duck-shaped pain

Then again, it might not have been the pesto that was bad; it might have been the entire experience. Bad service, horrible calamari, and scowly sulky waitresses who look like they never actually eat, and seem generally disgusted with the entire concept of food.

Tonight's pesto made up for all that. It's the reason I've been growing basil all summer, and I finally had enough around to make pesto without completely stripping the poor plants.

I wasn't entirely sure I was going to make pesto when I got home -- I was sort of exhausted. But all the other food options required ketchup, and we had none. That eliminated about three of my four food choices. I hadn't realized I lead such a ketchup-centered life.

Today was the first day at the appliance store, and it was much easier than I imagined, since my basic role was to answer the phone when everyone else was otherwise occupied.

New Life Skills I learned today:

• How to order parts

• Where the games are hidden on the shop computer

• Where to file the part catalog microfiche

• What the hell a canner burner is [1

• What pieces of crap Kennmores are

I spent a lot of time reading, but not reading any of the books I brought. I had a hard time concentrating on real books -- too many flickering light bulbs, phones ringing, washers making noise -- so I read some of my aunt's enormous stack of magazines and catalogs.

My aunt gets every catalog known to mankind, all of which get sent to the shop. I looked through video catalogs, clothing catalogs, too-cute tchotchke catalogs (anyone need a string holder shaped like a cat butt?), etc. etc.

The woman who owns the Asian grocery next door to them (yes, this is the woman who thinks Pocky is "creepy") brings lots of magazines over to the shop. C. is friends with some woman who, in a desperate yearly quest to win the Publishers' Clearing House sweepstakes, subscribes to every magazine on Earth. She never reads them, just gives them to C. Some of them manage to make their way over to my aunt's shop without having the wrapper taken off of them.

Many of these are magazines I never read. But I got to spend some reminding myself why I am never tempted to read People or Family Circle. Bleah.

The back of the shop, where my temporary desk is, is a nice place to get writing done. I managed to write 15 pages in my paper journal, something which I haven't done in a long time. I also wrote down some ideas for short stories, including one about a man who becomes intensely emotionally attached to his town's municipal dirt pile.

The woman who usually works for my aunt went on a cruise this week, which is why I was there. I haven't met her that many times, but from sitting at her desk for a few hours, I now know that she hoards pens, collects lint balls on which she draws little smiley faces, and also has a serious Avon addiction to overcome.