July 2015
Out of the Mouths of Babes
It's often interesting working with the public. ("Define interesting." "Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die." All time favorite movie quote. So often so true.) Sometimes it's entertaining, sometimes it's amusing, sometimes it's appalling. Like a bartender (described as a psychiatrist with a non-prescription inventory), I get a lot of people unburdening themselves. I also get a lot of people sharing good news, so it evens out. And there are frequently times when the mask of civility drops and you see what lies beneath. (Again like bartenders. Hmm, interesting parallels.)
Just looking at the books people select is a window into their inner selves. The junior partner in a high-profile law firm: expensively cropped hair, 'power' blue suit and stilettos, barking orders to a flunky over the phone—and buying a stack of fluffy bodice ripper romances. The nerdy little boy buying one of the Baseball Buddies books, carefully counting out the pennies and nickels for his purchase. The woman with dark circles under her eyes buying Resumes That Win and Get the Job You Want—NOW!
The stack in front of me was pretty telling. Your Life CAN Be Perfect! (Did we have that shelved in fiction?) Living With Your Passive-Aggressive Partner. (Whatever.) Can You Fix Someone Who Wants to Stay Broken? (Control freak much?) Peter Pans (and the Wendys Who Love Them). She had been in the store for a couple of hours, with three kids in tow—all boys, a year or so apart between 7 and 9. Relatively well behaved, so I had no problem with them wandering the aisles unattached. Mom, however, did. "I'm counting! Three! Two!" Before she got to "one," the errant child would streak through the store like a missile and plant himself next to her.
There were pleadings and arguments. "I just wanna look at…" "You said we could each get a book…" "I'm RIGHT THERE, you can see me, I'll sit RIGHT THERE…" Back and forth, snipping and sniping, then another would wander off and we'd start all over again with the countdown.
"The subject is closed, stop arguing!" But the subject wasn't closed, and they'd start all over again. I was getting exhausted just being in the same room with them. Story Hour was never this bad!
Apparently she had promised a book each, and she did keep her word. Amongst the pile of self-ha-ha-help books I found one of the Wimpy Kid books, a Hardy Boys hardback and a book on dinosaurs. Cue up another argument.
"You have a thousand and one books on dinosaurs. This is absurd. You need to get something else."
"But I don't have that one. I want that one. And I don't have a thousand and one books and even if I did, this would be a thousand and two different books." (Lady, if the kid wants to read his eyeballs out about dinosaurs, let him. He's reading. In this day and age, be grateful.) "And you always say 'don't exaggerate,' that's exaggerating." (Careful, kid, the ice is pretty thin on that end of the pond.)
Several arguments and trips back and forth to the kids' section, he reluctantly selected a book on sharks and I was able to tally the total. Mom gave me a plastic smile and a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, I wish they came with an instruction manual when they were born!" she trilled and sailed out the door.
As the door shut behind her, I heard a voice from the stacks say, "Parenting books are on row G." Lexi wandered into view with an innocent look. At least she keeps her comments to herself until the target is out of range. Well—at the store, anyway.