Hiding Out

There are times when a Smurf must do some hiding out. Yeah I am on duty, but I am hiding out. One major advantage to Guarding the Library is that not only do you have lots of keys but you have seen all the rooms and balconies and closets and lounges and offices that were built into the labyrinth that is the University Library.
There are a few place where no one goes- unless they remember where they are. Also it helps if you know where the signs are. Today I have a "closed for renovations" sign on the door. Since this hide out is a lounge at the end of a hallways that resulted from some genius admin deciding to rebuild this end of the 5th floor into study rooms most everyone save the cleaning staff has forgotten there is a lounge out here are the edge of the building. We share this hidey hole with the cleaning crews.
Well we agreed to forget that it is here so that we could use it as well.

So today, Butter and I are trading out turns at hiding out in the Study room. This arrangement works well since both of us have reasons and things to do out of the public eye. Me, I am finishing a book in peace, save for the occasional radio updates. Praying nothing disturbs the peace of the library which will call me away from the sanctuary.

the guards have one rule about this room.
1. no one but guards and cleaning staff can use it. that means no girl friends.

So far everyone has complied

so far.

Wally's World

His name was Wally.
Well his name was Wallace.
He was the Barney Fife of Security Guards. He was like Serious Smurf or Screwed Smurf more likely with what happened to him. There was this woman at the library who worked in reference. She was a major diva/bitch/tease/drama-queen/psycho. This is amazing bit of info as she worked and probably still works at that library on that campus still. It probably makes sense though- everyone ends up somewhere- many of the worst thought end up here.
Wally should have seen it coming.
Wally should have never thought he could take her on.
Hell, I knew I couldn't take her on, and still the temptation to mess around with her was awful.
She was trouble and women who are trouble just seem to be major magnets to men who want to go down in flames.

One Night, Wally swaggers in and makes his move on her.
The next night Wally staggers out, arrested for assault by his own beloved department and charged with sexual harassment

She is a pariah.

What happened?

The short answer would be proof of power.

The long answer goes like this.

Psycho Smurfette, was a librarian- which by their very natures (since the Music Man) are unattainable women by definition.
What was worse is that Psycho Smurfette was an attractive 30something who had a tight, compact 5 foot something body, with medium shapely breasts and a round well formed butt that could get a man's mind working like you would never believe possible. She wore her hair short but grab-able ( I am building up to it) She would tight slacks and pants that enhanced the roundness of each buttock and blouses that rode low enough to get imaginations rolling but high enough to be comfortable.

Wally must have been a goner from the beginning.

Her story ran like this:

Wally came onto her in her office and suggest that they make use of the privacy of the stacks. She declined- he persisted. She threatened him and he pushed her into a corner and groped her bosom.

Yes, that was the words she used- groping and bosom.

It was mostly a lie as it turned out.

She probably had something on the Library Admin, since he fell over himself to hand here Wally's head on a platter- the head of his favorite security guard- I might add. Wally was very good at what he did for the Library- the admins loved him- he had keys to all their private offices. In fact he had spent time there quite a bit.
I suspect that not only was Wally preferred over the other smurfs, that he was poking around with several other librarians and staff and someone got very jealous.

Wally came back by to see them after he was charged, fired and acquitted- the Judge laughed Psycho Smurfette out of the courtroom apparently. Wally said she looked extremely pissed. Still she had won- Wally lost the Job he worshiped.

Wally's story ran like this.

She was always asking for it. Even leaving him notes on places where they could meet up to "talk."

Wally showed us all the notes.

Butter choked up on a couple of them- and I knew that they had actually been meant for him. He looked sick since he hated Psycho Smurfette and loathed her. Poor Wally.

Anyway, Wally had tried meeting her in these places, she always acted surprised but as Wally puts in here. She would shimmy her butt and start flirting with him.

This of course, could mean she flirted with him or just sashayed by.

So according to Wally, the last night he worked. He was "Patrolling the Offices" (something only he was allowed to do) and there she was in her office.

Wally says that he went in and they talked and she came over and had him sit on her couch and then she sat on his lap. Wally says that "petting" began at that point with her rubbing his crotch and he groped her breasts. Then she pulled him up and over to her empty desk and he "bent her over the desk and had his way with her."
He added these notes to this as we sat there (most of us thinking- you stupid idiot)
She grunted while he "rode that sweet ass."
She had him pull her hair back as they did it.
They never were fully nude.
She came at least twice.
She made animal noises then purred like a cat afterward.
He left her with a grin on her face.

An evil grin as it turned out.

Wally concludes his story by telling us that he's got a new security job out a the Industrial park. If any of us want a job out there - he'll put in a good word for us.

Poor Wally, the whole time he's there he looks like a lost puppy wanting to come home.
When he leaves he passes the Psycho Smurfette- you can see in his frown than he is definitely remembering some act even if what he told us was complete bullshit.
She is aloof and barely glances at him. By the time she comes storming up to our desk. Butter has gone on Patrol. I am in the bathroom (peering out) and it's only the Russian sitting there.
She seethes and rages. He gives her the patented dead eye calm stare and shrugs.
She doesn't know he can actually speak English.

As I stare at her back, hell as I stare at her butt. I am imagining her bent over the desk, pants pulled down to her ankles, blouse pushed up over her breasts which are pressed against the wood of her desk. Her head is up and she is looking back as a security guard as they do it. Except, it's not Wally- it's me.
I know I have a major erection right now. I can't help it.
I know she's a psycho bitch but she has this ability to make you lust like you are Wally.

It's power pure and simple. I suspect that she enjoys the power more than anything even as I am disparately thinking about baseball, cold showers and digging ditches.

As she walks back by the Restrooms she looks straight into my face (I am caught like a opossum in the headlights) and she licks her lips and winks at me.

The Russian speaks on Women: A discourse

So there I sit with the Russian at the Security Desk.
He is telling me about eating healthy foods like Beef and Steak and Ribeye. I don't break it to him that they are in fact all Beef. That is when the most drop dead gorgeous woman walks up and says to the Russian.
"How come you never call?"
Then as I gawk at her slender body, perfect breasts, incredible hair, the smell of her perfume mixing with the musk of a foreign cigarette, look with lust into her perfect blue eyes, the two of them break down into a lengthy discourse in Russian.
It goes on and on. She sees me staring at her and smiles at me and suddenly winks. I think she is about to do more when the Russian jumps to his feet and yells at her.
"Sonja begone!"
Sonja frowns at him leans forward so I can stare down her cleavage, gets up from where she has been sitting propped on our desk, Gives me a sly smile and says
"Oh Sergei- (more Russian follows)." Then she turns her shapely butt to me and walks away as part of my screams in my mind that I would sell my soul to speak or at least understand Russian.
After she is gone, I look over at the Russian who looks back at me and shakes his head firmly.
"NO. My friend, these Russian women are bad news. They are Jezebels who take American husbands so that they can get out of Russia and bring their kids, then they will sex you and lie to you and divorce you so quick."
"Are you sure- cause Sonja she looked sincere." I hear myself say.

"BAh!" The Russian says. "Sonja is the worst. She has already divorce her Russian husband to marry an American so she can come here and divorce him too and get his money and bring her child from Moscow!"

I sigh seeing where this is headed.

"Brain- you don't want these Russian Women- they are pagan trash- you want good wholesome Christian women instead who will respect and honor you."

Baptist women- heavy set, fundamentalist, stay in the kitchen, fetch my slippers, bear me 12 children Christian Women. That is what the Russian wants.

The only women who come by either belong to Butter or are the Russian Jezebels who like the Russian and call him Sergei.

On the topic of women

When Butter is on shift there is a steady stream of women who come up to talk with him. He is always polite, cordial with them except for this one woman. He calls her Misty. I know it can't be her name- how many grungy  looking African-American women have you ever run into called Misty?
One day I ask and Butter laughs.
"Her name is Uttamandelfa." He says. I give him the look I reserve for freshmen.
"I ain't kidding you." Butter says. "Apparently her real name is something like Lydia or Laura but she wanted an  African name, so she made that one up."
"Oh."
"But I call her Misty because she is always misty-eyed."
"I don't get it." I reply.
"She smokes lots of dope man." He says in exasperation. "She's a dopehead."
"A stoner?"
"No shit."
"Wow."
"You said it man."
"So why don't you call her Stoner then?"
"I don't want to be cruel man."

Now for the Butter Smurf Song!

When women call him, they call him Butter

Not fly-guy, scrub or even cutter

And when they call him- he starts to stutter

Gotta get gotta get me some Butter!

So he says as his hands mime a train

What’s all this? What’s in a name?

Now his ladies start a shaking

For the sweet love he’s making

It might be a joke, it might be a game

Hey don’t hate the player, hate the game.

While his hands can do the speaking

His eyes do the sneaky seeking

His three finger gesture speculates

Enunciate the point he wants to make

With the guys he’s really fly

Way cooler than this white guy

On the court he can lay down the heat

A real machine cruising down the street

Yes, he is the master of the hip hop dance

Why he is the lover, the chocolate romance

He’s got game and a lot of fame

When those women see him they start to mutter

Gotta get gotta get me some Butter!

Butter gives me the (Ni@@er) Please! look that he thinks he has patented when I suggest that this should be his theme song. Butter is African American from Philadelphia. He tells me he took a wrong turn outside Cincinnati and ended up here in the southland. I know that he came down here to another university/college to do his Masters and somehow got sidetracked.

If you saw all the women who came around to see Butter each day then you would understand how I think he got sidetracked.

He leans back and says:

"Don't hate the player, hate the Game."

I agree not knowing whether we are back to talking about sports (which I hate) or women (who apparently hate me but not Butter).  

weaving my way home

when you work the graveyard shift, it is never a good idea to live over twenty minutes in any direction of where you work.
One night the radio squawks and the Lieutenant comes on and says:
"Badge 43 what's your 40?"
No answer from Badge 43.
I rouse myself from my stupor where I am squatting in a doorway in Zone A "The Hill" and think real hard who Badge 43 is. I have a vague idea that is Guard Falks (a thin non-white guy who also works the graveyard shift). He usually gets one of the outlying zones, tonight he is either in Zone F "AgriCamp" or Zone G "the Concrete Wasteland."
The Lieutenant never calls us by our names over the radio, only our badge numbers.
"Badge 43 what's your 40?" In case you don't know- thats a ten code for location. When the big L asks you better have exact location on the brain or you're toast.
Badge 43 never answers. I mentally picture the Lieutenant cussing up a storm as he dispatches a unit to go look for Badge 43. He never sends a unit unless he is quite sure you are dead, dying or going to want to be dead.
I know this cause he came after me once.
Word had gotten around that I was enjoying my post a little to much and he came out for a look. Now the irony of this is they want us awake and alert even though all we do is unlock doors. Still, we cannot enjoy sitting around all night waiting for twilight to start actually working. So all us Smurfs have come up with ways to stay cool, awake, warm, not bored.
Bored being the operative word.
Hence the reason, I am squatting in a doorway.
The night the Lieutenant came for me I had been posted in Zone C "The bomb-block" a university lab building that supposedly had a reactor in it. Everything was magnetically locked shut, so I wasn't guarding anything that I could even get into. So I had brought my cart with me.
The cart had a little tv monitor on it, game system (n64) and VCR on it plus an extension cord. I like the cart because it was easy to unload and move in and hide so I could have something to fill the hours with other than a book or worse the patterns on the wall. Anyway, let's just say the big L was less than impressed that I was alert and being entertained while babysitting the Bomb-block. So here I am squatting in a doorway in the dead of night. At least he didn't confiscate the cart. but staying awake is a bitch.

Turns out Badge 43 would agree with me, most nights he would show up to roll call, then goto post, sit from radio check, then go home to his apartment (within 4 minutes of his post) and go to bed, with an alarm set for our radio checkins - except for tonight when he forgot to set the alarm and missed his check. When he rolled back in this morning he turned in his keys and his uniform. The Big L doesn't forgive sleepers.

Now all I have to do is drive back 20 minutes to my house without falling asleep at the wheeel after freezing my ass off in a doorway all night. Yaay me!

Exhaustion

Working the graveyard shift is when you realize you have no life at all.
Your days are spent in sheer exhaustion.
Sleep is elusive and only comes when you are not looking.
You tend to wake up in strange and weird places and wonder how you got there.
This is how Fight Club Started.
Insomnia.
sleeplessness.
leads
to mind
numbing
exhaustion.

I leave the room before I pass out..

Sometimes you're the bug

Traffic Duty, Football game.

"Hey, why do they call you guys Unarmed Security?"

This from an incredibly fat cop- Sometimes it amazes me how fat these cops can get and still have jobs as cops.  What is even weirder is that these guys are pretty good cops even if they are not going to bother with a footrace and will probably shoot the offender and swear they were pulling a gun later.

"Because we have no arms." Hervey says without missing a beat.

Fat cop gives Hervey the evil cop eye then bursts out laughing. Cop Humor. Sometimes it is better not to know.

"No Really." The Fat Cop asks after guffawing and gasping. "Why?"

"Well- that's a long story." Hervey begins. "you see many many years ago-"

Hervey's radio Barks out a 10 code and Hervey grabs it gives it the 10-4 and trots off down the street.

The Fat Cop looks at me and this ticket writer who is also working.

"So?"

"Well the short of it was sometime back there was this couple who had a car and they came to the foortball game and did not listened to this security guard when he told them not to drive down the street and then the security guard pulled his weapon and shot out their rear window and that is why there are no real armed security guards anymore."

"And?"

"Nope that's about it."

"I don't believe you."

"Well Barry here will tell you what really happened." and I point at the ticket writer who faints dead away out of sheer terror at being asked to do so.

The Fat Cop laughs and tells me I am alright.

Sometimes you are the windshield...

Traffic control.
To a policeman (person) it's donning the vest, getting the neon gloves, the whistle and girding on authority then walking out into a street with the certainty that no one will hit you with their car. It takes "bells of Steel" unless you are woman of course then it probably takes tits of iron. No matter the inappropriate metaphor- the amount of courage and foolishness often go hand in hand. The thing to remember is to blow the whistle loudly and sharply. Had gestures need to be practiced and to the point. No quavering, quivering allowed.

To a security guard it's donning the vest, looking for gloves, borrowing a whistle (or running down to the surplus store before work with a wad of cash since you DO NOT WANT A PIECE OF CRAP whistle. Getting the authority from the policeman and wading out into human traffic. Yes there are a few select guards allowed to direct cars, but only a few. The rest of the time we get to harass- I mean direct the flow of human beings in and around the traffic.

One night, I am out on assignment and a older guy and a bunch of athletes come to my position. Everything is fine until the old guy steps down into the street. Without turning from my position, I yell "Get back on the curb Sir!" He stops looks at me in surprise and then after a curt hand gesture (nothing but professional hand gestures from the traffic handbook I can assure you) he nods and gets back on the curb.
A moment later I turn to find this enormous football jock in my face.

"Hey, you can't do that! You can't tell him that!"

"Well." I reply and point large- did I say much larger than me footballjock? -back to the curb. He goes although it looks like he is going to kill me at any moment. "Not only I can do that but I will."

"No you can't." Says another athlete- a very self-assured one. "They named this street after him- it is his street."

"Well that is all fine and dandy, pal. But right now this IS MY STREET AND I WILL DETERMINE WHO AND WHAT CROSSES IT WHEN THAT GUY OVER THERE TELLS ME TOO AND NOT BEFORE."
I point to the police officer in the Intersection. "AND NO ONE IS GOING TO DEFY ME NOT EVEN YOU AND THE ENTIRE FOOTBALL TEAM, YOU GET ME?"

They all look at me like I am nuts but they all nod. The old guy gives me a quiziccal look, then turns a shade of embarrassed and nods. They wait for me to say when it is time to go and cross my street.
After they are long gone I look up at the street sign. Sure enough, the street is named for the head coach at the University- the legendary head coach.
I am sooooo dead.

I radio in.
"Sargeant Wilks, this is Gaurd #42 at the corner of "such and such" (no I am admitting nothing)?"

"Go ahead officer."

"I might have just stepped in it sir- I think I just told the head coach to get back on the curb during traffic control in front of the entire football team. Over."

A whistle comes back over the radio.

"Do we we even have a 10 code for that?"

"No I don't think so, Brainy."

"Parks?" Francine voice came over the radio.

"Yes Ma'am."

"If Coach (so and so) complains I will personally ask him why he was jaywalking in front of his boys. You are fine. Keep up the good work."

"Yes Ma'am!"

In memory of my best friend

I pause today, to thank all the people in the world who remember that Love can conquer all if we will only let it into our hearts and minds.
                                                "Time is precious, do not waste it." In Memory of the man who inspired me to blog all of this. Ray White. 1913- 2012

A moment in the Sun

In jobs like this, in a life like this, there are only a few moments in the sun.

This is one of them.

Let's go play in traffic.

Well, I am going to go play in traffic. I have a shield.

You will have to use your imagination or get run over.

fallout in the stacks

About a week after the body had been discovered, recovered and investigated a professor's family filed a missing person's report. Dr. Famish (I am not kidding) had gone missing after failing to call his mother (age 93) in a month. According to Barney, he swore the old woman had said that he son, now confirmed to be the body in section 4D would call every week to check in on her. Barney said she said "I kept thinking I should call someone but by the time I remember to call I couldn't remember what I was calling about."
What is even more unbelievable is when they finally found the log where Dr. Famish had signed in and never signed out the proverbial pooh had hit the fan and several staffers had been repositioned in the worst jobs the Admins could come up with.
Dr. Famish had died from natural causes apparently right after arriving in his office. But since there was a strict "Do not disturb" policy on those offices nothing short of a fire or Atomic attack would have gotten anyone to bother him.
Needless to say, the guards were issued keys, "knock first" instructions and told to periodically sweep the offices from time to time. We guards were told to stay out of the offices and the keys we checked for by the Admins randomlty- which meant for a month they were riding us every other day and then they forgot and moved on to other jobs.

Vintage refused to ever go back to the 4th floor. On rounds he would stay at the stairs while his partner swept the floor or patrolled it. He always got a sick shaky look on his face whenever he went near any of the offices and soon he was seldom seen anywhere at the library except on rare occasions.
Thanks to his reaction, the cleaning crew refused to clean section 4D without an escort being convinced of it being cursed and haunted. Many of them bolted every time a weird or unusual noise came from that area and had to be reassured that they would not be eaten by the famished ghost (I am not kidding) of the fourth floor stacks.

Creepy tales from the back of the stacks

University libraries are by their very nature, quite different from other more normal libraries. Our library is huge and has many things that normal libraries do not. For one thing, this one is a huge ziggarut type building high up on a hill. This helps a whole lot of determined perverts using super telephoto lenses to spy on surrounding dorms of the female persuasion to further their perversions. There are also many hidey-holes created by the mazes of book shelves, a plethora of private study rooms and then there are the offices scattered through out the second through fourth floors.
These office are arranged along certain areas facing windows on the outer edges of the second and third floors, and along 2 sections of the inner stacks on the fourth floor. They are small single chamber units that are free standing inside the stacks like a child lining up a set of building blocks on the floor free from the library walls and internal structure. The end result is that each office has a door and at least one window. In some ways they are self-contained worlds unto themselves.
Each of these offices are supposedly issued to professors and researchers so that they can come to the library and do research away from the distractions of people. What they are in truth is semi-autonomous dens of inquiry, free action, and other perversions and distractions especially since almost no one but the occupants have keys to them. In short, the Guards and even the cops don't have keys to them. The library Admins say they have the keys but I have yet to see one of them produce one.

Case in point. About a month before I came on shift, one of the Admins sent a request down that several of the cleaning staff and a few library works had reported an odd smell coming out of the office block on 4D (4th floor, 4th section of offices). Since no one could come up with the key, the Admins sent a request down to circulation to find out which professor had offices in that block. I came on shift while the library was doing all this research through their records. One thing to note, was even at that time not a whole lot had been put on computer so the searches were going through file drawers of hand written records. Meanwhile the strange smells were continuing to come from Section 4D.
Finally, someone found a peice of paper identifying four of the six offices and their occupants. All of whom were located and confirmed that they had not used their offices so far that semester. By that point the smell was overpowering although no one could really say what the smell- smelled like!
At this point, it was decided that Vintage Smurf would take a set of universal keys up to Section 4D and do an office to office search. An hour passed and no one could reach Vintage so the Library Admins sent Butter to find Vintage. Another 30 minutes passed and finally Butter radioed in that he had located Vintage in a bathroom near Section 4D "puking his guts out."
At this point, the Library Admins panicked and called the City Cops who called the University Cops and told them to clean up their own mess. The University Cops came in and went in search of Butter and began to bitch him out for wasting their time when one of them caught a whiff of the odor and said. "man this place reeks of death." and it all snapped into place.
The four lucky cops and Butter ran down to the offices and found the fith out of six office doors open and inside- the cause of Vintage's distress. The mostly desiccated corpses of a man sitting facing the opposite wall of the office. The smell in that cramped office was overpowering and Butter and two of the four cops joined Vintage in the bathroom. One of the cops didn't make it and ended up using a paper recycling box instead.
It took another call to the city, a crime scene crew, a fleet of city officers and the city morgue the entire afternoon to clean up that mess.
When I came on shift that night most of the fourth floor was cordoned  off. Cops and technicians everywhere. hundreds of redundant questions being asked and piles of paperwork being pulled and library staff scrambling to find out who the dead man was.
A few thing were known.
1. He had been dead close to a month at least.
2. He was in a state of advanced decomposition
3. The stench was worse since these office had no air vents which meant barely any airflow
4. somebodies head was going to be rolling over this one
5. somebody was going to have to take the fall so the guilty could get away with this particular FUBAR.

What a mess.
Tomorrow I will conclude thie one. Right now I got to go see if Vintage has stopped throwing up yet.

There's a centaur in here somewhere

OK, one of the strangest things in the University Library is the case that has the centaur fossil in it. Yes, I said Centaur fossil and library. There is this case in one of the lounges with a centaur skeleton in it. under glass as if it had been found and brought in partially dug up. According to the clap trap around the stacks, a long time back the anthropology department got really bored and cooked up this urban myth, even created a digsite for the discovery and phot op and all kind of outrageous stuff. The centaur is life size albeit a little small for a horse, although plenty big enough to be a man. In case any of you don't watch or play greek myth based tv or video games or read books- a centaur is a half-man/half horse hybrid that supposedly wondering around golden age Greece.
It is all bullshit, I know it and the other guards know it although I am not sure the Russian is completely convinced. But this doesn't include everyone. Oh no, there is a section of the library population that is convinced that this was an actual bona-fide centaur.

What makes this worse is there are several that not only belief that is a actual skeleton of a centaur but that his ghost is roaming the stacks too. Why? No one is actually sure. Butter says that Barney and another guard named Roger Roger are to blame for this.
Apparently there were some pretty gullible Chinese or Korean students who believed them when they were told this myth about the ghost of the centaur roaming the stacks. Barney and RR thought it would be great to use their radios to pull this farce off and one night they staged a haunting of the stacks accompanied by the clopping of hooves, neighing and whinnying of a horse and cloppity clopping at full gallop to scare the bejeezers out of two of these poor kids. Barney and RR had a good laugh about this until dispatch sent some uniforms to locate the four hooved criminal trespasser and the truth came out. RR got reassigned and Barney got a firm talking too.
This only inspired the 2 to expand on the haunting and from time to time the night would be filled with the haunting of our Centaur plus on campus spotting's of the Ghost. RR finally bit of more than he could chew one night and the next night cleaned out his locker and Barney let it go.
Only it was too late.
Now we get sighting calls and mysterious noises calls from time to time as the legend of the ghost Centaur gets passed from one exchange student to the next.
Sometimes you will spot a small cluster of them approaching the display case housing the "skeleton" with reverence and respect.

Last week, one of them left a rice cake for it.

still back in the Stacks

The Russian looks at me one day and says:
"You know Brains, I been told that there is this sick man, very sick man who goes around the stacks at early evening looking for girls, young girls who are asleep and he spills his seed on them as they sleep in the stacks. have you ever heard of this man?"

I take a long look at the Russian and remind myself to shake my head.

"I tell you Brain, if I ever catch this man I will choke him so hard that his head burst just like grape."
Any moment he is going to DAH! isn't that what all big muscle bound Russians say right before they pummel you into oblivion?
Actaully he says: "Right? Am I right?"
I nod.
Anyone who crosses the Russian is going to be a crushed grape. He is 6 foot 5 inches. He is all muscle and speaks like a purer version of Bavarian than Arnold. Hell he would be Conan if he weren't a Christian- some kind of Baptist I think. Very devout and very pure. The Russian never swears, cusses or drinks. When he speaks, one often gets the impression he learned his English from the King James version of the Bible, that and a whole bunch of pretty scarey Baptist Missionaries.

I am not sure if I would be any less afraid of him if he was a vodka drinking, pagan/atheist Communist. The Russian is not and what's more, he is almost likable except when he starts going on about this particular pervert who does- or at least according to Barney (consider the source) goes around and masturbates over young girls who decide to take naps in the carrels or on the couches up there in the stacks. No one I have ever heard of save for Barney and a rather sleazy-scummy librarian named Wormy have ever "seen" this perv. Still, with all the weirdos we do get in here the "Mad Masturbator" (as Barney calls him) has yet to show his "head" on any of my shifts or the Russians now that I think about it. I will have to ask Hervey about him sometime- he'd probably know for sure.

In the meantime the Russian is ready for the two of us to go and look for this Library myth for the third time this shift- which is two times less than the last time I was on shift with the Russian.