By the Way...
Prospective Strand applicants:
On the job application you are given, there is a ten question match-the-author-to-the-book mini-test on the back.
FYI, the answer to every question is Jean-Paul Sartre. I believe that this is the only author Nancy has actually ever heard of, and that she frequently drops his name around the office* in a vain attempt to garner credibility for herself. Mention his name liberally in your interview.
*[e.g., "No-no-no-NO, you IDIOT, I don't want those expense reports now, I want them nine fucking minutes ago! Hey look, there goes Jean-Paul Sartre."]
On the job application you are given, there is a ten question match-the-author-to-the-book mini-test on the back.
FYI, the answer to every question is Jean-Paul Sartre. I believe that this is the only author Nancy has actually ever heard of, and that she frequently drops his name around the office* in a vain attempt to garner credibility for herself. Mention his name liberally in your interview.
*[e.g., "No-no-no-NO, you IDIOT, I don't want those expense reports now, I want them nine fucking minutes ago! Hey look, there goes Jean-Paul Sartre."]
posted by K-Smack at 7:34 am
8 Comments:
My favorite (old) Strand employee story: Second floor workers so fucked on heroin that they would stand trying to shelve the same book all day. Ah the old days. Keep up the hatred of Nancy.
As a former employee of the RBR (please stop hating us; we don't get paid more, we just don't get rickets from lack of sunlight), I once watched Nancy playing flirty, giggly tag with prospective buyer of leather books. I immediately set myself on fire. Also, I defy you to keep a straight face when she bursts into the room and, without preface, announces "I need 9 feet of leather!"
Well, I Hate Strand blogger, you got referenced on gawker.com. Now the entire NYC blogosphere knows of our exploits around 828 Broadway. A+ effort.
I really wish I knew who the hell you are because I would like to buy you a drink and shake your hand! This blog was a brilliant idea, just brilliant! Keep up the good work.
As a four-year inmate of that literary salt mine (early Nineties), I say: "The Old Days were worse!"
Keep the hate alive. There is life after the Strand; even though it is undoubtedly New York City's premiere cesspool of lost bohemian souls. (Tower Records and Pearl Paint being the runners-up)
hahha. you're so wack. haha. found your blog also through gawker. Interestingly, I went there for the first time a week ago--workers seemed...well-fed.. hahaha. well, they were cute anyway.
During my interview with Nancy in her hot/cozy little office, she definetely demonstrated the tell-tale signs of a severe qualude addiction: languid hand motioning, rocking of the head, paroxysm, vomiting into a small paper cup, incontinance, slurring of speech, inappropriate come-ons/groping, tongue kissing an antique cat manaquin, clinical depression, etc. By the end I was offered not only a place at Strand but 'the best fucking hand-job [I'd] ever fucking have you slurping little piece a cassghhg [sic]. Not bad. She also has a queer faint hot-doggish smell about her.
"During my interview with Nancy in her hot/cozy little office, she definetely demonstrated the tell-tale signs of a severe qualude addiction. . . ."
That's fucking funny.
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