Friday, September 8, 2017
Prefer not to
I had 5 days off and was not feeling too bright or happy to be back at work at the library. I felt the weight of it, not so much in books to be shelved, but more in the hierarchy of people above me, their loathsome, dead weight so compressing the air as to make it half like a deep sea, dark, hard to breathe, and slow to move in.
So I went upstairs to shelve fiction. And I shelved without complaints a cart of books that had less the feel of being read and more the feel of having meant to be read.
We only ask that you try.
Bah, no, we're a library. We don't even ask that.
I shelved to the "M's" and suddenly I held Bartleby the Scrivener in my hands.
I looked it over for a good long time.
I put it in its place on the shelf.
And then, standing there, letting a strange little chunk of the afternoon pass by, I did nothing. Nothing at all.