I was in the bed this morning thinking how it's a terrible thing to have to get up out of your warm nest of blankets and leave the good book you're reading in favor of a depressing world full of insane bosses, demanding brats, parents who won't even say hello and teachers who are openly full of hatred for you, who are so far below their station. You'll suffer all this without ever complaining to the people causing the suffering in the first place. You'll do your damn hateful job with a smile and never expect so much as a thank-you because you gave up all hope of that years ago. It's an especially awful thing to have to put up with so much bullshit while suffering a fever and a headache and exhaustion and a complete lack of morale, but you'll do it, you'll get up out of your warm bed and shut the Frank McCourt which is where all this misery was feeling very much at home, comfortable, and starting to feel as if things were sure to get better any day now. Except you have to get up and go to work.
And the day did turn out to be shit, but before it started, a good thing did happen. I went to the library though I knew it would make me late for work, because I did not give a damn. I was hoping for the Bookmaster more than usual because there was a mistake with my account and I was in need of a very kind person who would believe what I said and not pull the Biggest Asshole Librarian Ever trick. I have a hard time with authority figures, meaning, anyone behind a desk, because they are so often mean for no reason, and so I was a little worried about trying to convince the library that I really did return a book that they still think I have out. It's my word against the computer's and all they have to do is not believe me and then I owe them four hundred dollars in replacement fees. I'm tightly wound these days anyway and I get worked up over things like this so I was fretting at least six times the amount actually called for.
I walk in, and he's there, behind the counter, the antithesis of Asshole Librarian, the Angel of Books. He looks more out of place every time I see him. He's too good for this terrible decrepit library full of bums. He doesn't seem to care or notice that the shelves are half empty or that the clientele necessitates an armed cop patrolling at all hours. His shirt is a beautiful soft blue, and the sleeves are rolled up halfway, which is a silly thing to find charming, but I do because I'm made weak. I walk up; he lifts his eyes and smiles and I see the deep creases around his eyes and I know I'm already taken care of.
I only get halfway through my explanation before he waves his hand and says, No, no need. He scans my card, types something, clicks something, and says, There, all set. It's like it never happened.
He hands me my card with an almost irrational gentleness and says, You have a good day, miss, and then he winks at me and it's all I can do to grin, and say Yes, Yes, you too, you have a good day yourself, and get myself out of there before I do any serious damage to my pride.
