An employee of a small town "liberry" chronicles his quest to remain sane while dealing with patrons who could star in a short-lived David Lynch television series.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Medieval Coffee Torture

Parka was in when I arrived today. He'd brought a big ol' cup of coffee with him, which we forbade him to take back to the computer area, forcing him to leave it at the front desk, as is our policy. To punish us, he walked back and forth between the computer hall and circulation desk, taking sips of it every few minutes so he could enjoy it before it was completely cold.

This sounded like:  

*Typitytypitytypitytypetypitytypetypitytypetypitytype*
 *ENTER* 
*rolllllbackthechair*
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*SLUUUUUURP* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp* 
*stomp*
*PLOP* 
*Typitytypitytypitytypetypitytypetypitytypetypitytype* 
(repeat)

I realize I shouldn't begrudge patrons the right to enjoy perfectly good hot coffee they paid for while it's still hot, but, dammit, he KNOWS he can't drink it while chatting with his e-skanks, so why'd he bring it in at all?

No comments: