A Little Venting, Please . . .
I think what's going on here is that I am growing pretty frustrating with not knowing about school and it's getting to me. And things about this place that I had grown thicker skin about are starting to bother me again.
My chauffer just asked me how to clear a hold on a book that was never picked up. He's worked here six months longer than I have.
But what I really meant to vent about here are the housekeepers. Their shift is something like three am to noon - I don't know exactly - but they probably make twice what I do.
I used to not have a problem with speaking to them, but then there was one day . . .
I try to walk through the floor of the library I'm in charge of in the morning before too many people get camped out there. Usually, a couple of the housekeepers are working their way through as well. I usually said "Good morning" to them and that was that. One day I went down there and the housekeepers were sitting around. And one of them didn't feel like letting it end with "Good morning." She started asking me stuff like where I lived. I said I live on Buchanan. And then she asked me if I lived with my mother. My mother, for chrissakes. I'm 34 years old.
And then there's this other one who hasn't worked here very long. She learned my name somehow, and every day she insists on saying good morning and calling me by name. Nothing wrong with that. But next she asks how are you?, and I say fine. And then next even if I don't ask how she is, she volunteers that she is good. It's just weird.
This probably all sounds a litle snobby. But I hate this place and I want to speak to as few people as possible, and these shallow fake pleasantries are worse than not speaking at all.