#23 Nostalgia

Dear diary,

I can't believe I was so stupid! It was closing time at the library last night, and I was hurrying to finish my trolley. I looked at my watch: 8:58. Only ten folio books to shelve. Easy. I struggled to wedge them into their correct positions, butt he shelves were packed too tightly. My muscles were strained, and beads of sweat were pouring down my forehead. Finally the last one slid into place, though the tier was threatening to burst if anyone tried to take a book from it.

TICK

I ran back to the front desk... but there was no-one there. The front door had already been closed. I called out but heard nothing. I checked my watch: 9:13!? Had it really taken me fifteen minutes to shelve ten folios? I called out again, panic rising in my voice. I scoured the library but couldn't see anyone The staffroom door was locked and I didn't have a keycard, so I knocked once, twice, three times, my fists pounding the door. Nothing.

TOCK

I reviewed my options, one of them looking too good. One of the issues raised the other week was that the library was changing over the cleaning staff, and that there would be a few days in the change-over period where no-one was coming in and we'd have to clean up after ourselves. So, no cleaners in shining armour to come to my aid. My mobile battery was dead and I have no idea how to switch off the answering machine on the front desk phones. The library was recently upgraded with state-of-the-art security measures; the rolling blinds had come down over the 5-inch reinforced windows. The one thing that hadn't been upgraded was the motion-sensor detector system which, as I came to realise that night, is broken.

TICK

I was trapped. In the library. Overnight.

TOCK

I wandered the shelves, feeling pretty desolate. Surely I wouldn't have to spend the night in here. How did this happen? Surely one of the staff on tonight would have noticed they hadn't seen me leave, or... no, they're always busy serving people or doing last-minute closing procedures to even acknowledge me when I say goodnight. I'm noticing a theme emerging here.

TICK

After all, I'm just a lowly shelver. to them. I come in, say hi, then go off into the shelves. I only see any of them every thirty minutes or so to restock my trolley. And when they come to find me it's usually just to tell me which section I need to do next. The patrons aren't much better. They expect me to know exactly where to find books on carpeting or why the latest edition of Woman's Day is missing. And they leave piles of books around the carrels like detritus. It's a thankless job, shelving.

TOCK

I was in Junior at that time, and i remember suddeny thinking back to the time I helped make the giant castle, and how fun that had been. It brought back other memories of good times in the library: my initiaion party and meeting all the other staff, the nice woman who brought cupcakes, racing through the shelves with Talia, my first day of shelving with Talia, that one time Talia- oh wait, that was in a dream. There've also been some exciting or intense times: being chased by a madwoman, being involved in a chase after a madman, being knocked unconscious more than once, saving that guy from the wreckage of Reference...

TICK

So then I really got to thinking about my work, and came to realise something: for all its faults, I really enjoy it. Sure, my work might go underappreciated sometimes. Sure, I might be bossed around and forced to pick up other people's mess. But you know what? I like working in a library, not because it's easy work, not because the pay is great, but because I enjoy being part of a team dedicated to upholding the library tradition of... of...

TOCK

It was at that point that mental fatigue (and a lack of dinner) really hit me, and I couldn't continue that train of thought. So I pulled up a comfy armchair, picked up a good book and read myself to sleep. In the morning I hid on top of a Reference shelf and waited while the staff did their morning shelf-reading. Once they'd gone I slpped down, dusted myself off and walked out the front door, pretending I'd just come in to hand in my timesheet. Smooth.