Creeponomics

The other day, I dropped by the county library, got myself a library card for the first time since I was like 12. I think I mentioned this in some previous entry, but the last time I had a library card, I'm pretty sure I held out on paying a 50 cent fine I accumulated at the age of 12 until I moved away at the age of 17. So, this was a big moment for me. I still had a slight fear these librarians would know somehow. I know that I'm on a completely different side of the country and these librarians have never seen me before. But still! Isn't that a requirement for librarians...they must know all? They're old enough.

Plus, I've decided I don't trust small towns and their gossip. They have such crazy networks and magical powers, I'm starting to think that small town mayors everywhere collaborate, meet every year and relate all the goings-on in their respective towns. How Jane dared to marry a boy from the town 30 minutes down the road and how that would mess up the dynamics of next week's football game, how Jake is moving to Mayor Jones's town but that Mayor Jones should know that Jake has a drinking problem - he likes to have beer once a week, shame. I might be paranoid. But surely I am in a computer file somewhere as being a library fine dodger. Or, did that go away when I turned 18? If so, I've wasted a lot of my time worrying about 50 cents.

Anyway, after getting my library card from the little old lady, I wandered around the rows of fiction, trying to figure out their system. Not that it's different from any other system - that's just my excuse for walking around aimlessly and smelling books. Don't judge me.

So, I'm innocently standing there in the middle of the fiction section, looking at a sign, trying to remember my alphabet, when this dude in his late 30s comes up. (That's me being generously young. I've never been good with ages. I'd talk to an 18-year-old thinking he was 25.) Anyway, this guy pauses in front of me for a second blocking my view, and just kind of whisper mumbles, "You're pretty." At least, I think that's what he said, he was awfully quiet. Not inside voice library quiet, but like, send chills up your spine creepy quiet. I kind of looked at him for a second, half-way smiled - I didn't know what else to do! - and moved on down the aisle. I peeked at him through the gaps in the bookshelves, and I saw him glance over his shoulder a couple of times as he walked in the opposite direction. Perhaps, he was hoping I would follow him to a dark corner for some sort of library fantasy of his. I DON'T KNOW!

Okay, normally, I might be a little flattered, grateful that I'm not actually invisible. But this guy was like 40-something with a really really bad goatee. In my automatic bright side moment as a die-hard optimist, I thought, "Well, at least I somewhat interacted with a real human today." But then, I started to really think about it, and I decided that anyone who just walks up to some random stranger, in a library no less, and whispers, "You're pretty," has got issues. I don't care if he's 24, drop-dead-gorgeous and has a million dollar trust fund. It's just creepy.