Our cast of characters:
Coral, 59, frowzy and myopic, lover of dogs and obsessed with genealogy. Lots of money worries. On Tuesday the water department shut off her water, so in advance she filled her bath tub with water so she could still flush her toilet.
Paul, 41, gay, vegan, luxuriantly Civil-War bearded
Once ran a music store on Broadway for underground music, mostly Kajagoogoo collectible export LPs. Always wears white cotton gloves. Believes that the receipt paper has chemicals that leech into your bloodstream and will kill you.
Carol, 57, the boss. Has MS and suffered a brain injury from a car accident in 1998. Limps around because of the pain from her MS. Discovered two new lesions on her brain. Husband died two years ago of diabetes. All around fun. And loud. Very, very loud. Perfect for a library.
Dan the Cowboy, 61, former heavy smoker, wrinkly shoe face, upper lip overgrown with scraggly wiry yellow hair, has a godamn ring of goddamn keys on his jeans the size of a teenager's skull. Goes jingle jingle jingle all fucking day long.
Others in attendance were Ruba, Kristin, Johnathan, Alison, Daryl and Tony. Let the Office documentary commence!
Carol clapped her hands. "Let's wake up, people!" she bellowed.
She launched into the first item on the agender: wanting to take down the answering menu on the phones so a bright, happy voice answers every time the phone rings.
"What?!" Paul cried out like Fort Sumter. "Are you kidding? Do you know how many years we've worked to change the phone system and now you want to change it back?!"
Glances exchanged around the room. Reaction shots.
Carol spoke in soothing, maternal roars. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Paul, but I think we should have a person answer. Don't you think that's right? Now the first thing we learned in library school was--"
"And you didn't ask us!" Paul screeched like a beard owl. "I'm sorry, but I think you're being a tyrant about this! I just... Sorry, I can't..." He stood up. "A. TYRANT."
Paul stomped out, beard aflame with indignation and a house divided etc.
Stunned silence.
Dan stood, jingled. "Uh, I'll go see if he's all right...?"
"No, no, I'll do it," I said, standing. "Just stay motionless, Dan. Please."
"Are you sure jingle?"
"YES." Clawing face off.
I went outside to find Paul. His beard rippled in the breeze.
"I just want to cunt punt her."
"Sure," I said. "We've all said that. But let's just roll with it. Okay? She's new and these things will probably..."
Paul, wearing a muscle shirt, was covering his bare arms.
"Are you cold?"
"No, I don't want to tan. I want to keep this skin tone. For my tattoo."
We were discussing Paul's plan to get the entire battle of Vicksburg tattooed all over his body when suddenly Reggie showed up. He was crying.
"Reggie...? What, are you upset about the phones too?"
Reggie shook his head. He wiped at his face. "I just found out my brother died."
"Oh, wow. I'm really sorry."
Paul sighed. "Okay. I'm going back in. Sorry, Reggie." (Paul hates Reggie. It was his Sophie's Choice: either hang out with a grieving Reggie or head back to the meeting with Cunt-punt Tempter (CPT).)
"Hey, man, will you smoke a joint with me?"
"Uh, you mean a... marijuana joint?" I looked back inside. The library wasn't open yet.
"Yeah. For my brother?"
"Well, since you put it that way...."
And that was the day at work when I finally saw that all the children's books were full of evil messages and depicted the reptile people who were trying to conquer the world, but that's a story for my confessor priest/probation officer.
UPDATE: But now Reggie's been gone for three weeks. What the hell am I supposed to blog about now?? Will he ever return to entertain us white folk???
Perhaps you should suggest that Paul eat some animal protein to help the CP symptoms?
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