Olivia's Go-To Shop Guide

I have been on the island for officially one month and one day, and the weeks are finally beginning to pass in a timely manner. I'm getting more comfortable in the shop, which basically means that I no longer stiffen in pre-death rigor mortis when the phone rings. It is still an unpleasant experience, answering the telephone, but so is failing to locate raisins for an entire month in the grocery store.

I would just like to take this opportunity to answer some FAQs in the shop, just in case my wide readership (and by wide readership, I mean, of course, my parents) shares any of the customers' confusion:
1) No, I am not the artist.
2) No, I am not an artist.
3) There are 14 artists. Yes, similar to a co-op. No, we are not a co-op.
4. No, we do not bring the pots inside at the end of the day.
5) Yes, there is a lot to look at.
6) The bathroom is the blue door on your left.
7) That cat is Duke.
8) That cat is Max.

9) Yes, we ship! (as indicated by the approximately 13 signs posted in all three buildings that state in all caps, "YES, WE SHIP!").
10) The "Okay to exit here" sign on the sliding glass door does indeed mean that it is okay to exit there.
11) I did not do anything with the sun.
12) I am not the Olivia who just graduated from Orcas High. I am, in fact, 22 years of age. Thank you for insinuating that I barely look like I've entered puberty.
13) Yes, I went to the University of Puget Sound. I don't just wear the sweatshirt for kicks.
14) I'm reading ____. Yes, it's a good book.

15) No, I am not part of the family.
16) No, I did not find the job on Craig's List.
17) Syd is up at the house. Would you like the number there?
18) We do not give military discounts.
19) We do not give senior discounts.
20) We do not give student discounts.
21) You do not get one place setting free if you buy ten.
22) I majored in English.
23) Photojournalism or travel writing.

24) Thank you?
25) Yes, the cat is allowed inside.
26) Yes, he is friendly.
27) No, the heat is in fact not on. You're experiencing what is often called a HOT FLASH. I should not be the one telling you this.
28) Good question.
29) I have no idea.
30) Because I'm just here for the summer.
31) Yes, we are hidden.
32) No, there is only one way out.

33) Right, left, veer right.
34) Yes, you can set your bowl on the table.
35) The price is on the bottom.
36) The price is on the back.
37) Yes, I can take your trash.
38) No, but my mother is.
39) Yes, I'm left-handed.
40) In fact I did know that about left-handed people.
41) You don't say.

42) I minored in Gender Studies.
43) The study of genders.
44) It's complicated.
45) I did not price that vase.
46) 5:00.
47) No.
48) Yes.
49) Sometimes.
50) That artist does not make small frog figurines.
51) That is not rhubarb.

52) Penny Sharp.
53) Ryan Lawless.
54) Matt Haeuser.
55) Levi Vincent.
56) Great. How are you?
57) You're a long way from home.
58) Yes, I will pack this really really really well.
59) UPS Ground.
60) Seven to ten business days.

I could go on, but I'm figuring that at this point I've lost the few readers I had managed to engage in the first place. I'll instead post several more photos from the Eastsound Summer Solstice Parade this afternoon, which was quite possibly the most adorable shindig south of the Canadian border.

In addition to being the much-anticipated parade day, today was also the Anniversary Sale at Island Hardware & Supply. If that sounds like the must-see event of the century, that's because it was. Twenty percent off all merchandise. Breakfast until noon. Barbecued hot dogs for lunch. Crafts for the kids. In case you missed it in the first line of this paragraph, we're talking about a hardware store. A lumber yard. It was like a freaking state fair. Cars parked along both sides of the street. Elderly people emerging from SUVs jutting halfway into the road. I half expected a policeman to show up to direct traffic, but after giving it some thought I don't think there are any policemen on this island.

On my ride back from town this afternoon, while blasting Journey's "Be Good to Yourself" and coasting down Ye Olde Death Hill on West Beach Road, I saw a vulture pecking at the stomach of a dead deer on the side of the road. Appropriately, it was right next to the cemetery.

I have developed a severe distaste for the following: the response "It's not your fault" when someone apologizes for someone else's misfortune; James Blunt; the answering machine for Eastsound's Aeronautical Services/UPS; CBC Radio.

I have more photographs, but unfortunately it is almost midnight and I have run out of witty comments. Perhaps a little Dave Eggers before bed. Or maybe I'll just turn off the light, close my eyes, and fall asleep pondering the wide variety of comments and questions that await me at work tomorrow. ("Why yes, it appears that that blade of grass is longer than the others." "Amoeba are really asexual, huh?" "Yes, my hair is naturally curly.")

Goodnight, world.

I'm Sorry...What?!

Pottery shops can get a bit tedious before tourist season starts. Here are my favorite snippets of conversations on which I have taken the liberty of eavesdropping. Little did they know that I'm notorious for remembering everything. You're welcome.

"Uh-oh. Quick, burn Marcy's wallet!"
"There's flying weird nude ladies!" (I'll let it slide that he spoke with improper grammar).
(Upon seeing several ceramic hermit crabs scattered throughout the garden): "Look, Lou! Grow your own crabs!"
"This is cute! A line of fish women! That's what we need, Sue."
"She didn't even know berry bowls existed and then she found the one of her dreams!"

And here's my personal favorite (which I don't anticipate ever being topped):
(Woman bolting in through the front door and up to the desk): "I need Nature's facility. Where is Nature's facility?" -coming out of Nature's facility- "Thank you so much! That came without warning."

In other news: RAIN. I have never in my life experienced this much wetness all day, all night, every day, every night. And I've seen a lot of rain in my 22 years. I've never really understood S.A.D. because I've come to know rain as a part of me--as inevitable as hunger. Here, it's splitting me apart, seeping into my skull, eroding fissures and canyons in my morale. I go to sleep at night whispering "Please don't rain, please don't rain," and wake up hours later to a cacophony of drops so deafening against the canvas roof that I never really fall back asleep. Walking gingerly across the grass feels like I'm pouncing on a giant wet sponge. Because the soggy wood of my deck is ice-slick, slugs manage to cross it faster than I do. Even the frogs, with their incredible synchronized acoustics, sound vaguely like they're drowning. More often than not, the sky and the water are the exact same shade of empty grey.

There's a distinct possibility that I might be losing my mind.