Don't judge a book by its cover, and please don't judge this one by its introduction either. The title is a bit of a mantra for my own life at this very moment. I am busy all over the place, and constantly dealing with so many different issues, but rather than be stressed out about any of it, I have chosen laughter as my medicine. Lots and lots of laughter. It goes down much better than anything else that has ever been prescribed. Ans some times it comes out -- through my nose! I was led to write this story from the heart and my nasal passages as well based on adventures, experiences, and imaginations that I have had personally, exaggerated or accurate, as well as those assessments that others have assisted in defining for me, be it voiced from human, animal or inanimate objects. The primary character here is a caricatured version of myself, Mercedes Bustier Amtanal, a mid-life, non-crisis woman who is determined to go over the hill laughing all the way! It doesn't even have to be Christmas for this kind of fa-la-la-laing! Hold on and enjoy the ride!

     I must tell you that this is a fiction book, but it is Mercedes' story and any relations to any real persons, events, animals, etc. may be purely intentional, but not malicious at all. Those who are mentioned here in some form should recognize a portion of themselves understanding that I have taken many liberties in this book, and I am merely creating characters based on what I know, what I think, what I believe, and what I imagine because I am the writer after all, and that's what we writers do. As Mercedes, I have lived so many different lives, both in the real, tangible world as well as in the make believe, imagined world of my mind. Many times there is great crossover, and sometimes I am not even aware of which one I am operating in the most. There are some existentialists who will teach "my reality is not your reality." I believe in this Philosophy to a certain extent; however, if you have on pink Hello Kitty pajamas and you're eating sausage balls and drinking grape juice mixed with ginger ale while writing a book on your MAC laptop and simultaneously viewing a "Puss and Boots" movie on television all the while being interrupted with your husband's coughing from the other couch, then it's a slice of my reality. 

     There is no further need for a physical description of me as a character because honestly, I have changed my hair color more than any Hollywood starlet, and some days I will be in make-up with stylish, trendy clothes, and other times I am completely unmade and in some funky outfit that could make the Walmart calendar. As you read the ramblings here, just feel free to let your imaginations wander and picture the ones spoken of here in any manner you so choose. I sit here on a tan, stained leather couch with a luxurious purple blanket atop of me, of which a cat may or may not tread upon at some point as I continue to write, write, write. Again, my reality. 

    Writing with a deadline is insane; writing without one is impossible. A writer must write, deadline or not. And so here I sit, surrounded by life and the living, typing away and trying to compose a book within 30 days. Thirty days? What? Am I insane? Can I possibly construct something that is coherent, entertaining, informative, or even remotely interesting in that allotment of time? Time. Only time will tell. Having the time. Finding the time. Making the time. How do I do it? I mean, there is work; housework; homework; personal work; marriage work; family work; and on and on and on. So much work. And play. Lots of play. At least in my case. I am of that breed that insists if one works hard, then one must play equally as hard. But the time. On yes, the time. How do I get sufficient time to do all these things that must be done? And still find the time to write. This is my quandary. If I had some magical, mystical powers now would definitely be the time to employ them. I grew up in the Bewitch/Jeannie era when a twitch of the nose or a blink of the eyes could clean an entire room. I've twitched; I've blinked. Again and again. And nothing. Same mess is still there. 

    While there are millions of stories and a wealth of characters moving about in my head at any given time, I don’t feel I ever have sufficient time to bring them all into fruition. I have countless scraps of papers and notes where I have jotted down idea after idea and thought and thought with the intent of someday putting them into a story, a book, and yes, even a novel. Yet, they remain strewn throughout my abode, secured in totes and books and bags and boxes. I am a Writer Hoarder. Is that a thing? Should it be? Let me jot down that idea. See how this happens. Many times I say I am going to get that stuff cleaned out; I am going to get organized and do something with them, but alas, this determination has gone on for years and has not ventured far past the initial thought process. Until now that is. Now I am actually sitting in front of the screen with my fingers lightly dancing clumsily over the keyboard attempting to write something. 

    When there is a deadline for my writing, I find that my words spill out like a steady leak of some sort, drizzling here and there and sending small paths of trickles across some dry areas. Here, now, writing under these conditions, I feel as though I am digging through solid rock, and occasionally I tap into some undiscovered ore and up springs a well of new juice that I have not seen. Okay, I’m here and I’m tap, tap, tap, tapping. Where are you, juice?

      There are decisions to be made when I'm writing. Where to write for one. I am not sure that a local restaurant at midnight on Halloween surrounded by other writers as well as wait staff and those Halloweenies who wander in here and there is the perfect location. Nevertheless, here we are. Typing beside others and candy and mozzarella sticks and coffee and ninjas and goodie bags and such. Listening to a cacophony of dishes from the kitchen, words floating among the tables, and keys being pressed across the room. It’s interesting, but I am still unsure if the muse can truly be heard or even envisioned clearly in this setting. Since we all need a place to start, I suppose this is as good as any. I mean, someone just told me that I’ve started a novel since I have started typing. Really? That’s it? Well, then, there you have it. I’ve started a novel then.

      I was hesitant to begin this book this year because of the time factor. I recently came across a clock at the thrift store that has a face that just has a scrambled mix of numbers at the bottom of it and has the words ‘whatever’ at the top of it. I have seen this clock in magazines previously, but this is the first time I have seen the cheap plastic version in person. I was thrilled to come across it and bought it because it is so a pro pros to my life. I have not put a battery in it yet so I am not even sure that it works, but whether or not it actually tells time, I am delighted to have the item. My life right now feels just like that clock face – whatever.

      Now you might take that last paragraph to mean that I really don’t care or that I am apathetic about certain things. I am often judged critically for the things that come from my mouth or fingertips. I must assure you that I am not apathetic at all. Actually, I care a great deal – deeply. The thing is my plate stays so full these days that I am often stuffed and ready to regurgitate at any given moment. Honestly, it feels like there is an entire smorgasbord on my plate. Not that I am a real organized individual by any means, but I do like routines and I love to plan and I enjoy being on time and I am an A personality type who thrives on a bit of control; however, the last few years have taken me quite by surprise.

     At home, my husband and I have often slept on what we term a "naked" bed, meaning we have not put clean sheets on it after taking them off and throwing them down the laundry shoot. Call it laziness if you want; we refer to it as a domestic adventure. Additionally, my workload is ludicrous. I deal with people and their personal needs all day long. It’s a ministry for the homeless, and although I love it, there is no way to maintain a clear "to do" list when I'm handling the issues of those who are in crisis situations. Constant crisis situations. It's quite interesting what people consider to be important information. For example, I have received a phone call at 3:00 a.m. to inquire if I might know where the new mop head is; meanwhile, I have entered the office in the morning hours to learn that the police had been called the night prior because there was an altercation between a couple of the residents. Everyone prioritizes differently I suppose. I could go on and on about that, but I am sure there will be ample opportunity in this book to recount more of those tales later.

      Right now I am merely relating the time factor to you. Or should I say my lack of time? Or should I clarify the lack of time I think I have to actually complete this book in thirty days? At any rate, the deal is I am busy with work – extremely busy. In addition to the residents that I deal with and the abundance of day-to-day paperwork, meetings, standards, and all the other blah, blah, blah stuff that is included, we are also in the process of trying to clean out a warehouse. Not a neat, organized warehouse, but a hodge podge of donated materials that have taken over many floors of a multi-level building. Added to that is the fact that an enormous raccoon has taken up residence in the warehouse, and so we must contend with the aftermath of that creature’s shenanigans as well. For instance, this past week, I returned to a clean area only to find the remains of Mounds wrappers ferociously ripped apart and scattered about as though some junkie had gotten the late night munchies and went to town with chocolate and coconut leaving the refuse for me to clean up. It was not a pretty sight. And I was not looking forward to encountering some enormous raccoon in the back jacked up on sugar. Thankfully, that didn’t happen … to me. Again, more to come on that animal later.

      It would be great if I could say my job is the only area which is currently out of control and in need of restructuring, but I cannot say that…at least not in good conscience. The truth is my husband and I have been married for 10 years this year – thank you for the congratulations if you felt like pitching any my way. If you knew my bio you would because this is my fourth marriage and 10 years with one man is certainly a milestone for me. Again, this is another story – well, actually, several other stories. I’m sure if you keep reading some of these will be touched on as well. Since I am not writing my memoirs or autobiography here, I am choosing to write from some varied vantage points to make this story more interesting. And because, believe it or not, it is truly how my mind thinks. I am not sure it’s normal thinking, but it is definitely creative thinking. Anyways, our home remains in disarray. Not because we are slobs or nasty folks or anything like that, but because we are rarely home and when we are, domestic cleaning is not on the top of the priority list. Another factor is that I save everything and tend to be a hoarder of sorts, not the gross, dirty dishes for weeks and you could find the buried body of a pet at any moment kind of hoarder, but definitely the ‘oh, let’s keep that and not throw it away’ variety.

      I would be remiss if I didn’t add the fact that my husband and I together share five grown children with significant others and 16 grandchildren who all require some time and attention as well. I am not good with birthdays and such though I do the best I can. As stated earlier, my plate is more than full and I have often said who put all this extra stuff on my plate? It often feels like that, and let me say this from the get go, if I did not have faith in God to keep me going, I certainly wouldn’t keep going. That may be a turn-off for some, but honestly, that relationship is the most important one to me. I don't feel the need to rub it in the reader's face constantly, but I believe it is important enough to note. And I believe God Himself wants us to have some laugh time. Think duckbill platypus. How could someone without a sense of humor come up with that creature? I could name a few others as well, but let me just encourage you to take a good look around you, or perhaps even in the mirror. I think you will witness God's sense of humor as well. 

    Initially, I had convinced myself that I simply wouldn’t have the time to put into attempting to write a book this year. But you know what it is like when you swear off chocolate, and somehow that candy bar, can of frosting, ice cream sandwich, box of cereal or whatever starts calling your name. Loudly and often. It was like that. As I felt the prompting from my inner being to move forward with it and to find the time, make the time, or whatever, I committed myself to begin this adventure of writing on a timeline and creating a novel within the next thirty days. And so it begins. 

    It's important to work, especially if you want to eat and pay bills and buy stuff and all that. I know some people choose not to do it at all, (that might be a different novel), and some people honestly can't really work, but for the majority of us, there is typically something that each of us can do that someone else is willing to pay money to have it done. Should I clarify this since I just spoke with a prostitute yesterday as she purchased a large leather golf bag at the thrift store. I didn't inquire what she was going to do with it. I'm guessing an overnight bag perhaps, with the understanding that her overnight bag may require different items than mine would. 

    Over my nearly 55 years on this earth, I have held many jobs, but not that one. My working career all started when I was a young teenager, and I babysat for family and friends. There was a family up the street with two little boys. They weren't your typical boys with mud pies, rolling cars, and pockets full of items saved from the great outdoors. These young men were stamp collectors and got super excited if I showed up with an envelope that held a stamp from a far away place. I used to look for these things for them, and scored big when I located Roberto Clemente stamps for them. A baseball or fishing lure would have been much easier. I also babysat for my aunt, who was also an Avon representative. Once her children were in bed asleep, I would give myself a facial or dabble in some of the little samples she always had sitting around the house. I was skilled in making up my face like that earlier profession that I mentioned. Although I am a natural brunette (or used to be) with deep, dark brown eyes, I was in love with the blue eye shadow. Now this was many years prior to Mimi from Drew Carey so don't even go there. Whenever my mama would see this display of make-up, she would tell me, "You look like something off of Craghead." I never understood that as a teenager because that street was downtown and part of the shopping district. Later, I learned that it was where the prostitutes used to hang around in my parents' day. Since I have such a love for jewelry and sparkles and lingerie, I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't somehow missed an earlier calling or something. 

    I earned money with the babysitting, which at that time was spent mostly on candy and clothing. Sometimes I would save up for something special, but since I am a thrifter and that started at a very early age, I rarely paid full price for any item. I had an Aunt who taught me early on that I could purchase records at the Goodwill for ten cents when the other stores were selling them for five times the amount of more. These were 45s, those small ones with the large holes that you see plastered on the walls of burger joints nowadays. If you are a thrifter, you know what I'm talking about when I say you get so used to those super cheap prices that you simply cannot bring yourself to pay a full mall price. It has to be a tremendous sale price with coupons, additional perks, and free something to even get me to go to the mall stores. It makes me feel like a hunter of sorts, so if a store sends me a coupon for say, $10.00 off $25.00, then I feel the need to hunt down the best deal I can find in that store in order to use that coupon and get something for a much lesser price. When that happens, I feel like the store actually gave me money. Yes, rarely will I pay full price for anything. I do recall the Linda Ronstadt satin blue skating jacket that I saved for and purchased as a youth. She wore a similar one on her Living in the USA album. It was also a time for roller skating for me as well so Linda and I were quite similar.  I was so excited to get that jacket, and I wore it everywhere, especially the skating rinks for quite some time. It has to be one of the only things that I ever paid full price for in my life!

    Later, I graduated from high school early and went to work to earn some money for a car and for college. Since my daddy was a top manager at the local cotton mill, I thought for sure that he would help me get a great job. Things didn't go exactly as I had thought they would. I wound up getting a job as a weaver, working third shift, and although I was able to go to work with my mama, we worked in different buildings and I was nowhere near the amazing weaver that she was. Every night I went in dreading the hours to follow, and every morning I exited the building with tears in my eyes wanting to be delivered from this terrible nightmare. The factory was dreadfully hot and we had to wear clothing that covered us for safety purposes. The noises were so loud that we had to wear ear plugs, and the fibers from the fabrics were so strong that we had to have both hearing and breathing tests on a regular basis. The floors would shake uncontrollably due to the movement of the looms. I operated about 70 of them, and it was a production job, which meant on the nights when the looms ran easily, there was great money to be made. However, on the nights when the jobs ran poorly, and I spent the night running my butt off, I made squat because my production was down.

    One of the most troubling things for me were the mice. There were mice everywhere, and they had all their little mice residences under the looms. The people working there were so used to having the mice come up to them while working that they would feed the little critters. And the rodents had become so accustomed to the employees feeding them that the little creatures would come out from under the looms and just stand there in the aisle looking at me waiting to see what wonderful treat I would bestow on them. Though I worked in the mill for a couple times in my life, I never got used to the little mice and their antics. Perhaps that is why I am a cat person these days -- they kill mice. 

    The mill was a strong employment source in the community, and many families were connected to it in some way, either through a family member, or a friend or a neighbor who was affiliated with the mill. The mill was torn down a few years ago, and it was like losing a friend of the family. I was able to get a couple of bricks from the demolition from some family members who still live in the area. 

    When I went away to college, I was able to get a job cleaning the bathrooms late at night after the other students had gone to bed. It was part of the work study program, and I met some great people there. It was one of the most humbling experiences in my life.

Then throughout my life, I had a variety of occupations...

Olan Mills Sales Person (As told from the telephone's perspective) She was amazing from the moment when she walked into my life. From the first time that she held me in her soft hands, I knew I would want to stay with her forever. Her first words ran over me like a refreshing water fall in a barren land. She was smooth all over, and she knew exactly how to execute herself at the perfect moment to achieve the desired results. Those who had the pleasure of being on the other end of her sweet voice would respond like they had been transported to another dimension when she offered them package option after option. They typically gave in immediately. She had a way with those she contacted. Never before and never since has there been a special telemarketer like her. 

(My Take) Reading from a script was boring to me. Once I got the information down pat, I ad-libbed mostly every conversation. I even trained others. Thank God I had a knack for talking on the phone, and the fact that my voice sounded like one of those women from the late night 1-900 numbers didn't hurt one bit either. I can't tell you how many men wanted to give me their numbers and more over the phone. They constantly wanted to know what I was wearing. I would turn their little fantasy around on them by getting them to talk about what they would wear in their photos. Sure, I would get a weirdo here and there, but for the most part they were very nice people. I could hold my own with all kinds. It just goes to show you what great imaginations people have when you start to talk to them over the phone. I had far more success with my male phone calls than the female ones, which was highly unusual in this business. It was a fun job, but I was glad to move on to something else when it had run its course. 

Country House Restaurant (From the cook's perspective) What a cute little waitress, barely in her twenties and with a young baby. She walked to work every afternoon and worked the dinner shift with ease. At first, she was a little nervous about waiting tables, but she gained her experience quickly and was soon confident in her abilities with the customers. I remember one specific evening when I had just told her that we had sold the last special. She had put in one of the last orders of it herself. We were busy, and she and Lisa were covering all the tables. There were quite a few of them. I saw the waitresses picking up orders and adding new ones as quickly as I could get them cooked and set up for them. "Last of the specials," I yelled again. I thought they all got it. A little while later I had an extra steak sitting in front of me and called for a pick up. I saw her grab it and went about my business. It wasn't until a little later when Lisa was asking "hey, where's my steak?" and I had an extra special sitting in front of me. It was one of the funniest moments in my cooking career. 

(My Take) I enjoyed the little restaurant, but I don't think waitressing was ever really my thing. It was at that job that I met a woman who would split up a regular size candy bar to eat over three days. This was an amazing feat to me! I mean, who does that? I had never seen it done in my life until her -- and honestly, I have never seen it done again since that time. She would take a candy bar and cut it into thirds, eat one-third and save the other two-thirds for the following two days. I watched in disbelief, but it was true for this lady. I was so embarrassed the night I gave my customer the wrong dinner. It was so bizarre that I didn't even really realize it until he had almost eaten the entire meal. Maybe I should have lowered my own sugar intake that day. Thankfully, my customer had a good sense of humor and was a forgiving soul. He still gave me a tip that night too. 

Thrift Store Cashier (As told by the cash register) It's annoying. Press. Press. Press. Then ignore for a while. Then more pressing. Along with the pressing, there's the poking and ripping and pushing. It goes on all day. Day after day. I ring to tell her to stop, and she will for a while. But then as someone stands in front of her, she begins tapping me all over again. Pushing my buttons. That's what she does. Day in. Day out. And then in walks Mr. Lee and everything changes. He brings her a flower or a card or some candy or something. Yesterday was truly absurd. He brought her a kitten. I think she named him Buford. I have no idea what is going on with this couple, but Mr. Lee did turn last week and run right into a pole, almost knocking himself out. I watched that relationship from the very beginning, straight through to her day of delivery

(My Take) I didn't mind working in the thrift store, but I never really saw it as a lifelong career. There was this one woman who threw curtains in my face one day. I mean, really? Just because I said they were six dollars, which I don't believe is outrageous for a nice pair of drapes. She hurled them at me, and they wrapped around my neck like enormous scarves. I laughed as I unraveled the draping. Her daughter was standing there staring and instantly became angry as she retorted, "I don't see anything funny!" Without much thought, I simply said, "Well, I certainly do -- does your mother act like that in every store?" (And score!) They both got mad and left the store. Okay, so maybe I wasn't meant for that thrift store. But then in walked Mr. Lee with his giant smile and boyish grin, and crater like dimples and all that. He would flirt with me...mercilessly. He was always goofy but sweet. From a soda to a date to more, we ended up married and with a baby in no time at all, and it all began at that thrift store. I guess I could say I get a real bargain.   

Sorter (As told by the hole in the middle where the clothes go through it) Whoosh! There goes another one. They've been throwing things down me all day long. I see the stains, the tears, and the old fashioned materials, but every once in a while something really interesting slips through. Like the day a snake came through -- okay, so it wasn't the most interesting, but I can tell you that it go those ladies upstairs really moving and yelling. It was funny to hear the shrieks and screams as the slithering reptile plopped into the mound of clothing and scurried into the pile. Next was the bailer who came over immediately with a shovel to ensure the animal would make it no further. 

(My Take) Sorting was always an interesting task. I still like to do it on occasion. You never know what you will find. It can be like opening gifts every day. I prefer when the donations are good, nice and clean. Most of the times they are, but there are those moments when, for whatever reason, something bizarre shows up. Likewise, odd things can happen when you are sorting, especially after hours. One night while many of us were standing around going through numerous boxes and bags, someone noticed some water dripping down one of the pipes nearby. The more we looked, the more we noticed that there was water running down several pipes. A couple people ran outside to look at the building and saw smoke coming out a window on an upstairs floor. We called the fire department. Sure enough, there was a fire, and the water was from the sprinkler system. Everything became exciting then. One of the things that had been donated recently included large rolls of carpet. Someone from the building tried to lead the firemen through, but they said no so he stood by helplessly as fireman after fireman fell over the rolls. It was a funny sight, but one that was unavoidable due to the circumstances and safety restrictions. Thankfully, they put out the fire and no one was injured. 

Department Store Associate (As told by the mall floor) Every day she walks all over me. Click. Click. Click. Wish I could tell her that these cute little ankle straps and stilettos will one day cause her feet to be in trouble. Sure, they look hot now, and she bounces up and down the mall in them as though she has someplace very important in which to be. Even though I know these shoes are detrimental to her health, I enjoy watching her hurry in and out of the stores so that she doesn't miss any great sales during her lunch break. She's a trooper, and she has a determination that's unstoppable. What a cutie! I think the French guy from the restaurant next door thinks so too. 

(My Take) This job was really interesting to me, and one of my most favorites. I met Donnie Osmond, Julie Andrews and Burt Reynolds while working at it. Not only did I enjoy my work operating the register, maintaining the sales floor and helping with displays, but at the time I loved the mall. No, I really mean, I LOVED THE MALL! If I could have lived in it, I would have without a doubt. At lunch time, when I wasn't enjoying a bowl of French onion soup with Pierre from the cafe next door, I would shop up and down its array of stores. It was here at the Sanrio Store that my original Hello Kitty collection began. And Nine West shoes were my choice of the day. If someone wanted to torture me today, all they would have to do is try to squeeze my current feet into those shoes now. This may have been where my collection of foot problems began as well, now that I think about it. 

Children's Shop (As told from the Jewish lady store owner) I am thrilled to have hired her. She catches on quickly, and she has learned how to set the pricing and keep this store going. I don't understand that other one though. I believe that I made a mistake there. They get along well, and that's a good thing. How else could I run my business? This one, she has an eye for the display. I can trust her to set the window displays so that they will catch the eye of those passing by our shop and they will come in to see something up close. I have watched her do her work; she is very attentive to every single detail. 

(MyTake) I worked with Debbie there, and one Halloween she borrowed my Cinderella shoes. I called them my Cinderella shoes because they were vintage acrylic with rhinestones in the heels and across the top of the shoes. They were great. With some hesitation, I loaned them to this coworker chick Debbie to wear to a party. Well, the party came and went, and Debbie returned to work without the shoes. Then my training in badgering began. After a week or so, I began asking her about the shoes. She would offer one lame excuse after another. "I forgot," was the most used one. Then I started putting the muscle on her. "Bring them in or I'll tell Mrs. K. that you took more than an hour for lunch every day this week!" The next day she showed up with...one shoe! "I can't find the other one," she explained. I was so angry, but what can you do when someone loses one shoe? I suppose at the time a small part of me was just a teeny bit jealous (remember I was young then), because I had never been to a party where I could lose one shoe. How Cinderella-ish! Well, not really. I never got the other shoe back, but I learned a valuable lesson about not loaning things unless you were truly willing to part with them forever. 

English Tutor (As told from one of the tables) They sit here every day going over tests and papers and homework. In the midst of the work, there is some play. It's a pleasant environment for the most part, with very few problems ever. She is intense, and when she is at work she is focused. My only complaint is the constant snacking. This girl loves to eat! And her diet is something that deserves its own study. Chips, cookies, pickles, some kind of wrap thing, candy pieces, frozen chai tea, leftovers from a variety of restaurants, and on and on it goes. I've seen her have a complete breakfast of Captain Crunch and Mountain Dew. Now that can't be normal. But she seems happy and healthy whatever she is munching on here. I really enjoy the outfits she dons to come in here. It is fun to watch. I overheard one of the other tutors refer to her as the "naughty librarian," though she has never used my table top for anything other than work and her food crumbs. There was this one time when she and a fellow tutor were sharing some Kurt Vonnegut books, and going back and forth about the material and writing. I may have seen them put a few notes in their mailboxes at the front of the room. Mailbox, do you care to chime in on this one? 

(The mailbox responds.) Well, I am not really one to gossip, and as a mailbox, I have some code of ethics to adhere to as well. But I will say this, those two developed a relationship through books and sharing reading materials like no other. They connected, bonded and created back and forth, back and forth. With no moral judgement, I would like to go on record as upholding their literary union as one of the finest I have ever witnessed in the halls of academia. That is all. 

(Again from the table) Well, there you have it. Guess we don't kiss and tell. Hopefully, somewhere down the road, it will get written. Who knows? 

(My Take) This job has been and still is the catalyst for volumes of writing -- prose, poetry, stories, cartoons, taglines, essays and more. I met one of the best friends of my life here, and I fell in love here -- deeply. I enjoyed this job in so many ways, and it taught me so much. I met tons of interesting people, and I had so many wonderful times that created great memories that are stored for a lifetime. Sometimes you can get so engrossed in a book, you may actually lose yourself in its characters and find that you are living out the story that is written or rewriting it as you go about your own life. It was that kind of thing. 

Library Assistant (As told from the archived books) She wanders around us like she's in a candy store shopping for the perfect treat. Has she touched every one of us? It seems almost so. And what is that list that she continues to keep with her? Is she taking notes? What notes? Have you noticed the way she looks at that guy she works with here? We aren't quite sure if she's here for him or for us. She will actually have one published here herself one day. She doesn't even know it. 

(My Take) I don't think that I could ever tire of books, or of working around them. As a little girl, my parents would not lose me in the toy department, but rather in the stationary supplies because I was always so fascinated with the pens, pencils and papers. In the library, I felt I was in another world, or rather other worlds. It felt right. It felt complete. I always felt at home in that atmosphere and I could spend so much time there and never want to leave. To me, it was a dream job. 

Book Cataloguer (As told from a neighboring employee) My job had become boring when she showed up here. She came at just the right time. A motorcycle injury had costs me my leg. It was horrific. I had settled into a rut in my life, and then she was placed in the desk next to mine. I'll never forget that first conversation. It was about a toilet. Her ex just showed up that day at work with a blue toilet seat and plopped it on her desk. "I thought you'd like to have this," he said, not in a mean, vindictive way, but really in a sweet, thoughtful way. They carried on a brief conversation, and I tried not to eavesdrop on them, but I unintentionally overheard a few words here and there. Words like sorry; I know; and me too. It seemed bittersweet. When he left, I will never forget how she turned to me, placing her smiling face in that blue orb and saying, "It's a crappy divorce, but I'm getting this." We laughed and laughed, and for a minute I forgot that I had recently lost my leg. That was just the beginning of a delightful work relationship that only Ricky Martin could have accurately expressed in "Living La Vida Loca." We were cataloging books for the Library of Congress and other libraries across the United States and we would listen to music. The books were sometimes stored in huge rolling carts, and whenever that Ricky Martin song would come on, she would get up and dance with her cart of books. For her, it was a stress reliever and a way for her to step away from all the computer work for a few minutes. For me, it was a total escape into a world that was free and happy. 

(My Take) Again, there was indescribable joy for me to work around books. But in this job, I could isolate with them, or I could socialize with those coworkers next to me. Most days I socialized a bit, but I have to say that for me it was nice to have those times when I could just disappear into whatever skid of books I had around me. I loved looking at the titles and reading about them briefly, perusing their illustrations and completing the information needed for the library of congress. It was interesting and fun. And my neighboring workers were helpful to me. We made the workplace fun together. The problem came when the work was slow and then would suddenly pick up in madness. It became a feast or famine situation, and I had great difficulty adjusting to the instability of it all. 

Marketing and Advertising Proofreader, Copywriter and Account Manager (As told from another copywriter) I'm not sure what I would have done if we had not been placed together to work on projects. At first, everything was great, and we were getting to know one another through lunches together at a variety of local restaurants. Then, right away my life took an unexpected turn, and she was my anchor to help hold it together. My husband began having an affair, and she was the person I could turn to in those times of insecurity and feelings of loss. To help pull me through, she became both my prayer and party partner. Some might disagree with this approach, but at the time it's what worked. I needed the solid stable force of the prayers, and I would often call her when the pressure just became too much for me, and I needed a shoulder to cry on for a while. It was often in the wee hours of the night. I believe that everyone needs someone that they can call in the wee hours. If you have that, you have a true treasure. If you don't have one friend like that, I recommend that you get one. I know, it's easier said than done. There aren't any sections like that in the yellow pages, and there's no Dial-a-Midnight-Friend line that I know. I don't even want to speculate on what may be on the internet if you were to look for after-hours kinds of friends. I am not talking about something like that at all. I am talking about a person you can trust with your emotions when you just need to release them, no matter what time it is. Anyway, she was that person for me. It was a rough time in so many ways. Our jobs were driven by deadlines and high volume workloads so to relax, we would go out dancing and have a great time. It was fun, and really helped me to let go of the pain that I was dealing with as my marriage fell apart. Our relationship and all its components helped me get through one of the most difficult periods in my life. I am thankful that we were placed in that office work space together. 

(My Take) I took this job to find some real stability for my daughter and me. We had been living with my parents for a while and I wanted to get us into our own place. I needed more income, and this job provided it. When the owners gave me their offer, I cried because I knew that my dream would become a reality. It was a fast-paced, creative environment, and I thrived in it. I also met a special BFF at this job, if I can say such a thing exists. It was destiny in so many ways. I had sent in a resume in response to a local ad but didn't hear anything from them (they had actually hired the woman who would be my BFF instead). I called them out of the blue, and they said something else had just opened up that might be good for me -- it was great for me! And that's how it happened. What a great time I had there, and what wonderful people I met. Some lifelong friends!

Communications Manager (As told from a band) The gal worked upstairs, away from the auditorium where we were setting up, yet she came down during her lunch to watch us practice. She asked permission, and we approved it. She sat in the middle of the seventh row, eagerly watching and listening to all the trial runs. She knew we would be playing, and she wore her cowgirl boots and special little outfit for the occasion. We thought she was just one more adoring fan, but the truth was she was a wallflower trying to bloom in the shade. She actually enjoyed the music, the presence, the quiet time to herself, and the off-the-road experience her job afforded her when she took opportunities like this. It was interesting to watch because she was transported from her life even during our set-up. I don't think she would have enjoyed the actual concert as much as she enjoyed this little individual concert, lighting directions, sound checks and all.

(My Take) I loved working at this job. Not only did I have some amazing managers and coworkers, but our offices were located in a building where bands and other groups played so that when there was a concert, we could sometimes catch some of the practice and set-up sessions. Well, actually, I was typically the only one who desired to do this. I did get in a wee bit of trouble for planning my outfit to match the concert of the day. I was reprimanded for it gently. It was a great perk to me while we were in the same building. Eventually, the offices were moved to another downtown location, and the free mini-concerts became a thing of the past. 

Homeless Shelter Overseer (As told from Homey the Homeless Cat) It was cold -- oh, so cold outside. Someone dropped me at the door of the shelter. I knew it wasn't an animal shelter, but a shelter for homeless men. She saw me first and took pity on me. I could tell she was an animal lover, and really had an affection for cats. You can tell that right off the bat, especially when they plead with you to come closer to them. I hesitantly allowed them to feed me because I was very hungry. They were very kind to me for the most part. Many of the men would bring me leftovers from the kitchen. I had chicken -- lots of chicken. The chicken was good, but it was freezing cold. Someone fixed up a box with a blanket in it on the front porch. It was comfy, and I was thankful but the wind continued to blow. A few days later, they bought me a litter box, filled it with kitty litter, and invited me inside the building. I was nervous at first...very nervous. But a few of the men continued to coax me out from under the bed so they could pet me. Gradually I warmed up to them and became quite friendly with them. I was making friends with a crazy squirrel out back as well. We harassed each other mercilessly. The men called me "Homey" the homeless cat, and they would allow me to sleep on their beds randomly. I was building a home for myself. Then something terrible happened. Someone took a shot at me, and got me in the eye. I ended up losing that eye completely. Some of the men felt awful about it, but she was a complete mess over it. She thought it would be best for me to relocate. I know it was for safety reasons, so I really didn't take it personally. A really sweet family adopted me and took me with them to the upper side of town, where the wealthier people reside. It was nice. Fancy Feast and all that, but something was missing. I missed those homeless dudes. Let's face it; I was Homey, not Blackie or Ebony or Midnight or Onyx. Nothing else fit. I left the upper side and headed back to the shelter on my own. She was shocked when I showed up at the door again, but she cuddled me and welcomed me back, one eye and all, so I knew this was the place where I was loved, even if there were challenges involved in acquiring that love. I chose to take the risks and spent my entire life at the homeless shelter. 

(My Take) Although I placed this book in the humor genre, there are various kinds of smirks, smiles, giggles, guffaws, and laughters involved in humor. Homey's demise is not funny in anyway because the cat was hit by a car one day and died. What will bring a ray of warmth to you readers is the fact that when we had a memorial ceremony and burial for this little furry creature, several grown homeless men teary eyed and mournful, stood around a dug corner of the lot as we spoke kind words and said good-bye to our dear Homey. It was a special moment, and though she is gone now, her memory always brings a smile.

     Working in a job is indeed necessary, and I can tell you that no matter what kind of job you may have or where it is located or even how much you get paid to do it -- every single job gives you one thing -- EXPERIENCE! Not just work experience, but also life experience. And for that reason and others, we go to work...and we stay there!