There I was, at the service counter in the library trying, for the third time, to straighten out a problem with my library ID number, when a voice from the past came from behind me: “I didn’t know you knew how to read.” It was Bill, LNF (which stand for Last Name Forgotten). He played golf with the Tuesday/Thursday crowd when I first started, around 2012, but hasn’t played with us for several years. He’s taller than I am by several inches, and is a former school teacher and superintendent in New York and Maryland.
“I’m still learning to read,” I replied, “and not doing such a hot job at it.”
Bill waited patiently while the very nice (and attractive) librarian worked her magic and assured me that the problem with my ID number was fixed. I asked her to be sure my password was also correct, and when I told her what it was she assured me everything was in order.
Meanwhile, Bill was making a show of copying my password and telling us he was going to use it to check out a few more books.
The librarian told him to be sure to pick out several bodice-ripping romance novels.
I waited for Bill to check out the books he already had and we stepped away to catch up a bit and share our health problems for a few minutes. We both have atrial fibrilation and neuropathy in the legs. Sadly, Bill also has Parkinsons.
Obviously we didn’t step far enough away, because after a minute or two of our uplifting conversation, our librarian said: “As fascinating as this is, I have some other business to take care of and hope you will please excuse me.”
Who ever said librarians have no sense of humor?