It's not very long before Jay begins to come in on days other than Saturday, too. Tim can't blame him, in all honesty - there are a hell of a lot of books. He's glad it's not his job, sometimes. Looking them up, valuing them, sorting out the modern stuff from the older stuff... It must take a long time. Jay seems like a patient guy, though. Soon, he begins to clock in every Thursday morning as well as every Saturday, and Tim doesn't think he's ever seen Dot so pleased.
Unfortunately, Lorna is in on Thursdays, too.
Tim's not really sure where he and Lorna stand. She's the textiles girl, the one who sorts out the linens, the member of staff who has the knowledge and passion for music to be able to sift through all of the musty old records in the back room. She's also got a bit of a mean streak, and has done nothing but mercilessly tease Jay since he started working on a Thursday. Tim and Lorna have a love/hate relationship going on, in a way; they do get along sometimes, and will mostly help the other with whatever their shop-related task is, but damn, can they be bitchy towards each other. It's not like he's scared of her - it's hard to be intimidated by a 5'5" twenty-something who plays bass for an indie Crowded House wannabe group. But she's not scared of Tim, either, which is actually a nice change from the fear and pity he usually evokes in other locals. So they have a mutual respect of each other, in loose terms... A respect that they continue to push the boundaries of.
"Oi, come help me lift this box," she yells, clear across the shop floor. Tim rolls his eyes, and makes his way over.
"Shut it, Lorna. You're scaring off customers," he deadpans, trudging to the crate she's pointing to. It's full of dusty old CDs... gross.
"Whatever, Tim. We all know it's your messed up face that keeps the business away," she smirks. She doesn't lift a hand to help him. Oh, no. She's content to stand back, cross her arms, and watch him struggle.
"Go and do some work. What with the whole job thing we have here, y'know..."
"Wise ass," she tells him, before disappearing back into her den of records. Tim fucking hates records. At least in the book crates, there aren't any nasty surprises... Granted, you can find some utterly disgusting things in boxes of china, too, but the thought of having to pull them out of the sleeves, where the last owner's grubby hands have been, is just foul. You can't put vinyl in a dishwasher. No siree.
And all those tapes and videos must be a pain in the ass to look through, too.
"Excuse me, sir... Do you work here?"
As he's making his way back to the welsh dresser he'd been cleaning up, someone grabs Tim by the shoulder. "Can I help you?" he asks, taken aback - Tim spins around, only to see a rather short, light-haired man, waving a little green book at him. He's impeccably dressed - smart shirt, shiny shoes, expensive watch.
Ah, crap. A dealer.
"Yes, you can... I was wondering if I could negotiate with someone in regards to the price of this book."
"You really shouldn't have taken that out of the display cabinet, sir," he says, looking sharply around the shop. Dot is nowhere to be seen, and he's just told Lorna to get back into the back room... Damn it. "I, uh, I'm not actually one of the shop staff, so I can't really help you at all if you wanna buy something... I just move things around."
"But it's overpriced," the man insists. He's still waving the book in the air, as though he already owns it.
"I don't think it is, sir."
"I'm sure of it," the man says, "and I doubt you'd know anyway. You said so yourself, you're just here to move things around."
Tim scowls. "The price of that book's fine. I actually know it for a fact."
The little man flares up suddenly, but Tim refuses to back down: "you're trying to con me!" he cries. The book is now being used as an impromptu signal flare - the man seems to be flagging down aeroplanes, judging by the intensity of which it's travelling through the air above his head. "I refuse to pay three hundred and seventy dollars for this! It's a joke! You don't know anything, you're just a college dropout-"
"September, September, by Shelby Foote," Tim interrupts. "It's a signed, first edition copy. If you can get it for cheaper anywhere else, feel free to buy it there." He's biting his tongue now, trying desperately not to irritably tell the dealer to fuck off, but he doesn't think he's going to last much longer without being considerably rude.
The dealer turns an alarming shade of red, looking primed to absolutely explode. And to Tim's immense relief, Dot comes back from whichever phone call she might have been taking and spots them straight away.
"Is there anything I can do to help here?" she asks kindly, turning to the dealer. "Ah, Mr. Ahlberg, it's so nice to see you again... Are you expanding your collection? We've had a recent influx of simply lovely books, I'm sure you'll be delighted with them. The Civil Rights Movement, wasn't it? I can recommend you some..."
And she leads him by the arm towards the display cabinets again, the steady stream of comforting words keeping the man's anger at bay.
He attempts to return to the welsh dresser once more, but is stopped at the entrance to the staff corridors. Jay pokes his head around the door, looking worried: "what was that all about?"
"Dealer," he explains. "They get pissy as hell when you try to explain you know they're conning you."
"Oh."
Tim runs a hand through his hair - people are so shit. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you'll get in trouble or anything."
"But you will?" Jay asks, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs in response. "He was being a dick. I think I'll get away with it."
Jay laughs - fucking laughs at him - and disappears behind the door again. Lorna asks him later why he's being so jumpy, and his agitation and that laugh are completely and utterly unrelated. Totally separate factors.