delete

Actually, there is no God. Otherwise I would not be suffering this day at the library, the horror, the sorrow and the pity. Things did not start out well to begin with. After continuously hitting the snooze button on my alarm, I was awakened at 10 a.m. by a phone call from a co-worker asking where the hell I was. I threw my clothes on, made a quick coffee and sped to work, arriving within 30 minutes of the call, but still and hour late. This one will probably earn me an official write-up with the boss man. Sigh.

Upon arrival I realized it was the day for a program which was to be presented by one of the most annoying old geezers I’ve ever met.  To maintain anonymity, I can’t reveal the actual name of the program but it was along the lines of  “yowza… let me show you how funny I am.”. Mr. A  is an 80-something cheeseball who considers himself extremely witty and extremely special. He wants to share his love of laughter (it’s medicinal!!!) and slapstick comedy with the world. In the fucking library. Let’s make this clear up front: NOT funny.

So here comes Mister Show with his boxes full of stuffed animals, assorted gag props and next thing I know, he’s wearing giant orange  plastic duck feet, plopping around the library with his short-ass self, grinning maniacally, holding up a huge pair of jeans, in an effort to drum up an audience. I’m on the phone with a reference question and he’s standing in the library yelling out “did you lose your pants?” I am dying. I want to die. But first I want to pummel the old fart. Patrons are fleeing the building. He continues to circle the library looking for takers. There are none. He struts jauntily back  to the conference room, where he is supposed to be presenting this side-splitting humor.  He commences to sing Old MacDonald complete with neighing, whinnying and all the other animal sounds. He sings loudly. He is alone in the conference room. He’s laughing.  Loudly. At nothing. He comes back into the library, giant duck feet slapping the floor, with a stuffed lamb on his shoulder, waving at the few remaining patrons who have not fled but who are desperately trying to ignore him. This spectacle continues  on for about a half an hour. One of my most beloved patrons approaches me at the reference desk and tells me the one thing she learned growing up in New York City: never make eye contact with the crazies.

I’m having an IM conversation with my pal and co-worker Mike, who is safe at home today:

11:49amMartha
here he comes

11:49amMike
flirt

11:49amMartha
he’s got the side door open
and it’s freezing

11:49amMike
WTH – you can’t let him do that

11:49amMartha
he’s rounding the building in his duck feet

i’m not doing anything

i’m staying away from him

11:49amMike
cereal. you’ve got to stop him

11:49amMartha
no.

i can’t deal with him

11:50amMike
Rob will be pissed [note: Rob = manager]


11:50amMartha
i’m telling Rob and Rob is going to kick his ass

11:50amMike
his duck ass

11:50amMartha
I think he’s giving up
no takers
an hour of desperation
is almost up

ahhhhhhhhh… relief. He packs his boxes, takes off the duck feet. It’s over.  The day continues as sunshine fills the library through endless floor to ceiling windows. The Cherry Blossoms are in bloom. I hear the flutter of hummingbird wings.

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