Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

She had a theory, ‘that’s why librarians are supposed to be bitter, sour faced old-maids with nothing better to do than hush patrons and shelve books.’ Blanche on the other hand was determined to break out of the stereotype and avoid being cast in that lot. On days that were busy she sorted the work that needed to be done into various slots in her mind then in baskets that she fashioned out of shoeboxes she’d scrounged from the B amp;B.

It kind of worked like a triage center in a hospital, at times even picturing herself on the front lines of a M*A*S*H unit whisking patients from the choppers to the waiting area, surgical tent or morgue as the circumstances dictated. Books, video tapes and CD’s were certainly no match for blood and guts but in her mind's eye to maintain her sanity she played out these little comparisons throughout the day. Items that required her immediate attention were put into a basket labeled ‘Now’, those that could wait until later in the day were in ‘Night’, and those that were saved for the mind-numbing days were in ‘Never’.

Mrs. Anderson didn’t wholly appreciate the system and did not sign on to participate but she could see that it worked for Blanche so she let her do her own thing as long as the work was getting done and the library ran efficiently. Ester was impressed with the devotion that her new helper brought to the job and enjoyed the time she could now dedicate to the regional museum.

Arriving at noon the library had already been open for a few hours and there were people scattered about the library, some reading, some dozing and others having quiet conversations over tables or with chairs pulled close together in out of the way places. Blanche generally liked to take a look around to see who was where and what was going on before she set herself to completing the desk related items that demanded her attention. She could tell this was going to be a ‘pull out the Never box’ kind of day so she quickly took care of the few items that were pressing and reached for the ‘Never’ box.

“Nope,” she thought, “don’t have the stamina to even look at this stuff right now.” Blanche pushed the box back into its place, hopped down from her chair and made one more swing through the library looking for rule breakers, which weren't unusual. After all, she’d worked in some pretty big libraries in very large urban centers and just when she thought she had seen it all someone or something else would surprise her. Finding ‘things’ in books were commonplace and they ranged anywhere from graffiti in the margins to porn pictures put into children’s books, to marijuana cigarettes crushed between the pages of a literary masterpiece. Every book that came into the library now had to be thumbed through to find such nuisances.

It hadn’t always been this way but she could see the respect for things she held so dear being devalued and diminished. In the bigger centers the libraries had to install security cameras in an attempt to discourage some of the behavior that was becoming all too common. With the advent and rise in the use of the Internet, libraries had been forced to install computers for research purposes and as a service to the public. Most used them with decency and respect but there will always be some that want to ruin a good thing for everyone. Keeping pornography and viruses cleaned from the systems was almost a full time job, however, in Valdosta Blanche had not run into such a problem, at least not yet.

In her last position on the campus of a university known for its hard partying, Blanche had been more than a little shocked to see students engaged in sexual acts right in the library or on the internet with their webcams rolling. She was happy to put such behavior behind her and her experience in this Southern library had proven to be a piece of cake in comparison. That was not to say that she was any less determined to remain vigilant. The final thing, which she found to be perhaps the most disgusting, was the inability for some to make it to the washrooms to relieve their bodily functions. She wasn’t sure if it was lack of control or just the odds that there are opportunistic weirdoes out there that will try at every turn to get their jollies in one way or the other.

Satisfied that there was nothing going on but a little handy-holdy throughout the library she negotiated the large, heavily laden shelves and arrived at the bathrooms for a quick inspection. Stepping into the ladies room she was greeted with the appearance of a man in coveralls kneeling on the floor looking under one of the stall doors. He didn’t appear to be doing anything other than cranking his neck to get a better view.

“Hmmm,” pretending to clear her throat, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, could you? Would you hand me a flashlight?” the little character said, without moving from his position on the floor.

“I most certainly will not!” she said, with a rising tone in her voice.

“Why not, it’s right over there in my box by the wall.”

“Excuse me, is there anyone in that stall?” she inquired.

“Heavens no, I’m just here all by my lonesome but I could sure use that flashlight,” he indicated again pointing to the box.

“Do you mind telling me just what the hell it is you’re doing in here? This is the ladies restroom after all.” She could feel her cheeks turning redder by the minute.

“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he snickered and paused before saying, “Just joking you. I’m Marcus the custodian round here, and you are?”

“I’m Blanche, that is, Blanche Delaney, I’m the new librarian.”

“Oh, I heard we was getting someone new, pleased to meet you. Would love to see you face to face and shake your hand but I got to take care of this before I get up.”

“Just what is it you’re doing in here?” she questioned.

“Well, you see, there was a report of an increase in water bugs and roaches in this here bathroom and I think I found the nest but I can’t quite be sure, too dark.”

Blanche was already moving to the toolbox in search of the flashlight as soon as she heard the word ‘roaches’.

“Here it is," handing it over his shoulder and placing it into his hand.

“Thanks, yup sure enough, there it is, little buggers been going in and out right there,” he exclaimed, clicking the flashlight off and getting to his feet.

Mr. Marcus was a tiny little guy. He must not have been much bigger than 5’ 4” and certainly no more than 120 lbs soaking wet. She searched for a word to describe him in her mind and all she could come up with was ‘cute’. Yes, he was probably 50 years old with a receding hairline, a face that was deeply tanned and grooved, his nose and ears were showing those middle aged signs of continued growth. Blanche made a mental note: ‘find out if only a man’s cartilage continues to grow until death or if women are equally affected,’ and she filed it in her mental ‘Night’ box. He was wearing a pair of coveralls that covered him from neck to ankles and then a bit more, with a patch above the pocket on his right side that said, ‘Marcus’.

She knew instantly without the least bit of hesitation that Marcus was a man who could be trusted. He met her inquisitive gaze with his own and saw within her blue eyes a spark of recognition and acceptance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, um, ah, I’m sorry, was it Barbara?” he stammered.

“No, it’s my pleasure and it’s Blanche,” she said, with a broad smile on her face, not really understanding what it was about him that made her feel so good.

His smile was liberating and she felt like they’d been friends for years.

“Most round here call me Mr. Marcus, but I’ll answer to just about anything. You need to use the facility? I can wait a few minutes and guard the door fer ya,” he said, moving toward the entrance.