The meek shall inherit

When my boss came up to me on a recent afternoon and said "Aren't you supposed to be shelving?" I was mad at him as a person. But I was madder at him as The Man.

Fuck The Man.

Eventually I went upstairs with a cart of books. I was resolved to shelve 50 percent less at all times until my fury eases, for a week? A month? A year? Who will pay for this decrease in shelving? Probably no one. So as revenge goes it's probably not too bad.

Not too bad at all.

Upstairs at the library we are chock full of library patrons. My colleagues often speak harshly of them, and I understand; they are often not the easiest people to deal with. They can be erratic, rude, hostile, and demanding. As I gaze out over them on a Wednesday afternoon they are not the most prepossessing lot; in their pajamas, nowhere to go, bingeing on half-poisonous snacks, and ignoring all the fine things we have to offer here at the library in order to read celebrity gossip on the Internet.

But looking out on them, broken, old, obese, tired, lost, at least just a little bit losers, whatever their story, I cannot help notice one shining, redeemingly beautiful quality they all share:

Right now, right here, none of them are The Man.