Trouble

Today, the Douche came back into the library.

Evidently, before paying me a visit, he kindly shared his obnoxious personality with the gals at Circ, who promptly paged both security guards.

As Douche approached my desk, I felt my stomach churn and my intestines suddenly engorge with putrid gas. His eyes were fixated on my chest as he walked toward me, whereupon I sighed heavily, tilted my head with irritation, stuck out my jaw, and peered at him over the tops of my glasses, in that classically reproving, librarian way. He finally stopped walking when his belly hit the ege of my desk, and only then did his eyes shift slightly to my left and he looked at my nametag, as if that had been what he’d been staring at all along.

Douche: Nikki? Is that your name?

Me: Yes.

Douche: Nikki. That’s a—

Me: Can I help you with something?

Douche: Ni— Um, yeah, I need a computer, but I didn’t bring my card. I got the number right here, saved in my cell phone.

Me: Sorry, you have to have a card.

Douche: Why I should carry my card all the time?

Me: It’s just this tiny little plastic thing. It’s not heavy. It doesn’t take up much space. Why NOT carry your library card when you’re coming to the library?

Douche: Damn, you act like it’s my license or something. Like I gots to have it on me at all times.

Me: Well, think of it this way: you carry your license when you drive, so maybe you should carry your library card when you’re at the library. Of course, if you don’t want to bring it, if it’s too much hassle, you can use the Express computers, too.

Douche: Why you gotta be all harsh like that? All these rules! You people are strict! Why you don’t trust nobody?

Me: There are reasons for every rule.

Douche: What if I need help at the computer again tonight?

I took a deep breath, remembering how he requested help with his X-rated pictures on his cell phone the last time, but as I was about to exhale, through the main door limped Arms, and from down the first aisle raced Sergeant, both coming to my rescue.

Arms said hello to Douche as he rounded my desk and promptly sat in the chair next to me, commandeering the direction of the conversation immediately, while Sergeant walked up to the side of the desk and started asking me random questions, drawing me out of the conversation with Douche. It was brilliant! You just had to admire the skill and technique of my heroes swooping in and surrounding me with their machismo.

I GOT DOUBLE TEAMED!

Ahem! I mean he did.

Douche quietly sat down at the computer and didn’t say a word to anyone for the rest of the night. When his 20 minutes were up at the Express computer, he peacefully walked out and left us alone.

Arms and Sergeant stayed with me the whole time.

What’s better than having a big, strong man come to your rescue?

HAVING TWO!

I was sandwiched at the desk between two protective, manly guys.

Damn. Close, but not fulfilling one of the fantasies not yet crossed off my list.

* * *

Tonight my coworker found a brand new but bent cigarette lying on the carpet near the Large Type books. She finds the strangest things, including the dusty old beaver under our desk.

As she threw it away I shook my head and said, “Soap and water! NOW, YOUNG LADY!” She laughs at this because she’s older than me.

Whenever she finds these weird things, that’s what I say. Go disinfect yourself!

Coworker: You should’ve seen what I found the other night! Someone had taken some dirty books and shoved them randomly into weird places in the stacks.

Me: Dirty, like naughty? Not dirty, like grimey, right?

Coworker: Yeah, naughty, just shoved into holes where they didn’t belong.

Try though I might, I could not keep the percolating laughter in.

Coworker: You wouldn’t have thought it fit, but they got it between the shelves, and it was spilling out all over.

My eyes welled up with tears and I chewed on my lips, shaking with silent amusement.

She started laughing, too. She was trying so hard to fight it, completely unintentionally perpetuating the double entendre.

Coworker: There was one in Fiction, and one in Large Type. Can you believe that?

Me, snickering: Some people like it big.

Coworker: But it was small, and it looked smaller there with all the large ones.

I lost it, then.

Coworker: Okay, I’m not talking anymore!

Me: Good idea. Now go wash your hands!

* * *

When she arrived today, this same coworker stopped in the washroom and found herself next to a woman in the adjacent stall talking loudly on her cell phone, discussing funeral arrangements.

Me: What?

Coworker: Yeah, talking about the funeral home and stuff. In the washroom! There should be rules against talking on the phone in the washroom!

Me: Well, yeah, I mean, consider that most cell phones have cameras too.

Coworker: I didn’t even think of that!

Me: Smile! You’re on candid camera!

Coworker: I should’ve pounded on the stall door and told her to hang up!

Me: No, you know what I do? I push the pee out like crazy! Wooooooooossssshhh!

I shook my hips and continued.

Me: I push hard with the hopes that more than pee will come roaring out.

Coworker: Ahhhh! I should have kept flushing the toilet!

Me: And grunting. Grrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnntttttt!

Coworker: OHMYGOD, do you think she was making the funeral arrangements while she was going to the washroom, or was she just in there for privacy?

Me: What do you think?

Coworker: I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. The washroom is not a place to have conversations!

That woman finds trouble everywhere she goes. Probably why I like her so much.