Ode to the Library

Oh, very nice, to be oogled and dawdled over by the weirdo bums and skeezy hobo's downtown.

Such a simple task: walk down the street to the library. Not here.

Jaw open. Eyes wide. Crrrreaked neck. Nostrils flared. Smelly Body. Unkempt hair. And business suit, weird, and go figure. Licking lips.

"Oh, yeah, oh yeeeaaaah. Nice!"

Really people, I don't look that good; not nearly. But then again, I guess that is the point because if I did look that good, the only people oogling and dawdling wouldn't all be homeless.

Our library has benches lining the sidewalks around the block upon which the library rests. These benches are made of concrete with Latin inscriptions comprised of the benefits of knowledge and reading. I've always found the juxtaposition between what the library represents and the majority of individuals who take up post around the library fascinating.

For one, there are the regular drug dealers. The regular drug dealers who deal in broad daylight, in front of the public library; which brings into question how/why if the one remaining drug free person in the NW knows where to gain the easiest access to some c/toke, how/why such reckless exchanges are tolerated.

The wig lady. Why is she called the wig lady? Oh, just because she will never be seen without 4-9 wigs atop her massive head. You know those folks who can't go to the mailbox without applying a fresh face of make-up? This lady can't, nay won't, roam the city streets which she calls home without her many wigs.

And for my last description: The Frauds. These are the ones who you can spot a mile away, even when there is fog, because they've got a clipboard and eyes that scream, "I want you," kinda like that Uncle Sam recruitment poster, except the Uncle Sam poster isn't going to first of all speak, much less ask you for 5 minutes of your time which really means 5 hours. Nor is it going to take your signature and use it to fraudulently sign up for 50 different voter registration cards and then vote for NObama, or 50 different credit card/porn sites/work at home offers respectively totalling 150, not to mention all the new phone calls your voicemail can't contain because it wasn't really created to save useless pre-recorded messages.

This is my ode to the library!

Where Am I?

For many, many years - too long in fact - I worked at the mall. At the time, I remember thinking that the mall was pretty nice. I remember enjoying going there, spending lunch in the food court, I think I even spent some of my days off there. For a while, we even lived across the street. Unless my judgement was grossly miscalculated, this mall has taken a drastic turn for the worse.

Today as I was walking through the mall on my way to the bathroom I walked past a gaggle of girls behaving mischievously.

One of them looked directly at me and shouted, "Don't look at me like that," as she cocked her head side to side.

My eyes darted back and forth and I turned to scan my surroundings. "What?" I almost mustered. Luckily I witnessed the girl behind me giving Miss Thang the evil eye before I mustered a syllable and found myself in the middle of an altercation.

A few moments later I found myself in the bathroom. Whether it was the same group of girls, or a different group remains to be determined, but I overheard this conversation:

"My friend was in here once, and she was jus sitting there doin' her thing, mindin' her bizness when..."

"Yeaaa?" the other girl encouraged.

"Whack!"

"She gots smacked on the toliet?"

"That's right! She was just there, on the toliet, when some *$#&@ smacked her on the head!"

"Dammmmn, how?" her friend inquired. (I too wondered how this occurred...)

"The $%^@& came over the top of the stall. I guess she pissed them off or sumthing, because right then as she was peeing they thuomped her across the face."

"That is crazy! I hope that don't happen none to me."

Well sister, me too, I hope that don't happen none to me.