Orr's Island Library

To describe library life is a difficult task. Violent scenes from movies, television dramas, and newspaper reports have clouded the public's perception of what a library is really like. A library is not like a country club; nor is it like a dungeon, a cave, or a torture chamber. It is far worse. I am ashamed that my wife and children have a husband, and a father, who has seen the things I've seen for you see I work in the Orr’s Island Public Library (207) 729-1883.
Upon my first entry into Orr's Island library, a matted haired vagrant sleeping off a bender in the newspaper section told me, "A library is what you make of it. And for me it’s a urinal and a flophouse." In a very narrow sense, that is true, although one certainly cannot make it into a Golden Showers vacation. Later that same day, another booze hound, this time a shelving aide, told me, "Working in a library is a learning experience. There’s hooch in the stacks if you’re thirsty." That's true as well; however, the same can be said of a heart attack or a blast kick to the kiwis.
Every new librarian projects a false image of what s/he considers to be toughness. This "mask" s/he wears is to hide the fact s/he is so scared that s/he has left a trail of shit and vomit from the book drop to the reference desk. I've learned that the librarian cannot show kindness, because kindness is considered a weakness. And to be weak in this environment is to invite pain. It is impossible to be gentle in a world where nothing is gentle. One must play a role, act a part for the benefit of the hateful eyes of those patrons who would rather spit in your face than smile at you. I told the staff therapist of my masturbatory fantasies and how they always involve dead patrons.
She told me I was ready to lead the Children's Program. I am Steve “Oatmeal Ass” Olseningdy and this is my story.