There is far too much fluffy "chick-lit" at this particular O'Fallon public library. And the offenders aren't hard to spot. An absurd number of spines are covered with little pictures of cats, martini glasses, cartoon men's faces (in all their 1990's-hunk glory), engagement rings, stilettos, and baby pacifiers. The books are flashy and neon colored, like stupid billboards or the strings of plastic flags at used-car lots trying to attract as many customers as possible. I don't know why I bother, but I walk through each row and scan each shelf for something worthwhile. I even keep an eye out for Ulysses (not that I would have picked it up, but still); it's of no use. If ever I really want something with substance, I have to go to another branch. It seems sad, that a public library would feed the ambitions of the demographic that is so well-represented here, that of the stay-at-home MOM, the one who dreams of hot sex on the beach with one of the aforementioned cartoon hunks because she sure as hell isn't having any here in O'Fallon.
While I'm scanning the shelves, I make a mental note as to what not to name my book when the time comes; I'm always embarrassed for authors with overly-dramatic or cliché titles to their books. Then I think, "Why am I supposedly writing a book anyway?" I haven't been able to write anything over 22 pages before in my life. I get too damn bored, and stuck. My hands can't keep up with my thoughts, and when my mind's made up, forget it, I'm finished, the thought is gone. This place, man...what the hell? I was raised here? I remember trying to "research" different projects in grade school at this library and getting frustrated at how limited I was by what they had. Even then, I knew there had to be more...somewhere. So, why is it, that, when I see a new employee being dictated her duties, herself probably about 16, I feel a tinge of jealousy (I could do a better job) and consider inquiring as to whether or not they're hiring?
Near to where I'm sitting, a lady Googling area daycare centers is also loudly announcing the affairs of her personal life. She's on the phone with whom I'd imagine is her current husband, asking which of his exes is asking for money this time. Then she brings up her ex-husband in Texas, saying he's trying to spoil Kevin by bringing him down to Texas because he wants to have custody of him once the boy is of age. (I'm sorry for you, Kevin.) I try to block her out, but I can't when I hear, "Oh yeah, he drinks like a fish. He drives drunk all the time.... Ha! He had sex when he was 10!" Surely I'm imagining this whole thing. I look up to see if anyone else had heard that one. Sure enough, the tall boy standing with his mother at the reference desk had also been privy. We made incredulous eyes at each other and I felt myself smile for the second time today, the first happening on the way to the library, as I'd passed the Little Caesar's Pizza mascot advertising in earnest on the sidewalk outside the store, in the dreadful fog and haze.
(I felt a third smile appear on my face as I drove home an hour later, having passed the same mascot, this time going the opposite direction on Main Street. The things high schoolers will do for a little change.)
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