Checked Out: Cinderburg Part 45
Buckle up. It’s about to get crazy.
I finally made some progress on my library exit once August hit. But this only came after I suffered through Hell Week.
It all began on a Tuesday afternoon.
Uncharacteristically rough storms passed through that August afternoon. Rain lashed the trees outside and clouds so thick and dark loomed enough to make us think it was sunset and not 3:00 pm. The downpour was so heavy flash floods hit all over the city and cars barely moved along the streets for the sheets of rain pounding their windshields.
I sat at the reference desk, covering for the lunch breaks of the people who would close the library at 8:00, when the power quite suddenly cut out.
First went the computers, and a second later the lights and air conditioning. It was dark and eerily silent in a library that normally buzzed with the hum of technology and clacking keyboards.
We barely had time to register the power going out before it flickered back to life.
The computers, being the cheap kind common to places with small budgets, didn’t come back up right away. Patrons stayed in their seats, murmuring to each other as they waited.
I checked on the circulation desk, as they’d have to conduct manual checkouts, when one of our favorite security guards came in to check on us.
“Y’all doing all right in here?” she asked. When we assured her we were, she said, “Well, we’re running on the generator right now, which only really controls the lights, so it might get hot in here fast.”
Indeed, I had noticed the hum of the A/C hadn’t kicked back on yet.
Thinking it was a smart thing to do, I texted our branch manager, who was absent yet again, as she always was when disaster struck. I mentioned specifically that we were running on the generator, which was lucky for staff that I did, because that happened to be the magic word.
Apparently it was too hazardous to stay open on generator power in a location filled with highly flammable books holding highly flammable paper between their covers. Lacy called administration who then surprisingly told us to close for the night.
Staff was in shock. It took extreme measures for the library system to close a branch down. If the air conditioning failed during the hot summer months (which it most definitely had), the library had to reach 85 degrees and stay at that temperature for two whole hours before administration would allow us to close. And here we were during a thunderstorm and all it took was a generator?
As excited as the staff were, the patrons were completely blindsided. We ushered them out as quickly as we could, but it still took a long time and most of them were at such a loss that I felt quite guilty. In their eyes, the lights were on, so what was the problem?
Most staff left the second the patrons did, just in case administration called back to change their minds. I stayed just long enough to help countdown the money drawer and lock everything away in the safe.
My coworkers all left anywhere from three hours to a half hour early and got paid for their time.
I left fifteen minutes late.
This wasn’t an indication of Hell, so to speak, but was vexing enough for me to throw my hands up with the phrase “Of course!” running through my mind.
Two days later, it got worse.
The Poopetrator returned to the library that month, having absconded the year before around the same time that Lacy first came to the branch. We were still convinced the culprit was Grigori, who had honestly been on his best behavior since the previous November.
We thought we were safe from his reign, because it was assuredly a man who continued to poop in every spot, except the one he should, in the men’s restroom. At least he always waited until the school year began again to conduct his Poopenings, much like how Voldemort always waited until the end of the school year to attack Harry Potter.
That particular night, however, luck was really not on our side.
The Poopetrator struck that evening, pooping inside a urinal. Somehow the poop made it to the floor. And then, the unfortunate happened: an older man on unsteady feet with a cane walked right through it. One single misplaced step was all it took. That poop was stuck to his cane as he wandered around the library, because of course he wasn’t done with his visit. He browsed books, sat in a chair, and even used a computer.
Meanwhile, staff were divided between our customary work stations. I was in the back with a handful of colleagues when we noticed the hint of a fecal smell.
We chalked it up to a potentially gassy colleague.
But then someone came in from the floor and when the door was open, the smell wafted in.
We shared a collective worried glance and swarmed to investigate. Angie met us at the door and told us, disgust lining her features, “There’s a smell. I’m gonna be sick. I think there’s poop out there.”
Tentatively, we emerged, checking first that the area just outside of the staff room door was clear before we went further.
Will and I set the plan in motion. We’d each head in different directions, walking carefully until we could find the source of the smell.
We didn’t have to walk far. The first sign of poop was only a few rows away. We branched out cautiously from there, breathing through our mouths the whole time.
A few feet away we spotted a trail that led down the row of books. In a different direction the trail meandered down a different row. And another row beyond that.
I left my colleagues to keep spotting the poop while I went to find anything we could use to block off the area. Anything that could prevent the poop and its smell from spreading any further. When I returned, we had a clear trail to follow. The majority of the poop was still in the urinal, but small turd bits had been ground into the carpet through half of the fiction shelves and all the way to the computers. The seat of the last computer had some poop smears. And at the base, stuck underneath one of the legs like someone had used it to wipe something clean, was the little nugget of poop.
Thankfully, the poop hadn’t been tracked any further than that. But in our open concept building, the smell was everywhere. And we were in for a smelly night.
As part of our budget cuts, access to carpet cleaning materials was limited to a couple times a year. And even then, we weren’t the ones with access. How long would it take to clean the mess ground into the carpet fibers? The whole building reeked. And unlike Bedford, we couldn’t close off a section with a collapsible wall.
On the plus side, more and more people were leaving due to the smell.
But this price was too steep.
Luckily for us, our most trusted custodian arrived unexpectedly about an hour before we closed for the night. By the time we returned the next day, the entire mess was cleaned up and the smell was gone.
I made that beautiful man a whole batch of cookies and I told him he had my permission to be selfish and not share them at all. I’m sure he did. He was an angel.
I had the following day off since I was scheduled to work that Saturday.
Fate was against me that Saturday morning, for even though I set my alarm the night before, it didn’t go off. Which meant I woke up a full hour late.
In a panic, I readied myself for work. I ran the dog instead of walking her. I inhaled my breakfast. I barely brushed my hair. But my rushing paid off. I was only going to be about 30 minutes late instead of a full hour. And I’d still have plenty of time to help open the library. I texted my crew, letting them know I’d be there but I’d be late. Things were looking good.
Until I reached an intersection only a few blocks away from the library and got rear ended.
The Cyprus community has become notorious in my eyes for its bad drivers, most of whom use our parking lot. In all the time I’d lived in Gatherden and Leagos, never once did I have a car accident. But suddenly I start working in Cyprus and someone rams into my car each year. This was the second time it had happened.
I found out later that Mia had it worse. Her car had been hit by four different people in the library’s parking lot in just as many years, at least one of those times resulting in her car being totalled. Who knew a parking lot could be so hazardous?
I pulled over and called the local police station so I’d be ready with my insurance company, but any hope I had of being only a little late was simply gone. A full hour and a half later, I rolled into work, frazzled and apologetic. My coworkers were amazing, though, and kept the place running without me.
Two days after that came the worst part of it all: the second gun scare.
It was a Monday morning and I floated from shelf to shelf, half-awake while pulling holds as I normally do. I’d pulled only a few when I looked up and saw patrons making their way into the library.
Considering it was only 9:15 and the library didn’t open for another 45 minutes, this concerned me. How did they get in?
I saw a security guard and approached her. As I did so, she rounded up the few patrons and sent them back out.
“Sorry,” she said, “I thought it was after 10:00 and you guys were open. I let them in.”
“Why?” I asked, wondering why a security guard would take it upon themselves to open the library. What if we hadn’t been open for a reason? Like, what if we didn’t have the staff present to be open? It’s not your place to open the library, woman!
I was mostly flabbergasted, and after the power outage, the Final Poopening, and my weekend fender bender, I wasn’t thinking too clearly.
“Listen,” she said, ignoring my question, “We’ve got a man in the lobby who says he has a gun in his bag and he’s here to shoot a Metro employee.”
I threw my head back and huffed an exhale. Of course we did.
“Okay, that’s for letting me know,” I said, and turned back to my shelves.
I should have had a more dramatic reaction. Something along the lines of “OH MY LANTA! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”
As it was, I simply went back to pulling holds, not really understanding that it probably wasn’t the safest thing for me to be doing that at that moment.
About 10 minutes later, Lacy rushed out to the floor.
“Hey, C? Security just told me there’s a man here with a gun.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “He’s out in the lobby.”
Lacy stared back and forth between the lobby and me, then said, “Well, it’s probably not safe for us to be out on the floor at the moment. You know, with these big windows. I want all staff to stay in the back on lockdown until the police get here.”
I exhaled a groan. Thanks a lot, gun guy. Now it would take me forever to finish with the holds.
Lacy told everyone except for Mikhaila, who was so consistently quiet that we often forgot she was there. We had to go searching for her.
About 30 minutes later, security told us that the police had arrived and had the situation under control. We would stay closed to the public for the time being, but we didn’t need to hide in the back anymore.
Like a herd of deer venturing out after fresh snowfall, we poked our heads out of the back and slowly made our way to the front desk.
Through an overly large picture window, we could see the man seated on a bench, his back to us, and on every side around him stood police officers. They were calm, holding relaxed stances and seemed to be chatting with the man freely. The security team hovered to the side, ready to offer assistance if it was necessary, but it didn’t look like it was.
Diane, Lacy, Mikhaila, and I watched it unfold from the vantage point of the desk. After some time, though, it was clear it was a boring scene. The officers shifted on their feet. The man stayed calmly seated on the bench.
My focus flitted to the officers, a few of whom seemed close to my age and cut a fine figure in their uniforms.
Opening time came and went. We stayed closed.
Eventually a security guard came inside and gave us an update. The man hadn’t pulled out the gun. In fact, they were pretty certain he didn’t even have one. All the guards were annoyed the officers hadn’t escorted the man outside the second they’d arrived. Then she let slip that there was a patron outside who was supposedly on the phone with a local news station.
This prompted a groan from Lacy who still felt the aftereffects of our branch making the news for porn. Now we’d make it for a fake gun threat? Fantastic.
She disappeared briefly and I went back to admiring the officers.
I practiced flirty looks, none of which worked well. But then, the officers were busy with slightly more pressing matters.
When Lacy reappeared, she told us about calling administration to let them know.
“Also, I texted my husband. If this makes the local news, I don’t want him to be surprised.”
It was a good point, so I did the same with my parents.
“It’s under control right now,” I texted them, “But a man was at the library/community center this morning before we opened saying he had a gun and wanted to shoot a metro employee. Police are here. Everyone is fine and safe. Just wanted you to know in case it made the news. We’re not open yet for security reasons.”
They texted back immediately.
“Stay safe sweetie,” Mom said.
“Glad you’re ok… do they have the guy in custody?” Dad asked.
“I think so now that the police are here,” I answered. Then I went back to watching with my colleagues.
By about 10:30, the police had escorted him out of the building and we opened to the public. It was slow as they trickled in. I think a lot of people turned around and went home when they heard why we weren’t open. Either that, or they got on the bus and went to the next closest branch.
A few minutes later, I sent my parents another update.
“He’s out of the building now and we’re open. Police are still around him. I don’t see any cuffs.”
In fact, the man sat at one of the patio tables on the other side of the exterior window by the children’s service desk.
Around that time, I received a message from my older sister.
“Are you okay? Mom told me what’s going on.”
I hadn’t texted the sisters because it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Just another crazy day at Cyprus.
I told her I was fine and that the guy was at least out of the building.
“I want a different job so bad,” I said.
“That’s really scary,” she replied, “I’m glad you’re okay. I can’t stop crying so I can’t imagine how you are. I think I’d take the rest of the day off.”
I stared at the phone, but suddenly couldn’t focus. My head swam. It was like I’d been in denial all morning and then reality crashed in.
A guy with a gun had just been to the library. He had proudly said he was there to shoot one of us. And I’d responded with annoyance.
Then I realized something else.
I ‘d had to send a message to my family telling them I was all right.
I’d been so flippant about it. I could very easily not have been all right.
I found it hard to breathe. My eyes stung as tears gathered.
I focused on how my text to my parents could have been my last one ever.
Had I really had to send a message like that?
Was I really currently working in a place where this had become the norm? Was that really my world now?
I scanned the children’s department, which was empty. I grabbed a handful of tissues from the desk and rushed to the story room. I turned off the automatic lights and sank onto a bench and let the tears fall.
I wasn’t there for long. Panic hit for only a brief moment. The tears stopped after a few drops. What lingered instead was a desperate resolve to get out before this job ended up being the literal death of me.
Opportunity comes knocking next time.
Until then, I remail…
-C. Quill
