tonight, some towering man, skunk drunk
will harass you because you are pretty
or because he doesn't believe
you're really from Tennessee.
he will spill his beer on you
and call it flirting.
you will pretend
you are not intimidated, not
uncomfortable in this sticky cloth, your skin.
20090129
.reservations.discoveries.
So let me tell you. Remember that one girl that works at the library near my house?
No, not that library. I'm talking about the public library. And not exactly near, you know, but relatively speaking, it's, well, I mean, still probably about ten blocks.
But anyway, I'm talking about the girl and not the library.
The one that works there.
Pay attention.
Well, I showed up, right and ready to return some books, and check some out. The usual library business, sure. The usual library day and all. And actually, I was a day late today, not in my due date, but rather my weekly library schedule. I try to go every Wednesday, see?
But in any case, so I returned my books a day late, not in loan time. And yeah, so maybe it was fate, right, that I was a day late?
I don't believe in fate.
Stick with me here.
I had put some books on reserve and, truth be told, that's actually why I was a day late in showing up. I had decided that I'd give the library folk an extra day, see, to get all the books I reserved in at once. That way I wouldn't have to make multiple trips.
Yeah, I know I go every week anyway, but wouldn't you think that that is even more reason to not want to make extra trips?
But look: if I waited that extra day, then all the books coming from further away would have time to come in, and I could pick everything up in one fell swoop. And drop off too. Same swoop.
But back to the girl.
She was working.
Specifically, which I guess I didn't even notice right away, since I shot straight to the back to look for some other books first - just a Margaret Atwood novel or two, ok? Lay off.
Specifically, she was shelving reserve books, and so yeah, I guess I was going to wind up over on that shelf eventually anyway.
I reserved some poetry books. Now stop interrupting.
So I did find the Atwood book I was looking for, and that was all fine and dandy, and I thought maybe I should go try to find that Grace Paley book too, since those are hardly ever at that specific library. My reasoning, you see, was that my reserved books weren't going anywhere, so I should try to find all the non-reserved ones first.
Granted, those don't normally go anywhere fast anyway (you have to remember that most of the kids I see in there are playing afterschool video games on the computers).
But anyway.
It was time, so I headed over to the shelf. And actually, that's when I first saw the girl. She works there, like I said, and I've seen her before.
Yeah, she's pretty cute.
Why else would I be telling you this, eh?
But anyway, so the girl - the cute girl - is shelving those reserve books, and I was heading over to the same shelf to find my reserves. Mind you, I wasn't doing anything obvious, right, just trying to catch a glance at her from the corner of my eye, keeping the other corner on the look out for my name, printed out on some receipt crammed between the pages of my reserves.
So I'm getting closer to finding my name, and I start to notice that it's most likely going to be - yep, it's the same shelf the cute girl is shelving right now.
Now, at this point, I'm wondering mostly something along the lines of am I going to try to just cruise in next to her, try to hawk eye out my name from behind her, waddle in squatting or what. Choices. And in my head, I'm trying to figure this all out, when suddenly, it's more or less solved for me.
"Can I help you find something?"
So I have no idea what I said, or squeaked really, but I guess I must have told her that I'm looking for my reserves. The obviousness of the situation, right?
So I tell her my name too. Maybe she can help me find it, she says.
Somebody pay these public servants more money.
Ok, yeah, you guessed it though: lo and behold, she was in the process of shelving my reserves as soon as I approached her. What are the odds, eh? But I mean, I guess a library being a temple of books and all, it all starts to figure somehow.
And as she's checking titles and tags to hand me my books, my brain is trying to rev up something to make some conversation, but all I can hear in my head is the scraping sound of people picking snow and ice off their cars.
Time's running out. She has all four of my reserves in her hand and is shifting her gaze from our illustrious written language to my panicked brow.
I blurt out something involving phone numbers, specifically hers, but maybe mine to call her from, or if email is better, that's cool too, and I mean, maybe texts and messages are better anyway seeing as she's a librarian and all HAHHAHA, not that she is necessarily going to be reading emails at the library while she's at work and all.
She gives me a bit of a strained look, clearly trying to parse together the string of words I uttered, words that probably shouldn't ever be documented, and are probably something of a blasphemy in such a building.
And then - wouldn't you believe it -
"Oh, I already gave you my number..."
She opens the topmost book and I realized she's circled the page numbers of her favourite poems.
So maybe I believe in fate a bit.
No, not that library. I'm talking about the public library. And not exactly near, you know, but relatively speaking, it's, well, I mean, still probably about ten blocks.
But anyway, I'm talking about the girl and not the library.
The one that works there.
Pay attention.
Well, I showed up, right and ready to return some books, and check some out. The usual library business, sure. The usual library day and all. And actually, I was a day late today, not in my due date, but rather my weekly library schedule. I try to go every Wednesday, see?
But in any case, so I returned my books a day late, not in loan time. And yeah, so maybe it was fate, right, that I was a day late?
I don't believe in fate.
Stick with me here.
I had put some books on reserve and, truth be told, that's actually why I was a day late in showing up. I had decided that I'd give the library folk an extra day, see, to get all the books I reserved in at once. That way I wouldn't have to make multiple trips.
Yeah, I know I go every week anyway, but wouldn't you think that that is even more reason to not want to make extra trips?
But look: if I waited that extra day, then all the books coming from further away would have time to come in, and I could pick everything up in one fell swoop. And drop off too. Same swoop.
But back to the girl.
She was working.
Specifically, which I guess I didn't even notice right away, since I shot straight to the back to look for some other books first - just a Margaret Atwood novel or two, ok? Lay off.
Specifically, she was shelving reserve books, and so yeah, I guess I was going to wind up over on that shelf eventually anyway.
I reserved some poetry books. Now stop interrupting.
So I did find the Atwood book I was looking for, and that was all fine and dandy, and I thought maybe I should go try to find that Grace Paley book too, since those are hardly ever at that specific library. My reasoning, you see, was that my reserved books weren't going anywhere, so I should try to find all the non-reserved ones first.
Granted, those don't normally go anywhere fast anyway (you have to remember that most of the kids I see in there are playing afterschool video games on the computers).
But anyway.
It was time, so I headed over to the shelf. And actually, that's when I first saw the girl. She works there, like I said, and I've seen her before.
Yeah, she's pretty cute.
Why else would I be telling you this, eh?
But anyway, so the girl - the cute girl - is shelving those reserve books, and I was heading over to the same shelf to find my reserves. Mind you, I wasn't doing anything obvious, right, just trying to catch a glance at her from the corner of my eye, keeping the other corner on the look out for my name, printed out on some receipt crammed between the pages of my reserves.
So I'm getting closer to finding my name, and I start to notice that it's most likely going to be - yep, it's the same shelf the cute girl is shelving right now.
Now, at this point, I'm wondering mostly something along the lines of am I going to try to just cruise in next to her, try to hawk eye out my name from behind her, waddle in squatting or what. Choices. And in my head, I'm trying to figure this all out, when suddenly, it's more or less solved for me.
"Can I help you find something?"
So I have no idea what I said, or squeaked really, but I guess I must have told her that I'm looking for my reserves. The obviousness of the situation, right?
So I tell her my name too. Maybe she can help me find it, she says.
Somebody pay these public servants more money.
Ok, yeah, you guessed it though: lo and behold, she was in the process of shelving my reserves as soon as I approached her. What are the odds, eh? But I mean, I guess a library being a temple of books and all, it all starts to figure somehow.
And as she's checking titles and tags to hand me my books, my brain is trying to rev up something to make some conversation, but all I can hear in my head is the scraping sound of people picking snow and ice off their cars.
Time's running out. She has all four of my reserves in her hand and is shifting her gaze from our illustrious written language to my panicked brow.
I blurt out something involving phone numbers, specifically hers, but maybe mine to call her from, or if email is better, that's cool too, and I mean, maybe texts and messages are better anyway seeing as she's a librarian and all HAHHAHA, not that she is necessarily going to be reading emails at the library while she's at work and all.
She gives me a bit of a strained look, clearly trying to parse together the string of words I uttered, words that probably shouldn't ever be documented, and are probably something of a blasphemy in such a building.
And then - wouldn't you believe it -
"Oh, I already gave you my number..."
She opens the topmost book and I realized she's circled the page numbers of her favourite poems.
So maybe I believe in fate a bit.
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