made

for interesting conversation,

and the Brazilian girl did a

lot of sketching too  -  I think

she was an architectural student.

The warehouse and stuff was

all rendered architecturally, in

these fairly precise, but yet

loose, drawings. With not much

else to go on, we talked about

Brasilia, the self-created 1960's

government-town capital city

of her country. It had been

built in the 60's as a sort of

pristine, techno-town, to draw

people inland. I was always

fascinated by it. Her too.

-

The other trouble I had was

lunch. They were a big lunch

crowd. I've always ignored it.

But here everything stopped,

and each day a bunch of money 

got plunked down for like 

eight-dollar sandwiches and

other things, and a by-design

lunch setting array had everyone

eating. Together and at once.

I never liked that stuff, but I

was afraid of standing out 

(imagine that!) or being 

doomed aloof, etc., so I 

wound up with a sandwich 

a day thing (from home),

and coffee, with occasional

group forays out for pizza or

hot subs or something. I

don't like eating during the

day. It's always a nuisance.

-

The other stiff-arm for me - up

there - was the management

team in place. They weren't

my sort at all, and there was

an unspoken friction from

day one, which I just tried to

either avoid or gloss over. It 

was a sort of pile-crawl personal

politics; about things I didn't

care of.  Anyone who wanted

to could be better than me,

and I didn't give a shit. But

they were somehow always

in the maneuver-stance of

letting me, or any others, not

just me, know of the difference.

Big deal. They held all the cards,

and we knew that, and so what.

That kind of limited discussion,

awkwardly, so that there was

nothing really human going on.

Just task and explanation. All

that penny-wise business stuff

I hated.

-

So, yeah, I guess I was a bad

fit; I was that everywhere and

had gotten long-used to it. No

matter. As I saw it, everyone 

needs a freaky-weirdo around.

Like a scent-spray in a bathroom.

Just call me Forest Glade.

-

This all went on for two months,

about, and I was glad when it 

ended. Getting established in

Princeton was a much easier

day. The premises still had

not been completed fully, and

the University itself had given

us office space for that last 

interim. It was down the block,

still on Nassau Street, about 5

blocks. Same stuff. Then the 

shelves were built, and we were

given access to that one, street,

level  -  so all the books than 

started rolling in too. More

computer entry (we finally

for the downstairs going),

uncrating, separating by

sections and categories, 

and than the actual shelving. 

More staff began hiring on.

More on that (Princeton

aspect) later.

-

About this time, up in Millwood

and Chappaqua, the Clintons had

recently moved into their home,

on Old Farm Road. It later was

built into more of a compound,

with Secret Service sheds and

other buildings  -  and I think 

they bought a neighboring

property/house on the same

rounded street too. Their dog

'Buddy' got killed there  -  run

over by a car, as well. I remember

that; sad moment. Chappaqua's

a big money town; nice as it

goes, and up the road from it is

Millwood, an old saw-mill

kind of place (hence the name,

I guess). Warehouses and

lumbermen and tree-cutters

and such, in structures along 

the woods and trails. There 

are plenty of large roadways 

around, Saw Mill River Parkway,

Taconic Parkway, and others.
Thornwood, and 'Pleasantvlle'
too, which, in addition was the 
home of the  campus-like setting 
of 'Reader's Digest' magazine, ' 
an almost-stupid 1950's type
compendium-monthly of bland  
info, stories and attempts at  
humor. I got to see that campus 

area too. In fact, it was on Saw 

Mill River Road. I liked it there.

The finny thing always about 

me, always, is that wherever

I end up going, I soon enough

want to live there. Of course,

economics crash-lands that

balloon, but that area of

Millwood was real attractive

to me, and there were lots of

cool old houses. I figured,

if the ones I could see were

nice, there must be some really

nice old heaps in the deeper

woods and smaller roads. And

there were, but nothing for me.
-
It often seems, though it's not
really ever true, that 'luck'  -  be
it good or bad  -  rules the day.
Everyone's life is a large pool of
circumstance and occurrence;
some call it fate and destiny, 
others just crank on about how
miserable things are. I've kind
of had it both ways; differing
aspects of my own life have always
just meant differing things for me.
Sometimes you witness stuff, and
other times you're part of it. That
might be the real difference. All
the fortunate stuff always seems 
like things you witness, while the
crummy stuff seems always to
be the things that are happening 
to you. It's a bit like an inversion
of Zen-detachment. But, really
you are not part of everything.
-
So, for some two months I did this
crap routine every day, and a few
times it got repeated on Saturday
or Sunday as we returned up there
to see things, look around, and
check the place out. As far as the
Millwood warehouse work went,
that all went OK  -  I got the hang
of things, learned how to get by,
kept my feelers and antennae out
for the sort of people I'd be dealing
with  -  different breed, for me, for 
sure  - knowing that back in the
Princeton location we'd have to be
together. Funny; that didn't work
out. They were soon enough all 
gone, and only I lingered behind,
staying on the job while all else 
around me changed, personnel, 
job duties, and process. There were
some days I cursed that damned
yellow sweater; other days I was
real glad I'd worn it.
-
(end of pt. one, 'book 'em...')