Three preteen boys sat around a table in the library today, obviously bored and feeling rowdy. Loud snickers continued from their seats several times after being yelled at by the librarian to keep quiet or go outside. One boy announced loudly to his buddy,
“Stop jerking off in the public library!”
The stereotypical spinster librarian in her denim skirt did force them to leave soon after. I was amused at that boy’s attempt to embarrass his friend. I mean, it was totally obvious that indeed that kid must’ve been jerking off to warrant that this-is-what-you-don’t-do-in-a-library advice. I would’ve stopped such an act myself had it been one of my friends yanking his chain.
The computer terminals in my local public library are housed in the Nonfiction wing. This added bumbling makes book browsing feel like mall shopping. Today, I escaped my memoirs and poetry section for a few minutes to sit alone in Fiction. I chuckled aloud at the irony of sitting down in a quiet room filled with falsehoods and imaginary characters only to find two Watchtower pamphlets conveniently “left” on the table. Religious solicitation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I decided to brave the noise in Nonfiction.
I came out with six books. Two are reference books on nutrition in my many attempts to gain weight and eat healthier, one is a book that I own already but was written by a friend of mine so I like to check it out anyway, and three are memoirs by Donald Hall, Sting, and Andy Rooney.
I read Donald Hall while in the bathtub as soon as I got home. After stewing in hot water for an hour I heard classical music coming from the living room and found this happening:
So I brought my book out of seclusion and the five of us sat around just doing what we do best.
Wanna see what our nights look like with three dogs?
I had a potato chip for each of them in my hand for that last picture. Don’t they just look like the most pathetic things? I mean, really.