Early start at the store today, this being “the flip,” when the old sale sails and the new one comes into port, flying its little flags of thriftiness, if not convenience. I’ve never been absolutely clear on who makes the decisions about what products to discount, or why they so often settle on items that have been out-of-stock for weeks on end. I imagine those boxes are checked four or six months in advance of the actual event; who could reliably know what brand of mustard or artichoke hearts, intended to gladden the hearts of the parsimonious, will be languishing in the hold of a container ship stuck in Genoa (or, worse, Zurich) owing to job action by stevedores or tugboat operators? Commerce is a gamble, like everything else. I was thrilled to discover that vested in me, in my capacity as a newly-minted dry goods buyer, is the power to make discretionary intramural choices about price markdowns. Every Sunday, with Wednesday in view, I decide what we have too much of, what must endure the indignity of the markdown, of being put out to pasture. Mostly, I take this as an opportunity to wipe clean my own slate, to erase the tangible, visible record of my miscalculations and outright stupid mistakes. When a buyer errs the result is either an empty space — for instance, don’t come looking for the smaller jar of Lisc dill pickles this week, I somehow overlooked what I later saw to be an impending vacancy and the vendor only delivers on Tuesday, no exception, if you call and plead they will, literally, and I know what “literally” mean, laugh at you; or else you end up — and this is worse, because it takes longer to repair — with shelves that groan under the weight of unwarranted excess: a sale in the making. I won’t trouble you with the sorry excuses — ex-SKU-ses— that landed the store, owing to my negligence, with 5 dozen vials of really, really dear truffle oil, which might have moved one or two units over the course of any give week. However, I can tell you that if ever you wanted to acquire such a commodity, and flavour the purchase with the earthy taste of victory, of knowing it’s being sold at an actual loss — it’s still a long way from cheap — you have at least another seven days to profit at “our” expense. Dabbed behind the ears it has a pheromonal effect that is nonpareil. Suitors will come snuffling after you, like randy pigs.
Bill, this is my favorite entry yet. Thank you for your early morning companionship on these daily diversions. And yes, I couldn't agree more about the deep satisfactions of audio editing (literally!)
What a true observation that our memory of the sequence of events in our lives is so frequently wrong. I expect we edit to accord with our internal sense of what makes most narrative sense.
I was also intrigued that she went to Joe P.'s in the belief she had the flu and might spread it to him and his friends. One mustn't be a presentist, but after Covid days it's shocking how common that used to be (and perhaps still is).
The diaries. That's truly upsetting. I expect it's something that would have had to happen then, given how little interest there seems to be in her centenary, apart from your glorious journal and proslytizing.
Grief, Memory, Three O'Clock in the Morning: My Mavis Gallant Centennial Diary, July 6
Bill, this is my favorite entry yet. Thank you for your early morning companionship on these daily diversions. And yes, I couldn't agree more about the deep satisfactions of audio editing (literally!)
What a true observation that our memory of the sequence of events in our lives is so frequently wrong. I expect we edit to accord with our internal sense of what makes most narrative sense.
I was also intrigued that she went to Joe P.'s in the belief she had the flu and might spread it to him and his friends. One mustn't be a presentist, but after Covid days it's shocking how common that used to be (and perhaps still is).
The diaries. That's truly upsetting. I expect it's something that would have had to happen then, given how little interest there seems to be in her centenary, apart from your glorious journal and proslytizing.
My fave too . . .