Rose leaves after a winter ice storm in Oklahoma City. Photo credit: glassgrrl_ok, Flickr
Yes, friends, it’s the haaaappiest season of all–when academic librarians go on vacation. For two whole weeks. During the darkest, wintery-est time of the year. Yes, the administration, they mocks us, but we don’t care. ‘Cause we’re on vacation!
I, your friendly scribe, probably won’t be posting again until the week of January 7th unless, by some unlikely turn of events, I get unfettered access to another terminal.
Until then, however, I thought I’d leave you with the following story from a friend of mine, Heather, who now lives in the Big City (aka Seattle) far to the South. She gave me her permission to post it here. To set the stage for you, Heather is a vivacious, twenty-something brunette who works in a jewelry store in a corner of Seattle that, in addition to patrons of the arts, also has its share of colorful street life. But I’ll let her tell it:
We had the best drunk EVER come into the store a few days ago. I didn’t realize he was drunk until I was standing right next to him and could smell the liquor. He peered into the front case and asked to see the sapphire Journey pendant. We don’t have a sapphire Journey pendant. Thinking he couldn’t see that well and meant, perhaps, the Tahitian pearl set around with diamonds, I went to pull that out. He grabbed my wrist and said,
“You got pretty eyes.” Oh, this guy is drunk.
“Thank you sir.
“No, they’re captivating. You should be careful with those things.”
“Is this what you were looking at, sir?”
“No, the sapphires!”
“Sir, these are diamonds.”
“No! No they ain’t…Oh, they ain’t blue. Can I smell them?”
Now, the piece in question was a cubic zirconia floor model of a diamond Journey pendant, so I handed it over, more for my amusement than anything else and, so help me gods, he sniffed the pendant and handed it back to me. I turned to grab a selvyt and clean the piece immediately. The guy looked down at my pants and said,
“Nice pockets, too. Nice eyes and nice pockets.”
Just then, Paul [my boss] came back in the store. I nodded at him and nodded at my strange courtier who had turned his back to us to look in another case. Paul went up to him and asked him if he had decided on anything. The man turned around, looked straight at Paul’s chest, and declared, in complete shock,
“What happened to your tits?!?!?!”
Paul rolled his eyes and came back to join me behind the counter where I could barely contain my laughter. Paul scribbled a note on a piece of paper. It read “This guy is wasted.” No, really? The man tottered around the shop for a while, peering in the cases and then left, admonishing me to keep my eyes closed, lest I start a riot. As soon as he left, I turned to Paul.
“Hey, Paul…Where’d your tits go?”
Paul turned red and said I should go run after that guy and get his phone number. Then he sent me to go get him some coffee. The end.