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.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Jus sans des ceintures

My Indian name, as granted me by my decidedly non-Native American fellow employees, is Juice Two Belts. I was given the name after I came to work wearing two belts, one atop the other, back around Christmas and then, like a dumbass, told people about it. Today, however, I was Juice No Belts and was suffering from droopy pants throughout the day.

"I wish I had even one of my belts," I told Ms. D. "I think I might make one out of book tape."

"Some of that strapping tape would cinch you right up," she said. I eyed the roll of strapping tape, which we use to secure book-wrap-wrapped book-jackets to books. It would indeed make for a decent and sturdy Jethro belt. I considered it more and even checked our supply to make sure I wouldn't ruin us by using some of it. We had extra rolls, but it's some of the more expensive tape we have, so I didn't really want to waste it on a belt. Instead, I grabbed the roll of cheap-ass packing tape, pulled of a belt-sized strip of it, wrapped it over on itself, ran it through the belt loops of my pants and tied it up tight in the front. My shirt hung down over it, so no one but me and Ms. D was the wiser. It worked pretty good, too, though it did occasionally make little plasticy squeaks.

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