BESIDES BOOKS, CAN I CHECK A BROOMSTICK OUT?

I know Halloween is coming because the witches are coming out. Take yesterday at the library, for example:

My son hits the disabled button, the door swings open, and we walk in.

Witch number Two, grey streaks coming out of her head like old snakes, rolled her eyes at my son and me when we walked in each carrying a huge stack of books. (I am calling her Witch Number Two and not Number One because the woman’s witchery we shall meet in a moment, surpasses this woman’s witchery). I ask nicely, “Where is the book deposit?”

She lowers her square glasses. “It’s outside.”

My son drops three of the books. “Can we just put them on the counter here?”

“No! You have to deposit them outside.” She turns her pointy nose in the direction we need to go.

“But I need to check out a book you have on hold for me and I want to check all these in at the same time to see if I left any at home.”

Son drops another book.

“It doesn’t work that way. Take them outside.”

We pick up all the dropped books and walk back out the door. My son hits the disabled button, the door swings open, and we return to the counter to pick up my book on hold.

I think they have a placed a red-flag on my card. I now meet Witch Number One. She has stringy black hair and thin skin.

“You have another fine. It is twelve dollars this time.”

“Twelve dollars!!!! I just was here two weeks ago. I paid twenty dollars then. What are you doing, building a wing in my name?”

She’s not amused. “You had a video that was eight days overdue and you checked these books out four weeks ago.”

“That’s impossible. Time doesn’t go by that fast.”

“Yes, it did. Also, are you sure you live in P***** (insert name of city)?”

“Yes. Why do you ask that?” (Wondering how in the world she knew I moved, although I AM in the same city. Witchcraft).

“Its just time for us to check. Did you move?”

“Yes, but I’m still in P*****. I’ll give you my new address.” (I give it, but stumble a little. My three-year old is hitting the disabled button over and over and opening the front door again and again. Witch Number Two librarian leans over the counter and scolds him (I think she might be casting a spell), saying that he cannot press that button any longer. It is only for people in wheelchairs. He looks confused. He runs out the door. I run after him and bring him back. I am holding his hand and he is wailing. This stumbling over my new address raises Witch Number One’s suspicion of me.)

“So, you own property in P*****?”

“What?”

“Do you own property in P******?”

“No. I don’t own property in P*****. I’m renting.”

“You’re renting???” (she said in a really loud accusatory tone.)

Well, that’s when I changed into one of them.

“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TELLING ME? “ My voice starts to spew. An even louder hush than normal library hushes falls over the library. People look. “ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU HAVE TO OWN PROPERTY TO CHECK OUT A BOOK THESE DAYS? “

She looks at me in a witchy way.

“MY LANDLORD DIED! THEY EVICTED US! THEY HADN’T EVEN PAID THE MORTGAGE IN MONTHS! IT WAS IN FORECLOSURE! I HAD NO WHERE TO GO! BUT I SWEAR I STILL LIVE IN P********!”

“All right, then,” she smirks. “We were just checking.”

She hands me my book.

I press the disabled button, the door swings open, and we run…barely escaping Witch Number Two’s evil eye.