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.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Chester the (Potential) Janitor

Rif, our teenage, home-schooled long-time "liberry" ally, who also takes a class or two at the local community college, dropped a bombshell of wonderment on us yesterday.

According to him, Chester the (Potential) Molester has somehow secured a job as a janitor at said community college. So now he has an official excuse to stand around ogling the young ladies who attend. And, also according to Rif, since standing around ogling is pretty much all Chester does when he's on the job, he's a spectacularly shitty janitor.

Now, being as how it's technically Chester's job to keep that place clean and being as how he technically might get fired for NOT keeping it clean, I suddenly find myself overwhelmed by a deep sense of kinsmanship with all the people who've been tracking ice, mud, salt and gravel through our library. In fact, I have a great urge to go buy some hip waders, find a large quantity of mud and go on a stroll down the halls of the community college. After all, if he's going to work there, he ought to be kept busy.

Barring that, and since most of the mud around here is frozen, I do know where I can get my hands on a copious and so far ever-replenishing supply of cat shit. I could use it to undertake a private study of just how accurately I could recreate the fecal-carpet-staining scene from Drop Dead Fred.

"Dog poo, dog poo, smelly smelly dog poo!"

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