Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Books Are My Drugs.

I want to slap our local librarian. And she probably wants to slap me back.

Here's the deal. I'm a book addict and the library is my dealer. I get irritable and shaky if I don't get my fix. I usually race into the library in a frenzy, biting my nails off, hoping to find that perfect line. Currently, I'm running low on books, so I stopped there today. I haven't showered and probably looked a little stir crazy, which could explain the cold reception.

It started off bad. I noticed the cork board in the entrance and thought it would be a great place to advertise my website or workshops. I wasn't even going to ask, but the library makes me go into "Good Girl" mode, so I did the right thing. I asked. And the answer irritated me. "Everything on the cork board is approved by me. I'll determine if it's suitable."

I was pissed. Who says I can't take a couple of push pins and display a parenting workshop? Give me a break. I'm not advertising porn.

Here's where this deal really goes south: I'm not a good paying client. I don't return my shit on time, so they withhold the goods to punish me. She said, "You owe $74.63 for Aristotle, Kierkegaard, and Jung. I was gettin' my kicks on philosophy a few months ago. I was "philosophizing" as I called when I was deep in the high. But now I'm desensitized. I need harder product, like "Finding Alice" and "Burn Journals", but this lady in a Pooh vest was refusing my "drug" of choice.

What a bitch.

I said, "Listen, my husband paid up last week. We're clean, man. We're clean."

"Do you have a receipt?"

I hate that question. I never keep a receipt. She knows this and just wanted to rub it in my face. She was holding my stack of books like a vertical line of coke. I was shaking, reaching for them, just wanting to touch the covers.

She said, "You can't check these out. You even have fees from 1992."

I had to check my license to see if I was even born in '92. Fucking, '92?

I said, "Oh, come on. Listen, I've seen your ledger. It's in pencil. Can't you just erase it?"

She declined the "erasing-of-the-ledger" solution.

So I left without my fix. All those books are just sitting there on the library counter in the HOLD section, waiting for me to inhale, inject, and devour. But the dealer in a Pooh vest got in the way. Caught in the crossfire, as they call it.

So here I sit. Basically sucking my thumb until the withdrawl is over. I may need to raid my daughter's shelf and read Potter. Again.

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