Folding corners, breaking spines, making coffee stains - the antisocial behaviour of library protocol. It's all rather untidy and not liked by some people, but it's tolerated and often accepted with little consequence. Then we get to the petty theft of fines and missed due dates. But writing in a library book - well surely that's just vandalism! (The only library crime that can trump this is dropping a book in the bath so that it puffs up to be a marshmallow, wrinkling and expanding like a broken accordion.) But I am afraid I must say, with my head hung in shame, that this is the kind of criminal the people of Chester think I am. One who spends my days graffitiing literature and scribbling all over it as though it were a sketchbook. I was killing time in town, sat in the library reading a book which I had brought from home. An old man sat in the armchair opposite me and slowly readied an envelope for posting. Once finished, he got up to leave and spoke to me briefly. He said something along the lines of 'I hope you're not vandalising books.' I assured him I wasn't and said that I was just underlining in pencil to help me remember the important bits. Warmly and graciously he replied 'Well, I'm sure they won't mind that.' I smiled. 'Are you having a good day?' he asked. I answered and he went on his way. It was only after he left that I realised he'd probably thought the book I was underlining in belonged to the library, when in fact it belonged to me. What a criminal I must've seemed! So I have an unjustified black mark against my name, but in this case I can live with that. Aside from accidental guilt, what I can take away from this encounter is a lesson in pace and positivity. As I mentioned, this man took his time to delicately execute the task of sealing an envelope: finding the end of the sellotape, peeling it back and lining it up, selecting the right tool on his pen knife (after realising that the nail file was unsuccessful) and slicing the length of piece required, laying the tape on the envelope and pressing it down, standing up to restore the pen knife to its place tucked away in a coat pocket, and settling back down in the armchair. Job well done. He happily professed 'I have nothing else to do today' when insisting someone else went first in the queue, and explained the delight of retirement being that you need no longer rush. Now I don't know exactly what I am trying to say by articulating this little observation, but there is something very simply inspiring about it. 'Are you having a good day?' What does the answer depend upon? Which external or internal factors determine whether I decide I am or I am not? How about you - are you having a good day? The tense of this question manages to gently take me by surprise. It's not asking how was your day last week. It's not asking for a review of what's been, but rather a little stock-check of the here and now. Taking each little thing, each little task, each little piece of sellotape, as one of life's joys and pleasantries.
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AuthorMegan Kate Chester Archives
June 2017
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