Standing in line at the library with the one book I had finally decided on (The Best American Short Stories of 2006), I walked up to the clerk who dutifully followed procedure and took my library card. I had to dig it out of my wallet, considering I had not visited the library in months, with good reason of course. However, every once in a while, I get this deep separation anxiety from the place and this insatiable desire rushes over me until I actually get up and go.
"You have a small fine of one dollar," I was told, but that was it. I figured she would ask me if I wanted to pay it right then and there, but no - nothing. It was as if I could pay whenever I wanted, or never at all.
What's a dollar, I thought, so I paid it. But we both knew I didn't have to, making me the one with power. I told her, "I could take this book, never pick it up for months, return it whenever I damn well please, and all you could do was tell me I had a small fine. Ha-ha-ha! How does it feel to be so weak under my extreme power?"
Then I got on top of a table. "Attention library patrons," I said, "bow before me unless you desire an imminent, yet slow and painful, death!" Then I threw the book in the clerk's face and broke her nose.
I love the library.
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4 comments:
And, then you woke up?
Subtle, Ijptzicxi like it. Some people would let that kind of power go the their heads. You show wonderful restraint.
Watch your back. Librarians know things. I'm just sayin! :)
That was you? You're so bad ass!
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