GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #422: DOWNTIME

 I miss having a job with downtime. The one I work now has zero downtime. Well, mostly. Someday I'll describe that last qualifier, but for now it's like this: calls come in constantly. I talk with approximately 100 people a day. If calls stop coming in, and it happens, then we start calling out. There isn't a lot of time to get to know my coworkers. Most of them I just know as someone I work with and say hi to every morning or bye to every evening. There are exceptions but not many.

All of my other jobs have had downtime, and as a result I've made a lot of friends with coworkers over the years. When you have downtime you can bullshit or tell jokes or just hang out or in one notable case watch I Come in Peace on company time. Then of course there is mischief to be had. Pranks to be played. I have to say my finest moment was when a coworker/friend left his computer unlocked. He absolutely despised Pulp Fiction (his love of the Fast and Furious movies explains everything), so I snuck by his desk and opened Chrome, his browser of choice. I then got an add on that changed how it looked. You know when Travolta and Jackson empty their guns in that one scene?

Yeah, that one.

From that moment on that image was at the top of his Chrome browser. He gave me credit for that one, and when he asked how to get rid of it, I said I didn't know. I was maybe telling the truth. The fog of memory . . . obscures . . .

(And if that prank sounds kind of mean, it's not. He drew first blood when he changed my background to an almost naked picture of Nic Cage that could have led to an HR conversation.)

But my favorite job for downtime was working at the library, especially when I was working behind the circulation desk. That meant that whenever someone checked out books, I got to see what they were interested in. If it crossed with my own interests, then a great conversation about books ensued. I can talk about books for a very long time. I think I might still be able to do it from beyond the grave. I have no way to prove that just yet, but don't be surprised if, after I die, I start hanging around your place talking about books.

I truly miss that job sometimes. But then again, a lot of weird and horrible shit happened in that place, too. I'm not sure if you ever read my two Tales from the Library columns from Tabard Inn, but if you have, you know what I mean. And it gets even worse. I'm talking arrests, convicted kid rapists, sexual harassment and assault. Crazy shit you would never expect to happen in a library.

But the pros outweigh the cons.

Hey, what is Brian Benben doing these days? Last I saw him he was in The Deer Woman

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #21: THREE DAYS GRACE

Before I continue with this one, I want to make it perfectly clear: I used to work in a library. In fact, I worked at one for almost 10 years. I know a lot of things about how libraries are run, but there's one thing I just don't get.


The three-day grace period.


Why three days? I tried to look it up, but no one ever talks about the library grace period. It's always about credit card payments and storage and other shit.


The only thing I can think of is this: Jesus was dead for three days. Could I possibly be right? What if Jesus had been dead longer?


What if . . . what if he didn't get to return his overdue scrolls when he came back? He was too busy with St. Peter over the whole denying-me-three-times thing. Ascension is a very time-consuming thing.


I hope he does come back soon. I'd be cool with a 2,000-year grace period.


What?! Having to pay overdue fines sucks. *sigh* All right, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, fuckers.








































































You still with me? Do you want to know what working at a library was REALLY like? DM me your address on Facebook or Twitter or email me at editor@talesofquestionabletaste.com, and I'll send you the first two issues of TABARD INN for free. Inside, you'll find my old Tales from the Library column. You will never look at the library the same way.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #10: CROSS

Some of you know that I'm reading the new Cross book by Andrew Vachss. Sad to say, that's not the topic of tonight's Goodnight, Fuckers. The Cross in the title of this one actually refers to the brand of pens.


You see, over the weekend, I found myself in an office supply store, mostly because I needed to pick up paper and a pen refill. Ordinarily, when I'm done with a pen, I just toss it. However, the pen in question is special. I worked for almost 10 years at the Elmhurst Public Library (the library from my old forgotten column, Tales from the Library--I'm pretty sure they can't sue me now), and my reward for hitting the five year mark was a pen. It doesn't sound very majestic, but it's actually a wonderful Cross pen, one of the best I've ever owned. Whenever I have something important and official to sign, I use the EPL pen. It's old fashioned, in that you can buy refills for it, which is what I was doing over the weekend.


However, while I was in the store, matching up the old filler with a series of new ones, I saw something that intrigued me. Did you know that some major retailers are still selling fountain pens? I'm not talking about regular stationary stores, like the one I used to go to in downtown Elmhurst when I was a kid--is that even still there? I'm talking about the Offices: Depot and Max. I can't imagine they make much money off of such sales, but just after I found the proper refill for my EPL pen, I saw it there, complete with a booklet on how to use a fountain pen.


For $50+, I could have bought it. Fuck knows I wanted to. The temptation almost overwhelmed me, because who the hell writes with a fountain pen anymore? They're so impractical, it's ridiculous. But the very idea sounds cool.


I should probably mention at this point that for about a semester in college--back in about 1998 or 1999--I spent an inordinate amount of time taking notes in class with a quill pen. It's a stupidly pretentious thing to do, and I couldn't admit that to myself until just a few years ago. Yeah, I know, it was a cry for attention. A friend of mine called me out for that reason specifically, but again, I couldn't admit that back then, not even to myself. But he was right.


However, even though it took me that long to realize how stupid I was, I still stopped using the quill long before I could face my own stupidity. Why? Well . . . using quill pens are stupid. I understand that there are a few purists out there who use them for specific things, and that's fine, but quills are incredibly inefficient. Every few seconds, you have to stop so you can refill the pen. That's not good in a high pressure situation. It's not good for taking notes, either. Keep in mind, I went to college in a day when the internet was in its infancy. We didn't have iPads to help us out.


Fountain pens might not be as bad as quills, but they're still pretty inefficient. Why the fuck would I be tempted to buy something that pricey for something that a cheap Bic would do ten times better? Because . . . fuck. I'm still crying for attention. Why else would I do a nightly blog like this?


Even though I know I would get much more value out of a common, ten-cent ballpoint pen, I still can't help but lust after that Cross fountain pen. Maybe it's more than that cry for attention. Maybe it's a desire to do something different from the rest of my peers. I suspect I know a couple of people who might use a quill pen for calligraphy purposes, and that's fine. But no one else does and for good reason. The same for fountain pens.


Still. Every day that has passed since the weekend, I have felt the urge to go back and get that fountain pen.