That's lie...or lay, as in, like the Biblical sense. Boomshaklalakalakaboomboom. Ewww.
Maybe it's the shoes, maybe it's the skirt, maybe it's my ALABOOBS, but holyshitballs on a cracker, this week was LILF. That's "Librarian I'd Like to Fuck" for those of you who are not familiar with the vernacular.
The week started out with a kid pissing his pants. Then the piss dribbled down his leg, all over the chair, on the floor, piss was everwhere. I got into an argument with the custodian over who was going to clean the piss. First of all, the last time I checked, I'm the branch manager, so I am directing you to clean the piss.
CLEAN THE PISS.
Second of all, I am the branch manager and I have 10,000 other things to do during a given day that doesn't include cleaning piss. Besides, I'm wearing a skirt and $300 shoes.
CLEAN THE PISS.
So, yes, I thought it was going to be one of those bodily function issue weeks. I was wrong. See, sometimes weeks have themes and this theme really threw me for a curveball after the piss. But, it was definitely a LILF week.
Frog Face Fucker set the tide turning from piss to LILF. He materialized out of nowhere on Tuesday morning and decided to stare down my shirt. He doesn't say anything whenever he shows up. He just...materializes. He stands in front of my desk with his eyes bulging out and looks like he's going to croak (no pun intended). Of course, my first reaction when I see the shadow is to ask if the person needs help. Then, when I see who it is, I just get up and walk off the floor. It's so weird and uncomfortable because FFF doesn't talk. He just stares. He checks out his movies and just stares. You can ask him questions and he doesn't answer. He just stares. I know that he can talk about he was bitching about his copies being too dark and wanted a refund. I think that he's just too overwhelmed by ALABOOBS to speak?
The second asshat was a real piece of work. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem.
Yes, you read that correctly. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem. Let me offer the disclaimer that I went to library school. I didn't go to HVAC school. I don't know anything about HVAC other than when it's not working. In this case, it wasn't working. It was 85 degrees inside, which, to me, was a pretty good indicator that the air conditioning about as far away from working as it could be. So, as I'm standing around giving my expert opinion on HVAC in a hot pink and black ensemble with Cole Haan black patent leather heels, an older man walks up to me and declares (and by declares, I mean "SHOUTS AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS SO THE ENTIRE BRANCH CAN HEAR HIM") "OH MY! I'm so glad that they decided to hire a pretty, young librarian up here."
At this point, he grabs my hand and lays a big, ol' smacker on it.
Half-seething, holding my rage and disgust in (how dare you decide to touch me, let alone grab my hand and kiss me, you assvest?), I used my patented line of "Did you need help finding anything?"
Since he was older than dirt, he wanted westerns. He told me that since I was so nice and pretty and was looking so good for him, that he would be sure to check out more just for me. *WINK WINK WINK* Then, of course, a staff person had to tell him that I was the new branch manager, so his old man cane was standing at full attention at that one. Nothing like a woman in a position of power to get those westerns to him faster. Down tiger.
Of course, before he left, he was sure to give me his library card in case I wanted to order any other books for him. "I'm sure whatever you order for me will be fine, babydoll."
First of all, I am not your babydoll, your sweetie, your honey, darlin, toots, or cootchie. I AM YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARIAN. DON'T EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN BECAUSE IF YOU DID THAT IN A BAR, I'D CHUG THE REST OF MY DRINK AND THROW MY ICE IN YOUR FACE AND THEN KICK YOU IN THE BALLS, YOU NASTY ASS CREEPER. Don't give me your library card number and phone number in case I want to call you. I don't. I won't. We have an automated system to call you. I'd rather have my head stapled to the carpet than call you for anything. Trust me on this one. And get the hell away from me.
The third creeper brought me a pie; a friggin' peach pie. How disgustingly symbolic. He schlepped up to the reference desk and told me that he noticed I was new. He said that he wanted to bring me pie because he said I just looked good. All that I could think of was the scene from American Pie. I make it a rule not to eat food from patrons, I'll normally donate it to charity or give it to the kids to eat, but I was terrified that this was going to be jizz pie and not peach pie, so I threw it out.
Later that afternoon, he came back to ask me if I liked the pie. I said that I was just too busy and didn't get a chance to eat it and that he shouldn't bring staff treats. He said he wasn't bringing it for staff, he was bringing it for me. I grimaced. I said, "OH, I couldn't eat a whole pie in the morning." He told me that I needed to eat to keep up my strength to be a great librarian. Oh, for pete's sakes. Then, he dropped off a tray of cookies. I tried to stifle the look of horror from my face because, honestly, the guy was giving off serial killer vibe and I pictured myself biting into a cookie, foaming at the mouth, then being locked in a basement somewhere Hanibal Lecter style.
I told the man to please stop brining us food. He smiled at me like a creeper, like he was thinking of having butt sex with my in the library meeting room. I wanted to take a shower. Seriously, you could tell he was mentally doing gross things to me. I got up and walked off the floor. I threw the cookies out in the staff room. He may have heard me throw them out, I don't care. Just get the hell away from me. I doused my hands in Purell, headed back out to the reference floor, started ordering DVDs for the branch, felt a shadow cross over the desk, and realized it was Frog Faced Fucker. I'm beginning to suspect he's organizing his army of creepers to kidnap me.
I think I'm going to get myself microchipped in case I missing.