Feigning interest

Feigning interest


Learning your favourite elderly newspaper-reader has died a month after he has been buried. This dad and his daughter goes on to visit the library every week and they take out ten books every time. Your heart is rent. The daughter happily tells you how much she likes reading because "Dad lets me read it to him! The regular, genial, gentlemanly patron who calls you by name and always asks how you are, then one day leans in to ask if you were planning on doing anything about the two teen boys holding hands in the Magazine area, because "it's just not right, there's children around". You cheerily accept books for checkin only to find pure, white grains of sand falling from the spine, sand from a land you will never visit. Which is probably the root of all our heartbreaks. You gruffly accept books from a silent teen who never meets your eye and strikes you as sullen [It was a hard day and I didn't have sweetness left to squander on sullen teens, okay], only to be greeted with a whisper: The woman who asks you for "happy stories, but no love stories, just women, being happy for themselves" on a hugely busy Saturday afternoon when there is a queue of ten people behind her waiting for you, but who then goes on to open her jacket and show you where her blouse lies flat because she got a double mastectomy four weeks ago, and "I just can't be dealing with sad stories at the moment". Paper cuts When you offer your own favourite boo k as a recommendation to a carefully curated reader and, having checked it out to them with a knowing wink, receive it back from them three weeks later with the soul-crushingly dismissive comment of "I just couldn't get into it". Will you still be working here when I'm finished school? Also the spine has been cracked from the heat and you'll need to repair it. One, wearing a Burger King crown ironically, one assumes mutters "fat bitch" at you under her breath as she slopes out; this girl you recognise moments later as the angelic child who had previously come to you for book recommendations for years of Saturdays, and who gave you a hug on your birthday three years ago. The nervous mum who hovers as you chat about books you've both loved with her 17 year old who giggles like a ten year old and reads everything: The regulars who never check out a book but wait outside for the library to open every morning just so they can read the papers, tell you about the weather and say "enjoy! When you express concern at the danger inherent in his chosen profession, he deliberates for about ten seconds and offers: Showing a dad how he needs to fill in a form to get a membership card for his seven year old daughter, only to have him come back to the desk ten minutes later to ask you, in a whisper, to fill it in for him, because he can't read it. The most glamorous, petite septuagenarian you've ever met, who walks into the library calling your name and saying "my gorgeous girl, so beautiful, you've lost weight again! Speaking to a customer's daughter on the phone who has started crying because her father died last week and she just received an overdue letter from the library and she didn't even know he used the library and what on earth will she do next? When a favourite customer asks bashfully if you would mind awfully being a nominator on his Irish Residency application, and, after you have responded "absolutely! These things can be surmised into: You will never be worthy and people will always confound you.

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Feigning interest

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Feigning Interest 1.1: The Credits




Showing a dad how he needs to fill in a form to get a membership card for his seven year old daughter, only to have him come back to the desk ten minutes later to ask you, in a whisper, to fill it in for him, because he can't read it. Speaking to a customer's daughter on the phone who has started crying because her father died last week and she just received an overdue letter from the library and she didn't even know he used the library and what on earth will she do next? When you express concern at the danger inherent in his chosen profession, he deliberates for about ten seconds and offers: The regulars who never check out a book but wait outside for the library to open every morning just so they can read the papers, tell you about the weather and say "enjoy! You gruffly accept books from a silent teen who never meets your eye and strikes you as sullen [It was a hard day and I didn't have sweetness left to squander on sullen teens, okay], only to be greeted with a whisper: Your heart is rent. The daughter happily tells you how much she likes reading because "Dad lets me read it to him! These things can be surmised into: One, wearing a Burger King crown ironically, one assumes mutters "fat bitch" at you under her breath as she slopes out; this girl you recognise moments later as the angelic child who had previously come to you for book recommendations for years of Saturdays, and who gave you a hug on your birthday three years ago. This dad and his daughter goes on to visit the library every week and they take out ten books every time.

Feigning interest


Learning your favourite elderly newspaper-reader has died a month after he has been buried. This dad and his daughter goes on to visit the library every week and they take out ten books every time. Your heart is rent. The daughter happily tells you how much she likes reading because "Dad lets me read it to him! The regular, genial, gentlemanly patron who calls you by name and always asks how you are, then one day leans in to ask if you were planning on doing anything about the two teen boys holding hands in the Magazine area, because "it's just not right, there's children around". You cheerily accept books for checkin only to find pure, white grains of sand falling from the spine, sand from a land you will never visit. Which is probably the root of all our heartbreaks. You gruffly accept books from a silent teen who never meets your eye and strikes you as sullen [It was a hard day and I didn't have sweetness left to squander on sullen teens, okay], only to be greeted with a whisper: The woman who asks you for "happy stories, but no love stories, just women, being happy for themselves" on a hugely busy Saturday afternoon when there is a queue of ten people behind her waiting for you, but who then goes on to open her jacket and show you where her blouse lies flat because she got a double mastectomy four weeks ago, and "I just can't be dealing with sad stories at the moment". Paper cuts When you offer your own favourite boo k as a recommendation to a carefully curated reader and, having checked it out to them with a knowing wink, receive it back from them three weeks later with the soul-crushingly dismissive comment of "I just couldn't get into it". Will you still be working here when I'm finished school? Also the spine has been cracked from the heat and you'll need to repair it. One, wearing a Burger King crown ironically, one assumes mutters "fat bitch" at you under her breath as she slopes out; this girl you recognise moments later as the angelic child who had previously come to you for book recommendations for years of Saturdays, and who gave you a hug on your birthday three years ago. The nervous mum who hovers as you chat about books you've both loved with her 17 year old who giggles like a ten year old and reads everything: The regulars who never check out a book but wait outside for the library to open every morning just so they can read the papers, tell you about the weather and say "enjoy! When you express concern at the danger inherent in his chosen profession, he deliberates for about ten seconds and offers: Showing a dad how he needs to fill in a form to get a membership card for his seven year old daughter, only to have him come back to the desk ten minutes later to ask you, in a whisper, to fill it in for him, because he can't read it. The most glamorous, petite septuagenarian you've ever met, who walks into the library calling your name and saying "my gorgeous girl, so beautiful, you've lost weight again! Speaking to a customer's daughter on the phone who has started crying because her father died last week and she just received an overdue letter from the library and she didn't even know he used the library and what on earth will she do next? When a favourite customer asks bashfully if you would mind awfully being a nominator on his Irish Residency application, and, after you have responded "absolutely! These things can be surmised into: You will never be worthy and people will always confound you.

Feigning interest


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