“It’s raining. It’s pouring. The librarian is snoring. He went to bed with a bump on his head and he couldn’t shelve books in the morning.”
That’s a little rhyme about the dangers of concussions my mother used to sing to me. Seems pretty freaking dark, now that I think about it, but it fits the mood for today’s entry. Cue theatrical lightning/thunder.
I am walking to work like I am want to do. I decide to cut through the Bannville Primary School playground because with school out it shaves about five minutes off my route instead of going around the plot. They are doing some construction, so I decide to take a pic of the bulldozer and send it out. “Look how cool playground equipment is now-a-days!” would have been the hilarious caption.
Hi-larious, it would have been.
Then I fell in a hole.
Not a big hole. Just was not looking where I was going and boom. On my ass. With pain streaming from my ankle. I uttered a few words that do not belong on a playground and assessed the damage. Tender, but all five digits wiggled properly. I stood up and it held my weight, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. I vowed this would be the last time I took pictures on a playground.
When I get to the library, Dave is in the entryway to meet me.
“Computers took a pisser again, boss,” he said.
“That the technical term?” I said.
“The equipments going down. I’m gonna check the routers, cables and IPs and reboot the server, but it looks like we’ll be down all day. Maybe tomorrow. What’s wrong with your foot?”
“Twisted the ankle. Well, let’s bust out the ‘Out of Order’ signs. Hopefully somebody might actually read them.”
“Fat chance,” Dave said, and pulled a sign from the circulation desk. The sign had a big red stop sign on it with the words “We apologize, but our Internet is currently down.”
And that is how the morning went. Hand stamping all the check-outs, running to the stacks to see if a book is available. All the methods of our forefathers. I even used a phone book today.
First the high winds kicked up the dust that lay on the dry ground, as if to sweep away the garbage to get the water to the thirsty ground beneath. Billowing clouds of sand and dust drifted down Second Street. The rain came around two in the afternoon.
It coats the Earth little by little.
The drizzle fell for an hour, then thunder and lightning followed. The lights went out, causing several small children waiting for storytime to scream. Their parents calmed them and one began reading from
Where the Wild Things Are
. When she finished we asked if she could continue as Betty and I were over busy checking patrons out and explaining how the computers would not work even if the power did not work.
During one flash of lighting, a silhouette of mother and daughter stood in the doorway. Ava Devillis had returned. In case you are not up to speed on the blog, Ms. Devillis was a young, attractive mother that had given me some trouble during last week’s storytime. We had discussed it afterward. I hoped to not see her again.
She and her son spent some time wandering through the dark stacks, whispering to each other. They ignored the other children, Ava seeming to distract the child whenever he looked toward the group reading.
The lights were only out for about ten minutes. When storytime... time came around the two of them sat on the outer fringe of the circle and seemed to not pay attention to Betty.
After storytime, Ms. Devillis approached me. I attempted to flee, but my ankle kept my speed stuck in the slow position today.
“That woman should not be leading storytime,” she said.
“Hello, how can I help you?” I said.
“That woman, Betty, should not be leading storytime. She does not talk to the kids on their level.” she said.
“Ms. Devillis,” I said, “Miss Lou is our circulation librarian and skilled at what she does. The other parents and children seem to enjoy her company. Until we fill the position of children’s librarian, she will have to do.”
I admit my ankle made me a little terse.
“That’s not good enough,” she said, “I will do it if you want. Even though your books here could be better.”
“I’m sorry, but I must insist that library events such as storytime be run by library personnel. I hope-”
“That woman,” she said, pointing at another woman, “was reading to children when I came in.”
“Again, I apologize. With the lights out, an impromptu reading developed to calm the frightened children, not a library scheduled event.”
“My son deserves more. I can be your children’s librarian. Give me an application.”
I can only say this amused me. I gave her the application, simply with the idea of burning it as soon as she turned it in with a resume. I had other plans for the resume. Kidding, I would give it all the fairness someone as people-friendly as Ava Devillis deserved.
The rest of the day went smooth and Dave gave me a ride home when it was all over. As I sit and write, the rain still beats a drum on my roof. I hope my pepper plants do not drown.
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