A mostly cynical, but always sincere, take on balancing the two hemispheres of my life: Circus and Libraries.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Often on the job, I experience paranoid delusions not unlike those of our patrons. Only instead of insisting that the librarians are in on a plot to either a)foil their attempts at internet usage b)read their minds or c)cover up for bigger government conspiracies (as if. . .) my paranoia stems from the absolutely inane or unphathomably clueless questions I'm sometimes asked. When moments like this arise, I think my collegues are playing a "Candid Camera"-style prank on me to see how I'll react. Case in point, my last reference question: "Where is poetry?" How does one answer that satisfactorily? I inquired as to preference, which elicited, "These Beat poets guys, one's name is Ginseng, and the other is like Kurotow, or maybe Krakatoa." I hope I passed whatever test I was being put through when I nudged the patron into agreeing to read poems by Ginsberg and Kerouac. Which one of you boogers put that young thing up to it?

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Boo Hoo, poor me. Allow me to feel sorry for myself for a moment, I'm having a shitty week. I guess I've spent the last year and a half trying to get over Shitty Week '04. That 'week' was actually closer to a month, and in it I pretty much covered all the bases in terms of traumatic experience: The end of a long-term relationship, eviction, loss of a job, deaths of loved ones, the theft of a brand new bike, a broken leg and other health problems. I guess I was hoping for some sort of free pass for awhile, but I suppose I was due. In any event, there is only one incidence this week that I care to discuss in any detail,and it has to do with the library.
More specifically, it has to do with a certain computer terminal in a certain department with a certain sometime co-worker looking at certain photos of me that should have been private. As I was leaving work yesterday, one of my coworkers, a congenial, hip, and calm woman a few years older than me approached me, smiling, and slyly informed me "**** was sitting at that terminal over there, and he came across some photos. . ."
"Of me? Was I naked?" That I would immediately assume the worst is indicative of my state of mind right now. She said, chuckling, "I was standing on the other side of the room and he let out a, 'Oh, Shit! It's Weshinskey' [ that's what they call me professionally.] So I went over to check it out and there you were!"
"But was I naked?" She told me I was and I acted cool, but inside I was freaking out. How are there naked pictures of me on the computer at work? When did I take naked photos of myself and where are they now? Since we were closed for the day, and the computer was turned off I elected to sort it out today, arriving a little early for my shift to figure out what was going on. I spent the evening alternately throwing the focus of my stress from these supposed incriminating photos, to the other two major problems in my life right now, waking up throughout the night either crying or sweating. I called the Foxy Librarian, hoping she could explain to me how this was possible. Was my very distant past career as an "adult" entertainer coming back to haunt me? Am I the target of the anger of someone who can use photoshop? Help! But I couldn't reach her.
When I arrived at work, I headed directly to the offending terminal, found the picture file in MyDocuments, and right there in a big, colorful box it said "WESHER" (my work nickname.) Gritting my teeth, I clicked on it, and out spewed thousands of beautiful and captivating photos of my last trip to Turkey. As I scrolled through the thumbnails, I kept thinking, "Is there something I forgot about my last trip to Turkey?" Finally--I landed on it. A couple of simple photos of me technically topless under a waterspout. I'm turned to the side enough in all of them, that one cannot even discern so much as a nipple! So I spent a sleepless night, worrying about my coworkers getting a steamy, hot, shot of my back and a tad bit of side boob cleavage. I've seen people in office attire more revealing than those photos.
The moral of the story is, I don't know. But I was thankful that I had that to distract me from other, more disturbing issues in my life, even momentarily. And I'm also thankful that I have built a friendly rapport with most of my library coworkers to the extent that they felt (they told me this morning) that it would have been funny to have made those photos the screensavers on all the departments computers. Ha ha ha.