Only On A Tuesday

This morning one of my senior citizen volunteers stopped in to offer her services again for next year. She's a funny old bat, that one, with a mouth like a trucker, and she informed me that the woman who coordinates all the senior citizen volunteers in the town is a "bandicoot bitch". Hee! I definitely don't know what that means, but I sure did find it amusing. Anyway, after she had given me the rundown on all the medical emergencies, deaths, and sudden afflictions that had occured amongst my various volunteers over the past few months (did you know you could get inner ear cancer?) she asked how many volunteers I thought I would need for next year.

The answer, of course, was zero, but I couldn't break her poor old heart like that and I told her that anyone who felt up to returning this year was welcome to come back. Sure, they might be slow as snails, chatty, and generally weak, but it's not like they've never helped me out and they're certainly good for all the town gossip.

So while she was giving me the goods on a juicy affair between two of the town officials my office phone rang. I always groan when my phone rings because it means one of two things: a) someone is calling to try to sell me the latest new books/office supplies/library carts/copying equipment and then they laugh at me when I explain my budget figures, or b) a parent is calling to complain.

This time it was option b. I should've known to expect some of these calls because I sent out the overdue notices last week and there are always certain parents that just simply cannot believe that their son or daughter was irresponsible enough to not return a library book, which means of course that I must be mistaken and must have misplaced the book. I was informed by this mother that her daughter most definitely returned The Giver, and of course she would never have kept a book out since last November because she is very meticulous. And furthermore, this mother had taken a course with Lois Lowry and had extended discussions with her about the book, and that her daughter had been very deeply touched by Lowry's portrayal of a dystopian society.

I felt like asking her, "Excuse me, but what the eff does that have to do with my library book? That'll be $16.95, please."

So once I appeased the crazy lady (who by this time was basically claiming to be BFF with Lois Lowry to get her daughter out of paying up for the book), I hung up the phone and turned around, only to find my batty old volunteer asleep in my office chair. I wasn't sure what to do- I didn't want to embarass her by waking her old ass up in a library office, but I didn't want to tiptoe around her all day either. Besides, what if she wasn't just sleeping? What if she had a stroke or something while I was on the phone and I just sat here ignoring her corpse all day long?

So I grabbed the phone back up and slammed it back down on the receiver. She kind of startled awake at the noise and as I turned back to her I added, "So there!" for good measure. "Wow," she exclaimed, "you sure know how to get those molly-coddling parents to 'fess up that their kids are idiots, huh?"

Only on a Tuesday, my friends. Only on a Tuesday.