“God damn this key! God damn this mailbox! A pox on this cold!”

And sometimes, sometimes, I think that my life is just one big joke.

The key bent another thirty degrees, looking more mangled than anything ever should. There was something a little obscene about it. The frozen lock simply stared back, frosted beyond all hope.

Fingers red and numb from the freaking cold, I jammed the key back into the lock, twisted with regrettable force, and felt it snap in two.

“Son of a bitch’s whore’s hermaphrodite father! Jesus Christ, I am never doing this again!” Cursing colourfully enough to make a sailor blush, I tossed the key half into my pocket, giving up and beginning my trek across the street in knee-high snow.

Ignoring the annoyed beeping of cars, I trudged through the snow bank and onto the street, my hands stuffed as deep as possible in my pockets. A car screeched to a halt, but after almost becoming a human pancake in the middle of the road enough times, cars become less frightening and more… Blatantly annoying.

I leapt up to the sidewalk just as I noticed a very familiar van coming. Weighing options in my mind, I began flailing about wildly.

There- thank god I was right this time! My previous school teacher waved back, stopped, then grinned evilly.

Okay, another thing to weigh: my aim was to at least frighten him a bit, so why was I now the one struggling to get over this snow bank before he came? Was this really worth the ambiguous and suggestive comments I could make to him in public from hereon about our little rendez-vous in the wee hours of the morning?

Slightly terrified, I scanned around for a possible threat- snow? Hell no, snow wasn’t scary- but wait! Slush. A big pile of slush. A foot away. Looking all menacing-like.

Oh, hell no.

I glanced back up just in time to see the teacher laughing hysterically as he gunned the engine.

Hell yes.

With renewed vigour, I ploughed through the compact snow. I could make it, I could make it, there was no way in hell that he was going to-

Splurch.

Son of a bitch.

Sighing, I watched him driving away, hand waving out the window. My legs were soaked, jeans sticking with to my skin with the noble goal of freezing my legs off. The official mail bag of my employment dripped with icy and slushy goop, and my jacket clung to me like it was a drowning man. I felt my hair dripping and wiped some slush off my face. He would so get it now. So get it. Butthead.

Miserable and about to get my ear yelled off, I made my way down the hill to the large, brick building known as the public library. That is, I was making my way down, until my foot caught a patch of ice and I was soon flailing madly, sliding down a snowy hill on my ass.

“Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap-crap-no-don’t-park-there!”

BAM.

I limply fell backwards into the snow, now safely at the bottom. And half underneath a car. A car that my face had just met very intimately with.

The man opened the driver’s door, fumbling with his gloves. “Oh my god! Are you alright?”

I didn’t bother opening my eyes. It was a good idea to pretend that today just wasn’t real.

“Hey, are you okay? That looked like it hurt.”

I sighed. “I’m afraid that you can’t park there. It’s a handicap parking spot. You just can’t see it right now.”

As he blinked in confusion, I dragged myself up, brushed off all the unwanted particles, and casually walked back into work. Better day than yesterday, at least.

My boss cried out in panic when I walked in. “Don’t take another step! You’ll soak everything! What did you do?”

Staring at her with the ‘you’re a moron’ face, I dropped the soaking and empty mailbag to the ground. “I went swimming in a pack of slush and snow.”

Shaking her head, the lady pointed to the back room. “Go and hang that bag up. You can dry off while you call the books in… Where are the books?”

Dragging the bag across the floor, I miserably made my way to the back room. “The key decided that it would rather mutilate itself than help me. So I ostracized it.”

She made a very good fish impression as I dropped the bag in the staff bathroom and went to the back mini-kitchen. If I was going to be stuck here for the next nine hours, then so help me, I needed a cappuccino. So damn bad.

---

“Hello, I’m calling from the public library. Would Samantha be there?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I sighed, spinning in the chair that I wished was mine but was not. And probably would never be. “Would you be so kind as to take a message for her?”

“Why? Who is this?”

I tapped the red pen in annoyance. “I’m simply calling from the library. A book came in that she had ordered.”

“Oh! I’ll come and get it right away.”

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. Not another one! “Are you Samantha?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I just thought that you were a bill collector. I’ll be right in.”

“Thank you.” I laid the phone down gently, stuck in the happy employee mode. I cursed in a sing-song voice. “You paranoid psycho bitch.”

Scribbling down the details of the pending book, I grabbed the next one and dialled the number.

One ring, two ring, three ring…

“Hello?”

I glanced down at the information sheet. “Good morning, I’m calling from the public library. Would Margaret be there?”

Absolutely enraged: “I am, and I am Ms. Summerson to you. It is only polite for someone to call someone they don’t know by their last names and not their Christian names. It’s entirely too predictable for the library to hire incompetents to do the menial work- why, they’d cut the corners right off the building if they could!”

I spun in my chair again. Oh, yeah, I forgot that she was a bitch.

“Yes, yes, that’s very nice, but I’m just calling to inform you that you have a book in.”

“My name is not ‘you’!”

“Fine. Ms. Summerson. There is a book here for Ms. Summerson.”

“That’s much better. I’ll come and get it tomorrow.”

“We’re closed tomorrow.”

A few more minutes of ego-bashing later, she hung up tearing her hair out, and I hung up relatively calm. No wonder the woman didn’t have any family- they’d probably just kill themselves.

Next name. Glancing around, I made sure that no one was around- and dialled the number.

The customary three rings…

“Hello?”

“Yah, zis iz Herr Librarian, and I call Herr Rachel to say big book ich in. Pick up in seven day or we send out SS.” With that, I hung up, satisfied that I had caused some strife of some sort that day. I hated working Saturdays.

---

An hour of calling books later and the day was getting better. Fingers no longer numb and clothes no longer life-threateningly cold, I was leaning back in my chair and fingering the last few books. Who to call first? The priest, the feministic egoist, or that old man who always asked where I lived? Ah, choices, choices.

“Hey!”

Grinning insanely, I spun to face the rest of the room. “Hey, it’s Mr. Signsmypaycheck!”

Giving me a half-assed wave, the man flopped down into his seat and opened his brief case. “So, how’s it going?”

I shrugged, placing the books somewhere I wouldn’t have to see them. “Ah, same old, same old. Almost got run over again.”

He looked up, aghast. “Again? Not by me?”

“Nope. Sorry, but if you want to run me over, then you’ll have to get in line.”

Laughing, he spread important papers over the desks, making himself at home. “What about University?”

“Augh. Don’t say that word. Not for another six months, thank god.”

After a few seconds of friendly silence- which was, in fact, him making it look like he was doing work and me not bothering- he glanced up again, brow furrowed. “Oh yeah, the boss said that that Margaret lady called in and complained again.”

I grunted, leaning back in my chair. “Miserable old hag.”

“Yeah, kind of wish someone would just run her over or something.”

We both laughed, then stopped abruptly as the boss poked her head in. “Ms. Claymore, Mr. Johns, are you two getting any work done?”

With an indignant frown, the only person that I could make twisted jokes to held up his sheets. “This accounting stuff takes time, you know. It’s not all easy.”

When she turned to me, I pointed at the fifty or so books ready to be sent out. “I done good, yah?”

She sighed tiredly. “Ms. Claymore, were you doing accents again?”

I tried to look shocked, paused, realized that I wasn’t an actress, and gave up. “Yes ma’am.”

Shaking her head, the boss walked out. Poor lady couldn’t fire me if she wanted to- her super boss loved me. Hah.

So, without further ado, I proceeded to waste the next fifteen minutes exchanging dirty jokes with a man twice my age.

---

“Uh, lady? Where’s the bathroom?”

With a jerk of my head, I motioned to the left. The action caused my phone carefully wedged between shoulder and head to fall, which I attempted to grab, which led to the books in my hand falling with a crash and the other hand that was typing to make about ten typos. All that was left was the mass of papers that I had been holding between my teeth.

The little kid eeped and ran off. Very wise, children these days.

I picked up the poor objects and continued checking in the books and registering someone’s undying need for the next Harry Potter book. Once the task was finished, I grabbed another pile of books and made my way to the back room, wherein I would toss them all down and get them all ready to be mailed out.

Johns was still there, chewing on his pencil as he read a few pay sheets. I tossed a paperclip at him half-heartedly for making me look bad.

He grunted in reply, grinning a bit. “Be good.”

I whined. “But it’s so difficult.”

Raising an eyebrow, he peeked over the edge of the pay sheet. “You haven’t subscribed to good yet?”

“Oh, I’ve subscribed- I just haven’t paid the fees.”

He laughed, flung the pencil at me. I ducked, managed to bang my head on a shelf, and upon backing away, tripped on a box. Flailing, I regained my balance, beamed proudly, then turned and walked right back into the shelf.

I cursed violently as he laughed his ass off. Well, as long as I made someone’s day, I guess.

---

Ten minutes to lunch.

My stomach growled and I made it my business to hide in the back, way back, where no one ever bothered to go because all there was were old stinky books and a crappy chair. I sat back in the chair, watching the digital seconds tick by on my watch. I could hide for ten minutes. Easily.

Somewhere, not far off, the sounds of a wandering child approached. I held my breath: oh, please no, I’m not here- not another kid looking for another stupid book!

I hugged my massive book closer and tried to sink into the chair. Maybe they would go away. Maybe I was free. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me. Maybe…

“Hey! Can you help me find a book? It’s purple!”

Maybe I could get rid of the body back here…

Nah.

---

The bread was slightly mouldy. More than stale. Why did I make a sandwich out of this crap? Oh, yeah- seven o’clock thinking is bad. Very bad.

I sighed. Stared at the peanut butter and mould sandwich. Maybe I could go out and buy something. Maybe one of those instant noodle things that were two for a dollar down the street. Not a bad idea.

Motivated and ready, I grabbed my still-wet jacket and left through the broken emergency exit.

Right into a blizzard.

I cursed, my stomach growled, and I began trudging.

---

Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting in the staff room, dripping wet and thawing out. Slowly. Painfully.

Having gone out and bought the bloody noodles, it took ten minutes to find some plastic forks in the library, slip past the boss with food in my hands, and wait for the tap water to get hot enough.

By the time my lunch hour was up, I was tired, miffed, wet, and worse, still hungry.

I joined the workforce just in time for three hours of shelving books. Menial labour at it’s best.

Notable events: learning how to juggle with the aid of several books who died valiantly in the field of combat, dancing with a plant, knocking over a shelf, breaking a book in two, getting into an argument with a Dr. Phil book, reading biographies, and chasing down a fleeing child.

---

Ten minutes to closing.

I looked from watch to lazy patrons and back again. Why wouldn’t they leave? Would I be able to kick them out?

I could feel my eye twitch as four people came in. I almost wrecked the children’s puppet display I was so expertly making. (A glimpse of last week’s masterpiece: “Mommy, why is that snowman’s head between Santa’s legs?” Pure comic genius.)

Finally, the display was done, and it was time to go. Freedom!

“Ms. Claymore, could you go and tell those patrons that the library is closed?”

I grinned wickedly and sauntered down the aisles. The poor unsuspecting slackers were huddled in the back, using our children’s colouring supplies to do one of their kid’s homework. I hate their type. Couldn’t be bothered to spend a buck for crayons down at the dollar store.

The man glanced up and looked guilty.

I smiled. “Up and out, people- we’re closed. Get the hell out of my library.”

It’s always a wonder that I have a job at all.

---

I got into the pickup car, soaking wet after having waited outside for twenty odd minutes.

“Sorry I’m late. So, how was your day?”

I swear I had developed a nervous twitch. “Another day, another dollar.” My cell phone rang, so I instinctively flipped it open. “Yes?”

“Ms. Claymore? This is Mrs. MacIntyr. Mitch can’t make it in next week, so you’ll have to take both shifts. Is that alright?”

I stared slack-jawed at nothing.

“Excellent! Then Mrs. Eliza will see you early Monday. Thank you. Good-bye.”

My mother turned to me. “Are you okay?”

I shut my cell phone slowly and leaned forward, my head resting on the dashboard. “I need sleep and Aspirin. Now.”