It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad WorldNote: This blog was originally supposed to appear on 2/4/06, as it was written and (I thought) posted on that date. When I checked to ensure that the latest entry (now previous entry) made it to the web, I noticed that THIS entry was MIA. How very appropriate given its subject matter.
Craziness, just craziness is all I can say about yesterday, and here those events I will relate:
One particular member of the SHWS staff has been pushing me closer and closer to jumping off a not-just-metaphorical cliff. It seems in bad taste to retell those tales here, but just know that they do factor in the first part of the day’s events, particularly in the advice that joe gave me as we sped off to work. “Any time she says or does something illogical,” he says, “just imagine a little monkey in your head playing the cymbals to this (insert Joe humming circus organ grinder music).” I laughed, and I thought that was the end, I expected the morning to be nutty, but that’s how life has been lately at the health center. Four boring, non-eventful hours later, I left. This may not sound crazy, but having a sane day at that office has not happened since November. NOVEMBER! Little did I know what the rest of the day had in store for me.
Normally the library is a tame and jolly place where people get books, which it was on 2/3/06. It is not always quiet. Why? Two reasons: concrete and children.
The library was opened last April with carpeting only in select regions, leaving messy, industrial-esque unfinished grey concrete for most of the floor. Every woman who dares click-clack her heels is instantly stared down by patrons trying to read. Forget about the noise made by book carts driven by poor library aids. Every day I have to try to explain to fed-up patrons why it has taken nearly a year to choose and install something that Empire can deliver “next day.” Now I know why: I met the design-ahhs. (Their pronunciation)
Sitting in the back room cataloguing magazines, I overheard an hour and a half of discussion in which nothing was decided. Here are a few choice tid-bits:
- “We absolutely cannot use purple flooring. Did you know that in France until very recently purple was not used in the home because it was the color of funerals? Of course we’re over that now, but I still don’t think we should use it. Well, this shade isn’t so bad…” (I seem to remember quite a lot of purple in Paris, but then again, I’m no a design-ahh.)
- “Oooooh, I like that, it’ll be like we’re looking at plaid through holes!!” (What the hell? What does that even mean? I’m pretty sure library patrons don’t want to look “at plaid through holes.”)
- “We really need carpet by the coffee stand. I mean, there’s no seating, but I know that if patrons are going to stand around and drink coffee, they will really need that extra padding.” (So many obvious things wrong with this statement, I don’t even feel the need to comment. Although when he said it I did have to struggle pretty hard to stifle a giggle.)
My prediction: If they really push themselves, maybe we’ll have carpet in time for the holidays next year. Maybe.
Reason number two why our library is not the epitome of tranquility: the children’s department’s no-hush policy. “We’re just not that kind of library,” which I think is kind cool, within reason. However last night, as I was covering for a bed-ridden kid’s corner guru, irony laughed in my face. I could only laugh back.
Friday is Family Fun Night, and I was not looking forward to coming up with a last-minute activity suitable for family fun when I was informed that I wouldn’t have to. An outside group was going to be “performing” Shel Silverstein poems. The wee ones not only recited poetry, but also performed a hula-hoop dance that could rival the hippest of hips in the 70’s and executed quite a dance to none other than the ORGAN GRINDER SONG that Joe had so thoughtfully put in my head that morning. This time I couldn’t help but let out a chortle (and get a few disapproving stares from the parents of those kids).
All this absurdity was not limited places of employment. My life is saturated too. Yesterday as I began to read the second of two stories in Banana Yoshimoto’s “Kitchen” a theme emerged: death and cross-dressing (although not necessarily death to those who cross-dress), how weird is that? I’m questioning whether her name is really Banana.
Walking home I pondered the days events, almost not noticing that my ass was becoming practically glacial in the sub-freezing wind. Wasn’t it in the 60’s yesterday? Yes it was.