I think my disease is coming back. I'm all shaky and sniffly and I've got this weird pressure behind my eyes. Great. After months and months of not really ever getting sick, I contract The Disease That Won't Die. I'll never get to bake Vicky her cookies.

Although, I should consider myself pretty lucky. I have a job that entails me to work with mass amounts of the dirty, dirty public. I am constantly handling things that have been god knows where in some stranger's possession and this is the first time I've been sick. Well, first time if you don't count getting sick at Bright Eyes, which I'm not, since that was mostly because I did too much at once with little regard to basic needs like food and sleep.

Anyway, I have the night off because of President's Day and, to celebrate, here are two library stories that I, for some reason or other, never wrote about.

The first one falls into the category of: Sometimes, I Really Like Our Patrons.

I was at check out and this guy comes up with just one book. He's an aging Baby Boomer who looks like he was once a roadie for the Steve Miller Band or something. Long greying hair pulled back in a ponytail, faded tattoos, and the faint smell of reefer that is embedded into his chemical makeup and will probably follow him to his grave. I put the date card in his book and wait for him to hand me his card.

Except, he's having a difficult time finding his card. His wallet is out on the counter and he's shuffling through stacks of business and credit cards. I see the corner of the library card sticking out of his wallet and point it out to him.

He thanks me and says, laughing, "I'm such an old man, I need help finding my library card." One beat. "Hell, I could use some help finding that, too." He points at the book on the counter.

The title?

The G-Spot

I almost choke on my gum.

I briefly considered shrugging and saying something like, "Eh, it's a myth" just to fuck with the poor guy a bit, but then I realized I would be doing the keeper of the mystical G-spot a disservice and kept my mouth shut.

Hee hee. That was the highlight of my week, right there.

And this one falls in the category of: I Shouldn't Have Done All Those Drugs.

I was in the video room. A lot of my weird patron stories begin like that, don't they? Yeah. So I was in the video room and I'm checking out this very well dressed and seemingly affluent older couple. They're standing there, watching me with these huge goofy grins on their faces. I ignore this to the best of my ability.

Suddenly, the man says, "Should we tell her the WONDERFUL news?!"

The woman answers, "I don't know! Do you think we should tell her the WONDERFUL news?!"

"I think we should! Do you think we should?!"

"Oh, YES! Let's tell her the WONDERFUL news!"

By this time, I'm standing there, frozen, with what I'm guessing is a look of sheer terror on my face. That whole conversation took place in what can only be described as speed freak happy time kid's show voices. Does that make sense?

Anyway, they're both staring at me again with those goddamn grins and I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

Then the woman says, "Would you like to hear the WONDERFUL news?!"

I say, "Sure." I am an idiot.

The man and woman look at each other, then back at me and in perfect unison say "JESUS LOVES YOU!!"

I say nothing. They want me to say something. They're standing there, waiting. Finally, I say "That's great."

The woman says, "Has anyone ever told you that before?!"

I say, "Yup."

And then they leave. Just like that.

Yeah. I don't think I even did the fuckedupness of that moment any justice. It seemed like something out of a Hunter S. Thompson story. You know. Something you would hallucinate after eating too many pig glands or whatever.

I think I need a nap.

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