the desk. And then ignored her question. “You were right. Coffee of doom they should call that stuff.”
She dropped her head to the side, waiting.
Ben tried again to distract her. “Painting, was it? A fence in the garden?”
“No, portraits, of a sort. It’s hard to describe. So, who was it kept you out to all hours?”
Since she wouldn’t take subtle hints to drop it, he attempted the more direct approach. “I don’t want to talk about it. Alright?” Ben pointedly turned to the stack of new entry forms already on his desk.
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to know her name I guess.” She flounced over to her cart and proceeded down the bays. “But next time I advise you to drink some V8 Splash with whatever it was you drank last night. Lots of vitamins and minerals, keeps you from getting a hangover the next day.”
“You know this from experience?” he called after her.
“Ah, no, but I’ve heard people say. They swear by it!”
He lowered his head to the desk and stayed there for a second to let his fatigue settle more fully into his bones before getting up and following her, still clutching the acrid coffee.
“So how much shelving do we have today?”
“Not all that much actually. We might be able to start pulling the next auction materials today. Sound good?”
“Ah, sure. I think I remember that part of the manual.”
“It’s easy. Here. You finish shelving these, and I’ll go get your computer set up.”
Ben took his time shelving the books at the bottom of the cart to give the coffee time to enter his bloodstream before trundling the cart back to his desk. “So, how does this work?”
Sylvia already had a few items sitting on his desk. “These all came in during August 2006. They’re ready for auction. First things first: determine whether something needs to go into long-term storage.” She waved her hands like a magician over the pile. “Does anything look like it might be valuable or volatile?”
He shifted the top of the pile to the side and then squinted at it. “Isn’t that a journal there?”
“Yes, sir, you have won the prize! Ding, ding, ding!” She grabbed the journal and tossed it at him. “Fifty years in long-term storage! First, mark in the database that it is going into storage. Second, shelve it. The journals are shelved chronologically as to when they came in. So put it to the far right of the shelf.”
“Got it. Where do I put it into the database?”
“Already done, and I’ll shelve it when we’re done here. Now, the fun part. Go through this database.” She called up a program. “And make sure that none of the things match any pending claims in the logs. And take another look and see if there was anything obvious the readers missed, like a license plate or something.”
“How does that help?”
“We can access the DMV records and see who owned such and such a car in such and such a state with such and such a plate.” She swiveled in the chair to face him. “Pretty neat, huh?”
“Yes.” Ben handed her the journal. “Why don’t you go shelve this while I get started, then you can double check my work?”
“Right’o boss man. Have fun!” She took the journal and headed down the warehouse. “And put some music on. It’s like a graveyard in here!”
He turned to his computer and called up the local oldies station on the internet, starting the live stream.
“Gah! Not this crap!” She came back down the aisle. “Go to 89.1! Lord. Some people’s taste.”
Ben rolled his eyes and paged over to the Brenau University jazz station. “I thought everyone loved the oldies.”
“I do, but just the deep tracks. Much more interesting and musically mature.” She came back around the corner into his office.
“Really, now. So you know your music.”
“Absolutely. Grandma has an extensive vinyl collection. B-side and deep tracks all the way for me.”
“That’s the way I’ve always felt too, but I sometimes enjoy a good A track.
She dropped her head to the side, waiting.
Ben tried again to distract her. “Painting, was it? A fence in the garden?”
“No, portraits, of a sort. It’s hard to describe. So, who was it kept you out to all hours?”
Since she wouldn’t take subtle hints to drop it, he attempted the more direct approach. “I don’t want to talk about it. Alright?” Ben pointedly turned to the stack of new entry forms already on his desk.
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to know her name I guess.” She flounced over to her cart and proceeded down the bays. “But next time I advise you to drink some V8 Splash with whatever it was you drank last night. Lots of vitamins and minerals, keeps you from getting a hangover the next day.”
“You know this from experience?” he called after her.
“Ah, no, but I’ve heard people say. They swear by it!”
He lowered his head to the desk and stayed there for a second to let his fatigue settle more fully into his bones before getting up and following her, still clutching the acrid coffee.
“So how much shelving do we have today?”
“Not all that much actually. We might be able to start pulling the next auction materials today. Sound good?”
“Ah, sure. I think I remember that part of the manual.”
“It’s easy. Here. You finish shelving these, and I’ll go get your computer set up.”
Ben took his time shelving the books at the bottom of the cart to give the coffee time to enter his bloodstream before trundling the cart back to his desk. “So, how does this work?”
Sylvia already had a few items sitting on his desk. “These all came in during August 2006. They’re ready for auction. First things first: determine whether something needs to go into long-term storage.” She waved her hands like a magician over the pile. “Does anything look like it might be valuable or volatile?”
He shifted the top of the pile to the side and then squinted at it. “Isn’t that a journal there?”
“Yes, sir, you have won the prize! Ding, ding, ding!” She grabbed the journal and tossed it at him. “Fifty years in long-term storage! First, mark in the database that it is going into storage. Second, shelve it. The journals are shelved chronologically as to when they came in. So put it to the far right of the shelf.”
“Got it. Where do I put it into the database?”
“Already done, and I’ll shelve it when we’re done here. Now, the fun part. Go through this database.” She called up a program. “And make sure that none of the things match any pending claims in the logs. And take another look and see if there was anything obvious the readers missed, like a license plate or something.”
“How does that help?”
“We can access the DMV records and see who owned such and such a car in such and such a state with such and such a plate.” She swiveled in the chair to face him. “Pretty neat, huh?”
“Yes.” Ben handed her the journal. “Why don’t you go shelve this while I get started, then you can double check my work?”
“Right’o boss man. Have fun!” She took the journal and headed down the warehouse. “And put some music on. It’s like a graveyard in here!”
He turned to his computer and called up the local oldies station on the internet, starting the live stream.
“Gah! Not this crap!” She came back down the aisle. “Go to 89.1! Lord. Some people’s taste.”
Ben rolled his eyes and paged over to the Brenau University jazz station. “I thought everyone loved the oldies.”
“I do, but just the deep tracks. Much more interesting and musically mature.” She came back around the corner into his office.
“Really, now. So you know your music.”
“Absolutely. Grandma has an extensive vinyl collection. B-side and deep tracks all the way for me.”
“That’s the way I’ve always felt too, but I sometimes enjoy a good A track.
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