Wednesday, April 14, 2004

Lost Patron, Part Deux

Like so many people in this city, you had no visible means of support. I suspect you lived off of the income from a small trust (rumor had it you were from an old, well to do family) or maybe disability for your borderline personality disorder. The amount was not enough to keep you in style, but enough for you to subsist, as long as you kept your expenses and expectations low. Having a rent controlled apartment in one of the most desirable areas of the city certainly helped you get by.

In your fitful attempts at finding a job, you thought you would impress your potential employers by putting, "Hello, this is X, and I am DESPERATE for employment!" on your home answering machine. Did you really think that would help you sell yourself? I wonder if you used a similar tact on your Craigslist Men seeking Women profile, because certainly there is nothing women find sexier than desperation. Your more direct approaches, like telling me that I had a killer rack while you leered over the reference desk, certainly didn't get you far, although it did almost get you banned from the library, you smooth talker.

Since you couldn't find legitimate employment, you invented a 'job' for yourself, which was to ruin mine. Each day you would skulk around the reference desk and ply me with a constant stream of wild goose chase reference questions about any flight of fancy that happened to strike you, like

Especially charming was your hatred of children, and how you would invoke the sunshine laws in your demands for user studies that determined how we allocated resources. You acted like the children were maliciously poaching your resources, like your competition with children over library resources was some kind of zero sum game.

What a tool you were.

My colleague who for some reason that I cannot fathom attended a party you threw appreciated how you put your guests at ease by screaming without warning, all Norman Bates, in your elegant mother's face,

"MOTHER, are you TRYING to ruin my party?"

Recently you were ousted, much like former Haitian President Aristide, when you came home drunk and got in a fist fight with your roommate and broke your front door. Finally, the landlord, who had patiently waited for so many years, had reasonable cause to evict you from your rent controlled residence.

That was when you decided to give up on the United States and relocate to some very lucky third world country to stretch your dollar and make foreigners hate Americans more. I overheard you tell another patron with a smirk on your face that the reason you chose that particular country was because the average age of the females there was 14. You make my skin crawl. Stay lost.

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