Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

" The Voice of the Rain" And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower, Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated: I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain, Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea, Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and yet the same, I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe, And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn; And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, and make pure and beautify it; (For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering, Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.) -- Walt Whitman

Today was one of those slightly rainy days, though by the time I got off the expressway it had stopped raining. My friend who grew up in Virginia used to say of days like these that it was "spitting" outside. I never really liked the idea of that expression, as though Cherabim and Seraphim, bored with their idle days spent on playing harps and singing in the Almighty's choir decided to see who could spit the farthest. Well, anyway, it is cloudy and in the fifties and perfectly perfect outside and I am indoors working the early morning shift, with my Reference partner in crime due in in a little over an hour. It is a quiet enough day here. I have responded to 5 reference questions in the last 45 minutes, 4 of those coming from the same man. High maintenance. It is in these quiet times that my mind wanders and I fall into fantasizing about some tall gorgeous man striding through the doors, over to the desk, and saying to me in his sexiest voice, "hi, you don't know...