Squishing About in My Brain

Archive for September 2011

 

 

With four hours before I have anything required of me, I decide I’ll go read at the new, improved Franklin Avenue library, rather than stay trapped in my house, which is how I feel now that I am sans job. The parking sitch at the new, improved library is actually worse than it’s previous incarnation  a decade ago when I lived across the street from it, but I am trying desperately not to dwell on that, while at the same time just KNOWING there will be a new ding in my door from close-set spaces. And, yes, I hear that there are “50 new spaces”, but those are next door at the senior center, which you are required to go back out onto the street to get to, as halfway through the “shared” lot is a one way/do not enter sign. (Guess who ignores that? No, not just me…EVERYONE. Because it is ridiculous.) And, sadly, I have never seen a hybrid vehicle in the numerous  CONVENIENT spaces set aside for them, so that seems both unduly hopeful on the planning comissions part, AND a waste of space. Dreamers.

 

 

I came in and looked up some books,even though I already have six checked out, because that is what you do at a library: Talking to Girls About Duran Duran   and I’m Down, both of which I browsed thoroughly at Barnes and Noble a few weeks back. Being jobless and with no idea when the child support will be deposited (it was the 27th in July, and I am still waiting on August’s, with no clue as to when to expect it, but hoping against hope that it will make it in for my car payment in five days), feeling free to indulge myself in a book-buying jaunt is more foolhardy than even I can dare, so I plan to patronize my “new” library  more than usual, and definitely more than when it was relocated to a space in the mall during the rebuild. Idjits.

They swear one of the books is in, but having looked in the three logical places for it to have landed (I am very library savvy, my dears!), and not having it appeared, I put it on hold instead. Let the library employees who get paid to find it do so. Slackers.

I’ve plunked myself into a comfy-looking chair, near a possibly-faux open fireplace, only to find that the comfy is what is truly faux. Furniture deception: a nasty, sordid little furnishings game. You don’t see what you get. You bastards.

And then…someone’s phone rings. Is there not such a thing as library etiquette anymore? I know there was when I was growing up, cuz I got shushed for just laughing too loud as a child.  As I write, I am treated to a middle-aged man (yes, MY age, who should therefore KNOW BETTER, for the record!) discuss his “online Facebook dating” of some woman, although once he starts talking about that, he quickly plays it down to his conversational partner, saying he doesn’t get on that often. Liar. The convo devolves from there, and I really wonder how his loud vocal stylings can NOT be disturbing the older man with the laptop, the fiftyish woman reading the paper on the other side of the fireplace, or the ten year old doing her homework. They seem unmoved; no one even flinches. Except me, and I readily admit to trying to peer through the 70s inspired see-through-to-the-other-side room-dividing fireplace, trying to catch this guy’s eye so I can shoot him with my eye deathrays, possibly shaming him out of the library in the process. Dude, I don’t have a job either, but I am not disturbing the peace of the goddamned library, am I? Fucker.

Perhaps I am merely being oversensitive. On second thought, I know I am not. As a culture, we seem to have forgotten even the definition, let alone the practice, of civility. This continues to irritate me, and continues to get me informed that I was born in the wrong era. Despite mass media, social networking, and my newfound love of Twitter, I STILL do not wanna listen to your bullshit conversations in public. Quit forcing me. You won’t like me when I am angry. Green=GO, dummy.

Despite my best attempts (short of getting off my ass to tell this putz to “TAKE IT THE FUCK OUTSIDE, FACEBOOK FUCK BOY!”), he remains oblivious to his surroundings, including the fact that other humans are present, and keeps talking, louder and louder, until he fiiiiiinally continues his conversation alllll the way across the library and out the door. Dipshit.

That torture over, I am now treated to the information that there is a crack in the new skylight of the new library. (Storms happen, lady. This is the Midwest. We have ALL weather here.) It is causing great consternation amongst one customer and, as she spreads the information without getting the response she craves, it spreads to every employee on duty, despite the fact that the longtime, eternally-youthful-looking librarian swears it did not leak last time it “rained cats and dogs”: a colloquialism lost on the customer, who looks confused over its use and interrupts, “Did you say rained DOGS?!” Ahhh, my entertainment for the day. Thank you, random thirty-something mother with cracked skylight fears! By the way, quit standing under it with your toddler if it worries you so, halfwit.

I wish I had been asked to design the revamp of this library. These colors, people! This carpet is practically 70s colors(to go with the fireplace?), and by that I DO mean the rust/avocado/urine yellow (albeit muted) shades of the home furnishings and appliances of said era. And these uncomfy chairs? Upholstery print is in similar colors BUT DOES NOT MATCH. In addition, each area has DIFFERENT bad upholstery with the same carpeting. It’s actually rather nauseating to look at the chairs against the carpet. Like multicolored zebras in a room with vomitous patterned wallpaper. Train wreck.

Now some old man is bitching about how the latest Sports Illustrated isn’t out, and wanting to know when they will put the old issues out for him to buy,  because “it comes out every week! You have to have a lot back there and I don’t wanna pay for a subscription!”  He ends with a compliment on the nice new building, coupled with a complaint about how their old set-up was better. Well, sir, you’ll adjust and eventually relearn where everything is, I guarantee it. If you want to, I that is. I suspect you just need to be dissatisfied with something. I know a lot of people like that. I live with two. Complainer.

Oh, good gods, these chairs are just AWFUL! Not just ugly, also hard. But, I did not want to spend another instant stuck in the house, biding my time while trying to discover a way back to my painting-soul. (I don’t know where it went, but I hope it returns soon. I miss it.) So, I shall attempt to block out my aesthetic disgust and read. Maybe it will all just grow on me…although my design degree begs to differ. Loudly. And with much screeching and nail-on-chalkboard reactions. Shut up, voices! You bitches.

Oh, they found my book! I knew those bastards had it in back, waiting to be shelved. I’ll slide over to the other side of the fireplace, where I can look out on the street instead of being completely surrounded by this travesty of a decor. Maybe today will be a good day to just read, and limit my exposure to other humans. For their own safety.

I still wish I worked here, though. I’ve always loved “my” library. I still do, even if it makes me want to claw my eyes out to look around right now. Oedipus.

Libraries rock. Give them money. Use them. Libraries just beg to be used. It makes them happy. Sluts.

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