Today was a beautiful Saturday with clear skies and a high of seventy-seven. I was filling in for someone at the dinkytown branch library, running late, but secure in my knowledge that it was going to a long quiet day of me making up tasks for myself. I work every weekend, which is fine, because I think Saturdays are overrated. Everyone's off and crowding some shitty lakeshore, or topping off a supermarket checkout lane. When I work at a library on a Saturday, oftentimes the big boss is not there, or if they are, they're thinking about that shitty crowded lakeshore.
The dinkytown library has a parking lot with 6 spaces, all of which are usually taken by the time we open. It's a place where students park for free when they're going to a varsity show or just trying to patronize that dying strip of 4th street commerce without getting raped by all the paid parking areas. As long as they move their car out before the library opens, it's usually cool, but I know that the librarian who works at the dinkytown branch isn't particularly keen on calling a tow truck. I arrive 10 minutes late, but one minute before the librarian.
I snag the last open spot.
The first customer I get is one of those lunch-lady-sized 60 year old bulldog women. And right off the bat she is yelling in my face.
"I've counted the number of people in this building and CLEARLY not all of them are utilizing this lot!"
I stand there, my face blasted with sand.
"Why is it," she roared, "that every Saturday I come here and the lot is full?"
I feel bad. Only sixteen hours later will I realize how off base her complaint really was. She's arguing about the lack of free parking. Parking. How many of you yell at a Target clerk about a full lot at Target? It was because I got the last space that I felt bad. This poor mean old lady had to park on the street next to the library and drag her three cowed grandchildren in, on her dime, oh the humanity. If you're wondering what answer I supplied to her last question, fear not, for she had an answer at the ready.
"Someone's parking here illegally and I want to know what you are going to do about it."
My eyes glazed over and I went to that place where I go when I used to do improv. The usual response that this situation calls for is "I'll pass this along to my manager." I felt that she wouldn't accept that. I supplied her with a list of solutions that actually made her take a step back. I can't remember them all, (I'm trying to stuff this memory down the emotional cave of Eat), but one of them involved making color coded chalk marks on the tires of the parked cars and "processing these people to the fullest extent of the law." She ended up backing down a bit, saying that they were just college students and whatnot. Eventually one of her grandchildren asked her If they could check out a picture book.
"I don't know, CAN you?!?!"
Oh lord. The grouch of grand-maternal went to go yell at her kids in the adjacent children's area of the library. When they came back up to check out, the self checkout machine was dead, so I immediately started divvying up their piles of books for checkout. A young college-aged woman approached the dead self checkout machine with a DVD.
"It's not working!" The grandmother snapped.
The college girl glared at her and gritted the world's most passive aggressive response.
"I can see that. Thank you."
I checked out one pile of books to the grandma and she left her eldest grandchild at the counter to checkout all her holds (five books), on his card. Books on hold tend to only checkout to the card of the person placing the hold, so I was doing my best work-around to get the grouchy grandma books checked out to the card of the mousy cowed grandchild.
"What's the hold up?" The young woman spat at me. I'm not exaggerating. I stared at her, astonished. She had only been waiting there for ten seconds. I was actually confused.
"What was the hold up?" I pondered. I had no idea anything was being held up. The true answer would be THIS woman. For asking the question. Because now, I have to furnish a reply which will tack on another thirty seconds to this miscarriage of a morning. I informed her that we were having issues with some of our electrical breakers. (We were. But in my heart of hearts I knew that the person I opened with forgot to turn on the machine. And the power button is behind a locked cabinet of which only they possess the key. But let's go with electrical issues, or "problems with electricity" which is the actual thing I said because my brain was melting....melting!)
"We'll can you check me out?" She said.
"Of course, right after I finish checking out these books."
You know. To the person standing in front of you?
She gave the biggest sigh of a woman undone and moved behind the kid at the counter. I got the books out to him in five seconds and when she checked out her "Murdock mysteries" DVD, she did that thing that every true blue douche does: toss the card on the counter instead of placing it in my out stretched hand. You do know that it takes longer for me to pick up the card, sweetie? Precious seconds going down the drain. You have so many important places to be, what with your Murdock Mystery DVD viewing ahead of you! I know. I know. The bitchy lady yelled at you and you just can't handle the pain. Maybe your B.F cheated on you or someone close to you died. Life sucks. But I desperately want to take your hand in my hand, look you square In the eye and say,
"Darling, savor this moment, for you have ruined my day. God bless."
And send her on her way.
I hate people. Strike that. I hate stupid people. Weird emotionally funky people who can't comport themselves in a public space.
Other than that, everyone else was cool. There was a reporter from the Minnesota Daily there, trying to get some scoop on something. He kept saying he wanted to interview me on something but I kept finding a way to disappear. It's not easy disappearing in a two room library. But by golly I found a way. How was your Saturday?
