I can always find something to do when I need to kill some time. It's harder to find time to kill.
I had some free time before therapy last night. I made a mental list of ways to waste an hour and a half:
1. Drink beer.
2. Take a walk.
Showing up at a shrink's office smelling like a bar is generally frowned upon. Going anywhere smelling like a locker room is also frowned upon. I needed more options. I made a new list:
1. Work in a quicky.
2. Go to the library.
Showing up at a shrink's office smelling like sex is generally frowned upon. Plus, after the quicky, I would still have to figure out what to do with the remaining one hour and 28 minutes. I decided to go to the library.
I selected several books from the young adult section because if Homeland Security pulls my library records, I want them to think that I'm much younger than I really am.
I sat down and paged through them. The man next to me was completely engrossed in what he was doing. I wish the library would post a sign that reads, "Please refrain from scratching yourself in the library."
Scratching yourself in the public library is not okay. You will look like a pervert. Even if it's a legitimate itch.
I couldn't concentrate. I could hear the steady rasping of his fingernails. I cleared my throat. No reaction. I slammed a book shut and sighed heavily. Still no reaction. Finally, I whipped my head around, ready to confront the Pubic Library Scratcher (PLS). Usually, I like to have something clever to say. Something more clever than, "Do you mind?" but I couldn't think of anything else. Just as I opened my mouth to chastise PLS, he withdrew his hand from his pants...
...and sniffed his fingers.
True to form, I retched.
I hurried to the check out and after writing a check for a $2.72 fine, I walked out with four books. I went to therapy early to sit in the lobby and read. I flipped open the cover of a book. Inside, was a feathery mustard colored stain.