We all like to present our best face to the public, and irascible bloggers like myself are no exception to this rule. I'll occasionally cop to a certain amount of slackerdom at my job, but there's usually some moral of the story in there that throws at least a touch of ennobling light on me. I don't usually air my plain, unadulterated deviant streak out here, in public. After all, it's nihilism, there is nothing to learn, and, fairly speaking, it's pretty rare anyway. I am a staunch friend of the patrons. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I am utterly for the patron. But every rare once in awhile, like today, I am seized with a destructive mischief. I am compelled to some darkness. And during a two hour shift of shelving, instead of shelving a single library book, I roam up and down our fiction stacks, find people who are peering into books, and in my sternest, most irritated and officious voice, ask
"Are you just going to read that all day, or are you going to check it out?"
Before they can even begin to react I disappear into the shadows, where I lay low for 15 minutes or so, giggling, before I step out, and strike again.