07 June 2011

DVDs, Sports, and a Crackhead

Me: Are you just returning these? (I always ask JUST for the specific reason which you will soon find out.)
Patron: yes.
Me: {returns shit.}
Patron: Can I have those back?
Me: {internal sigh, because of course, I've already removed the DVDs from the cases for shelving and gotten ready to move on to the next person} Ok, can I see your library card.
Patron: Library card?
Me: Yes, the thing you used to check these out... (I'm such a sarcastic bitch, especially when I have shit to do, especially when I'm stuck at the circ desk)
Patron: {fumbles for card, hands it over, rambles about Madea}
Me: {Checks out materials again}
Patron: I don't want those
Me: But...you just... {sounds incredulous of course, because, WELL, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!}
Patron: I want to renew them.
Me: Well, I thought you were returning them, so I have to recheck them out to you because I took them off your card. It's the same difference really.

The patron ends up leaving the library, muttering something about "this place." Of course, he comes back 5 minutes later to check out three more DVDs.

In the meantime, I was talking to patron about the Tigers winning streak and how the Indians are tanking. So, we talking some sports for a bit. The conversation was going ok until, well, you know that moment when it's just too much? When the person tells you that they were an alcoholic, gambling addict, and a bunch of other shit you just don't need to know while you're playing Suzy Reference or Circulation Clerk? Yeah, that. Because, randomly, the conversation ends with, "well, maybe it's better than crack." Yeah, wait, what?!

As a nice segway into our crackhead of the day story, in walks one, skinny, baggy shorts, her barely there ass cheeks hanging off whatever ass bones you have, no teeth, holding three boxes of cereal. I didn't eat enough for breakfast (cereal, not the crackheads) so my eyes flew to those. Well, that and the fact that I've known crackheads to whip open food and eat shit in weird places in the library (even without teeth, because, honestly, you can gum that shit). She got the eyebrow. She even got more of it when she said, "Do you have any bags?"
Me: I do.
Crackhead: Can I have about.................10?
Me: No.
Crackhead: This is the library, isn't it?
Me: [Oh, you wanna get saucey, drugged up bitch?] It is! And guess what? Our bags are for our materials. So, put down your cereal and please check out something, otherwise, it's ten cents a bag.

Charging crackheads for shit other than crack: that's crackhead repellent right there.

30 December 2010

Ode to the Potluck, the holidays, the trough of food for the shithorse parade

I hate fucking potlucks.

Library staff loves them. When I say love, I mean, I get emails thanking me for putting together a great potluck. Look, all I did was come up with a date and a time, that's not a big deal.

I've got to three potlucks this week. I don't have a choice. I'm management and have to make nice-nice and look like I care. Me being at the potluck fosters a sense of camaraderie and shows that I care about my team.

Or, some bullshit. I don't know, I read that in a text book in a management class at some point in time of life.

At one potluck, the staff opened the door for me, sat me at the head of the table, poured my beverage, waited to sit until I sat, and then waited to eat until I ate. Awkward much?

I threw up from that potluck. I think that they were trying to kill me now that I look back on it. I ate a piece of fried chicken (store bought--I only eat store bought things from potlucks unless I know the person) and in an hour, I was puking. No one else puked. I think my food was laced with rat poison. Shitrats.

At the second potluck, I just ate a piece of (store bought) cake that had so much sugar in it I nearly went into diabetic shock (I'm not diabetic). Then, I drank some punch because I was so thirsty. Dumb idea. The sugar numbed my nuerons, which was just as well, since I had a meeting after the potluck anyway.

At the third potluck, I had to deal with pissy crybaby staff that didn't want to play nice with the other kids and participate in the potluck. I just ate some veggies and the dessert I brought. Then, I remembered I didn't bring enough for lunch (so, here I sit hungry).

For fuck's sake. This would be easier to just deal with crazy patrons than to sit there and make chitchat smalltalk with people that I don't really like and don't really care about and then later worry about being poisoned.

Ah, that sounds so cold, but it's true. At these events, I usually sit off to the side. I'm management. I'm the one that they try to suck up with, so each person gets to have their "special time" with me. A few tend to sit and socialize with me like I'm a real person rather than a motherfucking robot. These people get big points in my book. I'm not out to get anyone. I supposed I should say, I'm not out to get anyone if the job is being done. If you're an idiot and sitting around picking your ass all day, I'll stick my shoe up it, but otherwise, I just want a piece of pizza like everyone else (please, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, no fried chicken).

However, really, at these potlucks, it's so forced and painful and the food is so bad that I'd rather just eat my lunch in the car, get sworn at by a drunk patron, and then go back to getting bitched at about library policy.

I just wonder if my vomit really fostered the sense of camaraderie and if it did, the next time I'm at a leadership workshop, can I just vomit on the speaker?

26 November 2010

Things I Have Found In DVD Cases

Because I can't let November go without a post, you get this sort of retrospective of things I've found in DVD cases over the years. Some are disgusting, some are mundane, some are genuinely "WTF" inducing, which, if you know me, which most of you don't, is pretty typical of most interactions that I have with most people. I have to give props to a friend for recommending this little gem of an idea to me. If you, dear readers of my little piece the internet, have an idea for a post, I'm all ears.

However, no, I am not writing library porn for you. Sorry. I save that for my paying customers.

Just as a little background infotainment, I've worked with the public for going on 6 years now. Before that, I was in an academic library. Granted, I was a student employee and simpleton shitrat, so life was a lot more fun (probably because I was drunk most of the time since I went to a party school). Groundhog Day will be 6 years in public librarianship for me. It's like the movie, except, I think, instead of getting a soul or any of that rainbowshitter gooey bullshit that happened to Bill Murray's character, I grow a little harder each day I have to deal with dumbasses and gross perverts.

So, without further ado, here is the list of THINGS I HAVE FOUND IN DVD CASES (in no particular order and by no means is this comprehensive):

1. Dead roaches: this is pretty common. Sometimes, the DVDs have been missing so long that the roaches are just their exoskeletons
2. Live roaches: this is less common and far more disgusting and makes your little Fucky scream to the high hills like a ridiculous girl. I don't do roaches or bees. Most other bugs, I can handle like a champ.
3. Condoms. In wrappers. I never found a used one, THANK FUCK for that, right? Oh, give it time though, my career is young. I hope. Who knows how this budget crap-o-la will work out.
4. A small bottle of baby oil. No, we don't loan out porn. Then again, I mean, it doesn't take much to get men off, does it? A flash of nipple could be enough to set someone in a tailspin, but dude, you left your baby oil in the DVD case, we know you were jerking it to Reese Witherspoon.
5. Love notes. To baby mamas. To librarians.
6. Social Security checks.
7. Birth certificates.
8. Baby pictures.
9. Child custody papers, court date hearing shit, other IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS WITH IMPORTANT INFORMATION that you really don't want sitting around in a DVD case.
10. A dead tropical fish.
11. Porn: this is really common. I love calling the patron to say, "Hi, you returned your DVD in our case and must have ours at home." Patron: "What DVD of mine do you have?" Me: "Backdoor Sluts 24." Patron: Click.
12. Cat food niblets.
13. Pieces of fast food, specifically, a piece of nugget and some french fries, petrified from the cold and sitting in the book drop overnight.
14. Phone numbers begging the librarian to call for a date.
15. Scissors.
16. Funeral programs.
17. Earrings.
18. Gum. Chewed and still in stick form.
19. Pens. Pencils. Cigarettes. No peanuts or cotton candy.
20. Directions.
21. Various bills.
22. Jump drives.
23. Driver's licenses, state i.d. cards, social security cards.
24. Pills. One will make you smaller, one will make you larger, one will make everything just disappear. Why, we're all mad here.
25. A grill. Like, as in, yo teef.
26. Marijuana.
27. Crack. I remember first seeing a crack rock in a DVD case. I actually thought it was a rotted tooth. I'm such a niave white girl. Well, I was.

That's it. My list. I'm too tired and hungry to come up with more literary musings this afternoon. I'm sure tomorrow's hell of Saturday librarianship might inspire me to greater heights of annoyance. That is, if something doesn't catch on fire and I'm not whisked away by 5 firetrucks full of smokey-scented firemen.

Hrm, note to self: bring lighter to work tomorrow in case boredom sets in. Who can't use more firemen in their lives? Less crack rocks in the DVD cases please, more firemen to damsel-in-distress-librarians who wear plaid skirts and stilettos. Yes, why yes, Saturday, you might not suck so bad now that I have a plan...

28 October 2010

A Morning in the Life of Library Manager

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.

Prolouge over.

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.


[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.

Chomping away.

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."

18 September 2010

Wordapalooza and the Word Wizard V. Your Saturday Librarian

I just spent 27 minutes with a patron trying to help her find the book she wanted. Too bad that the book doesn't exist (oh my GOD, I thought I got rid of her, she just came back, ack, ack, ack, just go read some Zane, for fuck's sakes). She seemed nice at first. That is, until I couldn't produce the goodies. Then, your favorite FuckItLibrarian, Saturday Edition, became the raging moron of the century.

Let me just tell you that having the right words really helps. A lot. I mean, unless you're foreign, then there's no excuse. If you can't come up with the right words for the book, ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE READING THEM OFF OF A SLIP OF PAPER, then there isn't much I can do to help you.

Word Wizard: The book I want is "The Central Woman."
Me: Ok, let me look it up, but do you have an author, because I bet there's a lot of books with that title.
WW: Why would I have an author? This person didn't give me an author. {Like I'm supposed to know who 'this person' is as Word Wizard waves around her papers. Nut jobs always come into the library with lots of papers. It's the first sign that you should duck and cover, but I was the only one on the floor and was a sitting, well, duck).
Me: Well, I have over 200 hits, so I can give you a print out and you can select which ones I want to order for you if you want to try it that way...
WW: What are they about?
Me: {meanwhile, screaming toddlers are throwing books, an annoyed lady is telling me that I should have more Triple Crown Books in the Branch, a teenage boy just grabbed a girls ass, some girl is still bitching about her headphones not working--god try earbuds) I'm sorry, I really don't have time to read them for you or summarize them, is there anyway you can contact your friend or the person that wrote the letter so you can maybe can an author's name?
WW: No. Try Central Woman. Try that. I think that's the name of it.
Me: Is the name of the book Essential Woman or Central Woman.
WW: {mumbles something I can't even fucking understand}
Me: Well, is this a book of stories? Or, is is non-fiction, like the history of women's sexuality?
Word Wizard: I don't know. She just told me to read it.
Me: Can I maybe see the letter?
Word Wizard: {folds up the letter into a tiny sqaure, exposing just the part that shows the title, there are three titles written down, all scrawled in old lady neat handwriting, like is her grandma telling her to read this? For fuck's sakes.) Yes. Here.
Me: (OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKES, the TITLE of the book is "Sensuous Woman.") Oh, the book you want is Sensuous Woman, not Essential Woman. Is that right? Or, did you want two books? (I enunciate, because, at this point, we're on like 10 minutes of this conversation, the toddlers are screaming louder, I have a headache, I need my snack, the kids are ridiculous, she's ridiculous, Triple Crown Lady is still screaming at me, and now Word Wizard is getting pissy with me.)
Word Wizard: Look up that.
Me: {That's so....clear, you dumb bag of rocks wearing a terrible powder blue cardigan with a glasses chain yelling at me how to be a sensous woman. Try not wearing that shitty outfit and throwing out those hideous monk shoes. I look up "Sensuous Woman.") I see a few things for "Sensuous Woman," but it doesn't seem like it's anything like what you're describing. I think that you should call your friend and maybe try to get an author. I don't want to order the wrong book for you.
WW: I can't call her.
Me: Well, I can try to order some of these for you, and you can see if they're what you want.
WW: I want the one my friend has written down.
Me: I'm really sorry, but I can't find that one, I'm seeing several titles, I can order them, and you can see which ones match up. You'll get in the books that I see that could be it, and you can send back the ones that you don't want. How does that sound?
Word Wizard: [glares at me] Why can't you just find it.
Me: Because you aren't giving me an author's name.
WW: What about Central Woman? CENTRAL?
Me: Ma'am, you're giving me three different words, I think that you need to get the exact title and author and maybe a summary of the book, otherwise, I think that you'll continue to be disappointed. We just need a little more information to get you what you need and then we'll be happy to help you out more.
Word Wizard: Oh, well, I think I'll try Barnes and Nobles.

And this, dear readers, was 27 minutes of my life down the shitter.

Of course, while I was writing this blog entry on a break, she came back to pester the sub here to ask her what she thought. The sub told her the same thing. I'm sure Word Wizard is off to another library to go torment some other poor Saturday Librarian now with her "senuous" baby blue cardigan and monk shoes.

17 September 2010

Featured at your local library: grinding dicks, nudity, masturbators

It all started, not so innocently, one languid, end of summer-early fall day a few weeks ago when I stopped into one of my branches to check up on things. I bet it was my non-sensible library shoes. I bet it was the patent leather that really got these pervs going. What doesn't get these pervs going? All that I know is that I'm thinking of investing in a taser. Maybe I can get one shaped like a Blackberry, since mine seems to be permantly attached to my hand.

I noticed a teenage boy standing at the computer, dancing, screaming to Big Meech. Yes, I'm white. Yes, I know who Big Meech is. Yes, this shocks the kids, because apparently, nerdy white girl librarians in plaid skirts shouldn't know who Big Meech is, but the problem is not with Big Meech, because that's a whole separate blog entry, but that in fact, YOU ARE STANDING UP AND SCREAMING A BIG MEECH SONG (or any song) UP IN THE MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARY.

A library is not that place for that. Shut the hell up.

So, I scrunched up my face, wondering where the fuck security was, thinking that this is something that they should really be handling. But, because I am super fucking librarian in plaid, my philosophy is that if I see it, I handle it. So, I told the boy to sit down.

He looked at me and told me "Baby, chill."

I love that the reaction to me, my age, my status, to this little shitrat making noise is "baby, chill." I swear to God, tasers should be issued in library shcool. I think that I am going to begin a campaign to library schools across America that "Effective Use of a Taser" be taught as a one day workshop for librarians.

Incredulous (but hiding that look from my face), but ready to rip this little shit's snotty grin off his face, "I am not your baby, and you need to sit down or leave."

Shitrat: Awww, honey, c'mon, I'm not hurtin no one. Have some cookies. (He starts laughing.)

Me (seething with rage, cookies? Honey? The problem is that he gets that attitude at home and thinks that he can throw out a few cutesy words to women when they're mad. And mind you, this little shitrat is 16): I am not your honey, babe, whatever, I'm the branch manager and you need to go.

Shitrat: What, why do I need to go? You don't want to hang with me? (At this point, he gets up close to me, grinds HIS FUCKING DICK into my leg and tells me) c'mon, you need me.

Me: Ha! (Literally, laughing, loudly, almost cackling, in hysterics) Please, little BOY, I'm old enough to be your mother if I got started young enough. I don't play with BOYS, I only play with MEN. You need a whole lot more growing to do. Get your little COOKIES (said with the term of innuendo to it) on out of here.

The kid was so embarrassed he did pack up the cookies and leave.

Then, when I went to visit another branch, some NAKED man was running around. The guy was in the bathroom and stripped down. A patron walked in and basically said, "OH HELL NO" or the equivalent of that. I can't say exactly, since I wasn't there. I can just imagine what I would say, and it would be, "OH HELL NO." That patron alerted the security guard. The security guard (who is great, thank fuck) went into the restroom and told the patron to put his clothes on. The patron decided that was clearly not in his course of action for the day and ran out of the branch naked. None of us did anything. We were too shocked. Naked people also seem to be running faster than clothed people. Or, are the clothed people just seeing everything else around them in slow motion except for the naked person running? Either way, would you want to tackle the naked crazy guy? FUCK NO! We just let him run out of the door, at least he was gone that way. That's management smarts right there.

To top it off (no pun intended), a chronic porn freak (well, ok, who doesn't like sex, but looking at porn in a public library and jacking it is gross) decided to hit up three branches and spew love juice everywhere.

The next time you visit the library, I suggest a can of mace, a taser, and some hand sanitizer. Please don't bring me any cookies, it freaks me out.

08 August 2010

"Honey, You Put the LIE, in my LIEberrian."

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.


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.


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.