Before I even got to work, disaster struck.
This whole week has been a disaster, with fire, people getting hit by cars, the accident on the way in that sent random debris flying into my lane and my car.
I'm telling you, this week is trying to kill me.
And tomorrow, I will be extra careful. It's the 5th anniversary of my horrible car wreck. I will wear good luck beads and rub the cat's belly before going to work. You Fucky lovers out there better do a dance, a jig, a spell, a something for me. I need it. I feel bad juju air out there. Hide me.
It's train-a-new-fucking-moron week at Starbucks, so the line was out the parking lot. Being the caffeine junkie that I am, I guessed the line to be at least a ten to 15 minute wait and I'm busy, I have shit to manage, work to delegate, shitrats to smack over the head, I don't have that kind of time in the morning. In some ways, I'm lucky to have a drive though Starfucks that I pass by each morning on the way to work so that I don't have to crawl through the mean urban streets begging and hooking for coffee; well, lucky when I get get in and out in less than 15 minutes. Today, not so much. I can only hope for fire so I can hit up a hot fireman and hop in the back of a truck for a coffee date.
So, two minutes before the branch opens, this lady is pointing, knocking on the door, and yelling. I walk over to the door, she demands that I open said door to let her in. I try not to laugh at these rude schmucks. I don't have any control over when the doors open, it's all done centrally. Well, I mean, I guess I COULD have let her in, but her face annoyed me, so fuck off, and wait your two minutes like the rest of the world.
And two minutes later, what, oh what was the urgency?
She wanted Microsoft 2007.
I said "Did you want information on using it or the software for your computer?"
MinuteLady: The computer stuff, my friend wants it.
Me: Oh, Microsoft is a cruel mistress and wants her profit. All of the software is copyright material and if little library us was to give that out for free, Bill Gates would wrangle us up and force us into a work camp in Washington state.
My sparkling wit was met with a blank stare. As usual. No one gets it. That's why I have a blog. I'm surrounded by morons with two brain cells that don't get even a drop of humor.
Meanwhile, why I'm trying to explain the difference between software that you know, like, load on to a computer and use versus just a damned book that tells you how to use the stuff, this lady stomps in with a box.
The box is tattered.
The box is old.
The box looks like it has been sitting in a basement for the past decade.
IT'S SHITY BOOK DONATION DAY!
[However, good suck up employee recognized need for coffee and immediately ran out the door to go get me some. Diner coffee. DINER COFFEE. OH, DINER COFFEE!!!!!!!!]
Let me tell you something about people with book donations. It doesn't matter what they donate, big amounts, small amounts, children's books, National Geographic Magazines from 1971, textbooks, old Nora Roberts paperbacks, they all feel righteous about it and they all feel that you should drop to your knees and kiss something.
I was in the middle of routing in new cds (seriously, how many Glee soundtrack CDs does an urban library need? For FUCK'S SAKE) and handling Microsoft lady, when book donation lady decided that I needed to drop everything and kiss her ass, but I didn't have time for that, so I half-heartedly, but politely, asked her to just put the stuff on a table for me.
She looked at me like I asked her to maul a kitten.
"These," she sputtered, "are new books. These contain valuable information for the children of our community."
Oh, really. I'm sure they do. Lady, I have a master's degree. I know what the fuck books contain. Don't lecture me.
I swear, the minute someone starts with lecturing, my brain just shuts off, it goes to Tahiti, it sips on a Mai Tai, and imagaines stabbing you in the eye with the little pointy part of the paper umbrella. Shut. Up. Now.
Do you want to know what the books are? Well, aside from being covered in dead spiders, here is a sampling of titles:
The Treasure Hunt by Bill Cosby
Scream Shop Abracadanger by Someshittyauthorthatdoesn'tevenmatter
SpyKids Adventures, ibid
Hulk, The Junior Novel, ibid
Clearly, valuable information, right?
So, ok, I have like this 45 minute interruption where I go continue to play circ clerk bitch. An old man yelled at me about his fines.
They were at $26.50. "What?!?!?" he croaks, "they were at $11 last year when I paid a dollar to them."
Me: well, you've been checking out things since then and you've accumulated fines, so you'll have to pay something.
Old croaker: Fine, fine, fine. [digs in his pockets, takes out keys, a 50 dollar bill, a one dollar bill, a bag of chips, nail clippers, and a packet of red hots]
Me: Ok, let me go get your movies.
And of course, as it would have it, I can't find one of his movies because god only knows where it it. I return to tell him this and what is he doing?
Eating the chips.
And what does he tell me?
That wasn't his movie. He didn't want it. He just picked it up and put it on the counter because he was cleaning up.
And then he asked why it takes us so long back there, if we are, to quote, "Getting the newspaper and taking a shit."