The Jobless Goddess

Lately I’ve noticed that I lean toward working in the children’s room at the library. I have a couple of guesses regarding this. A) No one else likes it. B) I’m so bitchy that I may be a good candidate for this special place. I side with both. Working in the children’s room allows me to make certain observations, namely that there’s a great divide between children who want to listen to their parent read a story aloud and kids who ask me for laptops.  Then there’s the breastfeeding moms who manage to text while they nurse. Talk about multitasking. I can’t help but think about the little beams of cancer-causing agents going between her cellphone, her boobs, and her baby. I told you I’m bitchy.  Then there are the harried moms who couldn’t possibly put away the 4,000 toys their kids just threw all over the cute little carpet in the room. I can’t blame them. They brought 42 toddlers with them, probably doing another 14 moms a favor, and it’s all they can do to open the door of the

Well, yet another dream has come true. Not only did I fulfill my lifelong ambition of being a lunch lady, now I've landed a part-time job at a library. I waited a full two weeks before telling you in case I woke up and it was gone. And, as libraries go, this one is the Ritz. It’s got pretty much every cookbook ever written and a huge DVD and blu ray collection. It’s brand-spanking new and might as well be a community center-library-coffee shop. I’ve had an uncanny stroke of luck, I know.  As with most of my fantastic experiences, I pause to posit a few drawbacks. Like I’m pretty sure all the women I work with double as yoga instructors in what little free time they could possibly have. I also put forward that they keep the air conditioning in the library at around 87 degrees, judging by my constant sweating. Then there’s the whole question of whether or not I use the composting toilets or do I take the stairs yet another time to use the conventional staff toilet downsta