Nonfiction Book Reviews

A couple of weeks ago, I had yet another great experience where I had a strange patron try to hit on me.  I’ve actually only begun to scratch the surface when it comes to these “strange-guy-in-the-library-wants-to-go-on-a-date-with-me” stories.  Aren’t you excited?  I’m thinking of writing a book, “The Day a Weird Patron Hit on Me.  And That Day.  Oh, and Don’t Forget This Day Too.”  It will be a New York Times bestseller, I’m sure.

This particular instance all started when I was on my break out in the stacks, looking for something to read.  As I walked towards the paperback section, I saw a guy ahead of me in tan coveralls (the type that 97% of all farmers in the area wear) walking towards me, but naturally, I didn’t think a thing about it.  When I walked down the aisle and started looking the books over, I felt a presence to my right.

I looked up, and there was the tan overalls guy, standing at the end of the row, blocking the pathway to get back out, and staring right at me.  I instantly felt a little claustrophobic.

“Hi,” he said.

Oh boy.  All of my internal antennas were going haywire.  He was quite a bit older than me (he had a ragged beard with gray streaks in it, so I knew he wasn’t anywhere close to my age) and the tan coveralls told me that he was probably straight off the farm.  I could feel the pressure of his stare on me, and I tried studiously to give him the cold shoulder without being flat-out rude.

“Hi,” I said in a monotone voice, careful not to look at him again.  I was worried that he might interpret me looking at him as a sign of interest, so I kept my eyes straight ahead.  I continued to study the shelves, pretending that nothing could be more engrossing than staring at the spines of books, but inside trying to formulate a plan.  As the minutes ticked by, the guy’s breathing got deeper, and he inched minutely closer.

I have heard that when you are scared and under stress, you tend to miss obvious things that you’d otherwise pick up on.  This experience is testament to that fact.  Afterwards, I realized that I could have gone around the back end of the aisle to get out, but since that was the opposite direction from the main library (and safety), naturally my brain didn’t think of it.  All I knew was that he was in my way of getting out, and was moving closer every minute I hesitated.

I was in panic mode and started conjuring up wild ideas.  I fingered my cell phone in my pocket and thought about calling the front desk to tell them that there was a strange patron up in the stacks who was getting closer to me by the minute, who was staring incessantly at me, and who was blocking my path to get out of this aisle, so can you please come help me? but I figured I could be dead by time I got through to someone.

What about the police?  But then I realized if I called them, they’d take even longer to get to me, and I could be long dead by that point.  I grabbed a book off the shelf and pretended to study the back of it, but instead was wondering how much damage a paperback book could inflict on someone.  What if I pelted him with a bunch of them?

Right then, he finally spoke.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a library on a cold night like this?” he said, his heavy drawl making it difficult to understand him.

I wanted to laugh.  What am I, in a bar?  What kind of a cheesy pick-up line is that, anyway?!

“I work here, and I’m on break,” I said, still pretending to study the shelves.  Still didn’t look up either.

“Oh!” he said.  I could tell he was surprised, and a little taken back by this.  It didn’t deter him from staring however.  As he stared, I mentally reviewed the situation.  I realized that he wasn’t a farmer in off the fields, he was probably homeless.  He had talked strangely, as if he was either mentally slow or had an extremely thick accent, and I was pretty sure that it was the first option.  That meant the danger level just skyrocketed.  A farmer is usually harmless, whereas a mentally slow homeless man could be potentially very dangerous.  My heart rate kicked it up a notch and I felt sweat trickling down my side.

I mentally marked a spot and decided that if he moved in past that spot, I was going to scream bloody murder and hope for the best.  That was my only real option anyway.  Pelting someone with paperback books wasn’t exactly going to do much, and perhaps screaming would scare him off.  There was a larger guy on staff who was working at the reference desk, and I imagined him charging up the stairs to my rescue as I screamed and threw books.

Finally, finally though, the guy wandered off.  Didn’t say anything else - just left and wandered to a different part of the library.  I grabbed a book off the shelf and went and sat down to finish my break.  I was shaky inside, but I just chalked all of it up to my imagination.  After all, the guy hadn’t actually done anything.  He didn’t try to grab me, he didn’t say any lewd comments, he didn’t expose himself to me, and he certainly didn’t try to kill me.  I went back to work, convinced that I had made a mountain out of a molehill.

I laughed with Tiffy, my coworker, as I described the scene to her, and then again with Gennifer.  The patron had left, and I figured that we had seen the end of that.

Except he came back again, and started wandering out in the stacks.  Worried, I pulled the page aside (a page is the person who goes out into the stacks with books and reshelves them) and told her to be careful with this patron.

“Oh yeah, he came yesterday evening and watched me and Chauncy [the other page] work for quite a while.  He just stood and stared at us as we put books away.  He’s creepy.”

The story got around, and pretty soon, the second in command at the library came over to me and gave me a tongue lashing.  It was several hours after the incident, and she was only now hearing about it?  Whoops.  Apparently, if weird guys stalk you while out in the stacks, the boss wants to hear about it right away, not two hours later, and certainly not secondhand.  Who knew?

Well, I do now - in fact, I know it quite well by now, because the director of the library gave it to me again the next morning, and my immediate boss gave it to me the day after that.  The next time a strange guy starts breathing heavy and staring at me, I will definitely know to get to the nearest supervisor and tell her all about it, believe me.  I have done some pretty dumb things while employed at the library, but this is the only time that I have ever been lectured about something three separate times by three separate bosses.  This made me realize how much they care about my safety, which is touching.

I could probably do without the lectures, but I s’pose when I stop deserving them is when they’ll stop giving them.

Oh, and the guy came back one more time, but has since disappeared.  We’re thinking he’s moved on to another town.  But if he does comes back, you can be sure I’ll scream nice and loud.

Havs

Trackback URI | Comments RSS