I often walk by this used-book store and it makes me cringe:
People say it’s a great shop but I can’t get past the disorganization. If I’m looking for Atwood, I want to go straight to Atwood, and not have to sift through Brown or Roberts.
I’ve always thought owning a used-book shop would be a great way to earn a living. My dream version of this life is a tidy little shop, just down the street from my house, stocked with all of my favourite titles. I sit in a comfy chair behind the counter, reading and sipping coffee all day, chatting to my well-read, affable customers. The likely reality is me, chained to my shop 10 hours a day, 6 days a week (because I can’t afford to hire anyone), chasing away the Queen Street crazies and helping customers find the Stephen King, after which they try to haggle me down to 10 dollars for three books (if they bother to buy anything at all).
Here are a few more of my dream jobs, which in reality, are probably not very dreamy:
Occupation: Chief Wine Taster for the LCBO
The Dream: Jetting off to the South of France to swirl and sip all day long and be bribed with crates of free vintages.
The Reality: AA meetings. Lots of them.
Occupation: Owner of Beachside Bar in Mexico
The Dream: Flipping martini shakers a la Tom Cruise in Cocktail, sporting an awesome tan.
The Reality: Horny drunken frats boys pinching my ass (um…maybe that should be under Dream).
The Dream: Accepting my Giller prize, dining with Atwood in Toronto, then jetting off to my island retreat to work on the next great novel in peace.
The Reality: Hmm…maybe one day I’ll give it a shot and find out for myself.
What are your dream jobs?
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Labels: flotsam and jetsam