I had to go to the library today

Today i got stoned. I know, big deal, people do it everyday. But today was different, today I had to go to the library. I put on my outfit, leather, to feel “cool.” Then I ate lunch with some friends. No big deal, except there was one big deal. I had to go to the library today. I ordered two books, they were there, I needed them. They were suddenly the most important task of the day, and everything in between was just this useless appeasement, just a step by step to the next step which was more of the same, taking me further and further away from my goal. And as these thoughts piled upon my brain, filling me with anxiety and regret, I knew that there was only one path out of this mess. GET TO THE LIBRARY. People asked why I left so abruptly as I threw down a few bills to cover the food I didn’t want to begin with and stumbled out of that place. Thank god my hair is so soft, I thought to myself as I ran my fingers through my $30 conditioned hair (keratase — look it up, it’s usually $60 but I got a good deal), trying my best to continue to look cool and unaffected as I silently freak out. Then I was there, the library. The GREENPOINT library. I passed the bench that always seemed to have a similarly bedraggled, over-60 casualty of alcoholism, listening to a tape on deck and eating a bodega sandwich. They are always blonde with thinning hair, tall, with pot bellies, and creeper level faces that find every moving object as equally dull as it is fascinating. I know they are all different people though, because some of them are women and some are men. Maybe they are all part of a large fucked up family, I don’t know. But they all occupy the same spot on this bench, and in the same way. I breeze past pretending I don’t notice them, my usual move, and make my way inside. Standing next to the counter where I have to self-checkout is a cop, a quiet one, thoughtful, female. Female cops always scare me a little, I think because deep down, women scare me. I think this over as I try to calm my fears, “do I smell like weed?!” I play it cool. My sunglasses and leather jacket help. my life isn’t meaningless, I try to assure myself as I grab for the two books that I put on hold. Gilwit they say along the binding (to notify me which ones I put on hold), like they were my books, like I wrote these books. What would it be like to have a book I wrote checked out of the library, i wonder to myself as I continue to play it cool next to this cop. My main problem is the order of operations that go into this self-checkout business. Do i scan my card and then the book or vice versa, or is the card even needed? I am very much not a child of this self checkout generation. I think about a news article that I read earlier where an 18 year old girl driving 113mph gets into a collision with another car because she is trying to snap chat the speed she is driving. Snapchat was sued, not this girl. She isn’t accountable, she’s fine. The victim has brain damage. I am forced to self-checkout. I begin to notice that a woman has been saying the same words over and over again to my left, where the book return is. She is talking to a child that could either be her child or her grandchild. She keeps saying sternly, “push it in”. Sometimes she places emphasis on “it in”, sometimes on “push”, it is different every time and equally as unnerving. Is this child being defiant? Why does she need to be constantly told to push a book in. Is this little girl trying to signal the cop that is leaning on my checkout station. Has she been abducted, or living in an abusive family? This woman continues, “push it in” “push it in”. The cop isn’t even paying attention to how bad I am at self-check out, her head is turned right towards this woman and her 8 year old child. She is glaring. Does she realize what is happening? Does she disapprove but not have authority? I finally figure out the order of operations for this stupid checkout thing and shove my books into my bag. My sunglasses fall off my face and for a second I hesitate, positive that my cover is blown. But it isn’t, the woman is walking out with her kid and now she is yelling at her for doing such a bad job at her very simple task. Something is wrong I think, and I look over at the cop who is still watching them leave. I then leave, and turn around to see if the cop is looking at me, she isn’t. She is watching a guy that might be touching himself and reading a graphic novel. I walk out and make brief, unwanted eye contact with the person on the bench and then I take a deep breath and think, I need to go home and watch ghost busters.