Another Post From Libraryland

About an hour before closing today, I was on the reference desk and a snot-nosed theater student walked up. How do I know he was a theater student? There's a certain psychic stench. He was looking for A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen on video. Not a problem, but I asked if there was a particular version he wanted. No. I had to scroll through the listings to see if we had a copy at HWLC on shelf. Snot-Nose got impatient and gave me a number he said was a call number that didn't resemble any call number that the library uses and I told him so, gently, I thought. He copped an attitude and said "we" didn't have a lot of time so could I just see if we had the video. I found a copy in the system and directed him to where we keep the feature videocassettes. Now, instead of being nice and submissive and helpful, I know what I should have said.

Listen. Punk. Not only have I already graduated from a theater program, but I am also a working theater professional, so I happen to know A Doll's House, and a few other plays as well. I don't know where you go to school-though with that attitude, I'm guessing DePaul-or how you treat the librarians there, but if you pulled this with the librarians I know at DePaul, they'd slap you down to a snot-smeared grease spot. You may find me forgettable, only existing to do your bidding, but I will remember your face and this incident when I have to sit through your audition, trying not to look bored. Yup, you just screwed your chances on any show I direct, stage manage, or write. And the theater world in Chicago is not that large. The videos are on the back wall.

The Not-Yet-Jaded-But-Smartass Librarian

The following is a pretty-much-true conversation I had today with a librarian whose name I can't remember, much to my embarrassment:

Other Librarian: So, how do you like it here?

Me: I like it!

OL: Keep working here, you'll get jaded.

Me: I don't need to work here to get jaded. I just have to date.

OL: I used to feel the same way when I was single. But don't give up. You could find the love of your life at the library.

Me: Yes. Dante Alighieri.

Fools Beware

Quick update: I have not yet been thrown out of the Jesus Freak Cafe for smartassery, but I was in there tonight to write and make sure I'll be grinding my teeth all night from overcaffeination and check the reaction to my graffitti. Well, as far as my alteration to the quote about the path to repentance (see previous post) is concerned, somebody obliterated my reference to death and put in "loving kindness" instead of "fear" of God. I don't mind that too much, since apparently the same person got their undies in a knot over a much more innocuous comment about partying hard at the appropriate moment that had a facetious chapter and verse citation and made it illegible, too. I made my point. My comment that men are scum (and therefore I would know why I ended up alone), was ammended to "snow men are scum," which, while inane, is pretty harmless and probably funny in the right circles. Tonight, there was another Bible verse: "Cast all your anxieties on him who loves you," to which I added, "and cast all your clothes on him, too!" I'm afraid there wasn't room for the word "underthings" instead of "clothes," but the board was getting kind of crowded. I'm afraid that's all the blasphemy I could come up with tonight.

I've started writing again, after encouragement from CSL. The theme, if there must be one, is probably female friendship. I'm using it more as a springboard for social and political humor. I'm sure an arc will appear, but right now, it's just two women enjoying each other's company.

What's the point of all this? I guess I'm just tired of holding it all in, being reasonable. At my job, I am required to be nice to idiots all day (fortunately, I no longer have to take their money from them). When I get off the clock, I don't have to do it anymore, and I don't. I get on the train and try to get one of the single seats, so no one has to feel uncomfortable about sitting next to the weirdo who's grinning like a maniac because she's thought up a new Ann Coulter joke (Yeah, I know, shooting fish in a barrel, but I'm tired at the end of the day, and my brain needs a rest). So I get tired of being reasonable and fair and forgiving, and I fantasize and occasionally dish out a little of what I've been taking. I still believe in nonviolence, and tolerance, and free speech, but at heart, I'm a smartass, and there's no good to come of denying what you are.

Confession Time!

I was very naughty tonight. Maybe it was because the CTA can't seem to run their trains properly during rush hour, or because some asshole whistled at me from his car, or just a chemical imbalance. I didn't try to start a riot on the train either to or from work, and I didn't attempt to chase Don Juan down and cut his dick off with a ruler, but I did go into the Jesus Freak Cafe for a soda and to wash my hands. I should have just gone home, because the blackboard in the bathroom was covered in the most silly-ass fundie comments and they pissed me off. I had to consider my responses, because my knee-jerk ones were all obscene. I finally came up with two. To the quote "The fear of God leads us to repentance," I crossed out "God" and put in "Death." My defense? The concept of sin and the need for repentance was invented by some priests to keep the faithful in line. How? By playing on their fear of death and the uncertainty of it all. "If you don't do what we say, you'll go to Hell." What motivation! Motivated me right out of the church. The second brain-dead scrawling was something to the effect of, "If you end up alone, don't wonder why," to which I graffittied, "Because men are scum!" Sorry, BRD, I know you are the exception. The sole exception. Well, maybe except for Dilbert. And my dad. So maybe they'll figure out who rained on their fundamentalist fest, and I'll be out. Or maybe I'll go back tomorrow, and they'll have come up with something equally snotty to say. Or maybe the heavens will open, the waters will part, and they'll have seriously considered my point of view.