A Librarian Once Stole my Wallet

A librarian once stole my wallet.* And, no, this is not the beginning of a dirty joke. Rather, it was the beginning of one of the most perfectly bad days I have heretofore known.

It all began with a list:

1. Go to the library.

I have a terrible habit of being very interested in a news article but checking my desire to clip it on grounds of clutter and age-appropriateness. Then, sometimes years later, I allow some forgotten particular from the article to torment me. Fully unable to quash my own curiosity, I eventually wind up at the county library, scrolling through roll after roll of microfilm (you know, like they used to do in old detective movies). Anyway, I was spinning my eyes (I guarantee that 92% of you still have no idea what I’m on about), when I realize that I, only moments before, had left my wallet on top of the microfilm cabinet. En route to the microfilm archive (which was only some steps behind me), I encounter a librarian. He has my wallet in his hand. I politely claim it with some embarrassment, and he happily returns it. It never even crosses my mind to double-check its contents or to take note of the librarian in question.

2. Buy flowers.

Not calling a girl that you verbally assured you would is bad form at best. Not calling a girl that you genuinely care for following an enjoyable time spent together is both completely irrational and infinitely worse. It will require penance—perhaps flowers. Not calling a girl that you genuinely care for following an enjoyable time spent together, only to find that she recently died in a tragic car accident, is indescribably heart wrenching. It also requires flowers.

****

I’m at the flower shop now. I’m in a somber mood and smile half-heartedly through my order. It’s pleasant to watch the florist piece together my simple arrangement of roses. I thank her and reach for my wallet.

“Son of a bitch librarian,” I whisper under my breath.

“Pardon me,” the florist inquires?

“Oh nothing,” I reply, “Do you take credit card?”

The shop does, and I lick my wounded pride as the computer rejects my first card. The second card is accepted to my astonishment. I walk to my car desperately trying to remember just how much cash I had lost. I think of returning to the library and making a scene, but sadly have a prior engagement.

3. Drive to the Valley Graveyard to say a goodbye.

-mixtape

*There is, of course, a strong possibility that someone got to the wallet before the librarian.  This post was not intended to tarnish the otherwise good reputations of librarians domestic or foreign.

~ by mixtape on January 12, 2008.