She stands behind the counter, dressed as you would expect she would be dressed. Holding a stack of books in one arms she adjusts her glasses. A gentleman walks up to the counter and hands her a book he would like to check out. She informs him he isn't allowed, as he has past due books.
"Sir, you have other overdue books, I can't let you check out this one."
"There must be some way I can pay the fine..." he offers suggestively.
She responds with a snap, "We accept most credit cards."
"Whaddya say we go to the back..." Music begins to play in the background, she is confused. She realizes now just the situation she's in. She tries to shoo him away.
"Really sir, just the cash."
"Well..."
"SECURITY!"
A security guard rambles over.
"Well, well, well....what seems to be the problem?"
The music swells again. She sighs an exasperated breath and gathers her things and leaves the library, not bothering to punch her time card.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Cruelty
"It takes years to build up trust, but only seconds to destroy it."
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
There are some days I don't feel human. Other times, I feel so overwhelmingly human, and it's painful. What makes my humanity painful at times is witnessing the outside world, humanity at it's "best" and basic form.
Faccets make a diamond beautiful. Faccets make people imperfect. Place a person you hold dearly on a pedestal and you've created an illusion of this person you would like them to be. However, discover one flaw, whether it be a past action, a secret, or future intention, and that illusion is shattered. It happens to me constantly. I will hold a person in high regard and keep a strong opinion of them, but it only takes one action to destroy them.
People are, as a rule, facceted. Nice and kind to some, cruel and tortuous to others. It is painful to witness what goes on behind other's backs. Backstabbing and gossiping is used to turn others against you, and it is the worst crime.
I wonder how? How can humans be so evil? We study for years, even lifetimes, to be good and how to do what is right. How, then, can one cruel action pass freely? Is it not our nature to be kind?
Cruelty is subtle, but ever present. Witnessing such harshness makes me strive to be a better person, one rumor at a time.
Penalty
The leader's fist hit his desk a strict three times, calling for order.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
"The death penalty! Who's first?" he boomed with authority.
"When a child throws a rock at you!" a gentleman called.
The leader pondered this for a moment. He knew he hated children, especially rock throwing children.
"Stoning is the only justice for any rock heaving child. Next!"
"When someone pees in the community pool!"
Collectively, it was decided the appropriate penalty would first be torture by waterboarding, then death by electocution.
"NEXT!"
"When a really good idea is rejected and disregarded!"
The group laughed as the leader pronounced, "Don't be stupid, Richards!"
Richards sulked, yet imagined the leader's limbs being torn apart by rabid dogs. A proper justice.
Into The Wilderness
I've always fancied myself a camper. While I may have woken up cold, clammy, and sticky, I've made a habit to tell myself, "Yeah! Camping! This is great!" Hiking up dew covered hills? "Neat!" Upon seeing rodents, bugs, and snakes, I would shout, "How exotic!"
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
I grew up living close to "the canyon" which, being me, I had no idea what canyon people were talking about. To my knowledge, northern Utah had more canyons than I cared to count and only one I knew I had driven through for sure. Now that I am older, I feel I am able to distinguish landmarks in said canyon and recognize which campgrounds I have been to.
One weekend, my boyfriend recommended we go for a night-camp, we'd arrive early, leave early, and enjoy the scenery. I agreed and he was thrilled. I figured I was the ultimate girlfriend--I would be the girl who goes camping and enjoys it, who enjoys living by firelight and sleeping in a sleeping bag outside. I was, needless to say, awesome.
After driving through "the canyon" for a few hours, I grew weary and I lost hope that we'd find a campground at ten in the evening. To my chagrin and his excitment, we settled on one and set up shop. I realized we had nothing. Just a grill, some lamps, and an air mattress that we wouldn't even inflate. It was dark. It was more than dark, it was a purgatory where nothing existed outside my five foot light-radius. We grilled hot dogs, I staggered to find the camp-toilet, and finally climbed into our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. We watched a movie on the laptop he brought, my only glimpse into the life I've left in the valley, where technology is my security blanket.
I woke up to the sounds of squirrels screaming at each other. Birds cawed only to annoy me. I was, of course, cold, sticky, and clammy. I was ready to go home and sleep on my bed at home. It was an uncomfortable mattress and at an angle where I would roll off if I slept a way my bed didn't like, but it was still a bed with blankets and a roof. Leaving the campground felt like leaving a different world where we could see the road and the signs.
A sign that read "Evanston 48" flew past us. We were headed the wrong way towards Wyoming. The awesome girlfriend in me said, "Why not? A fun day trip." The valley-girl in me said, "Why, God, why?" It was this forty minute trip to Wyoming that made me realize, as we passed lakes, golden fields, trees with bands of light breaking through to illuminate the roads and deer hunters, this simple fact: camping blows.
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