Unflappable

One of my colleagues and I were commiserating about working at a certain branch in the system because it is always scarily understaffed, especially at night. The last time she worked an evening shift at this branch only she and one other woman were on duty. The night was uneventful until right before the library was to close at nine. My colleague went back to the children’s area to give a patron she had seen wander back there the ten minute warning. She interrupted him, right among the bean bags and stuffed animals and puzzles, in flagrante delicto  with himself. From the way he whipped around to display himself to her she knew he had planned this.

Instead of giving the pervert what he wanted, (and what was that? For her to fall down on her knees in awe? To run away squealing in terror? I must consult my DSM IV.) she gave him a slow once over that told him in no uncertain terms that she was very unimpressed. She then warned him in an arctic, boner killing tone, “You best hurry and finish up because we’re closing in ten minutes.” She walked back toward the front of the library and calmly called the police. The man quickly got himself together and left, looking rather disappointed and hurt, before the police arrived. I admired her cool headed reaction to the situation and vowed to take a lesson from it for the time when I will inevitably be faced with the same situation.