Wednesday Regular: A Vicious Cycle
He’s really tall—with a snobbish look on his face, especially with those thick glasses on. He stutters utterly, and smelled like he hasn’t taken a bath for three weeks in a row. I notice him carrying that green tote bag filled to the top with most of his belongings– a jacket, a blanket, a toothbrush, and who knows what else? This guy comes to the music library every Wednesday evening. I know because I work on that shift. Apparently, this weekly visit has been going on for some time, way before I decided I could work on night shifts. He tries to come in very discreetly tho, but with the library being cozy and all, his signature smell cannot be as subtle as his actions were . And so, we would always know if he is around.
I reprimanded him gently, several Wednesdays ago, when he tried reshelving the books he was browsing at. And true to his obedience (or defiance) he would look at every book he can get his hands on and stack them high on the reshelf cart. He has a particular affinity for Listz’s complete piano works, and would painstakingly photocopy several pages every Wednesday night. What he does with them, I don’t know. I would like to think he’s one of those creepy guys with hidden musical talents. I sure hope I’m right.
He rarely speaks. His usual routine would be to get the blue Liszt books, look through them, and head to the copy machine to photocopy valiantly from 7:30pm to 9pm, nonstop. I assure you, if he ever works for one of those photocopy centers in the Philippines (especially in UP Diliman!), he’ll be a rich man.
Anyway, this week’s Wednesday posed a slight change in his routine. The machine was not cooperative (or so he claimed), thus producing multiple copies of that single page on "STEPS to FIX A LEAKING PIPE". The panic on his face was obvious, he starts to stutter, and points to the machine in manic frenzy.
I have to admit, I was almost at the point of panicking myself. I know I could just push the OFF button, and get it over with, but my feet was frozen to the floor. Don’t get near this man, I silently screamed. Yet I knew we’ll all run out of paper if I let my fear get ahead of me.
I drew a deep breath, made my way to the poor little copy machine and simply turned it off. I even had the guts to smile and comfort him, "There, that was not so hard was it? No need to worry!" I went back to my desk, and tried very hard not to notice his irritated way of shuffling through the wasted pile of papers.
"Bbbbut I cccaantttt pppay for all these! It was your machine’s fffffault!"
"Here’s the deal, give me the papers, and you don’t have to pay a single cent for them. Is that alright with you?", I bargained.
"I ggggguess so. But I still wwwwwant to photoccccccopy."
"Then we’ll simply turn the machine on."
He seemed to find that fair and went back to his beloved Liszt books.
And we lived peaceably for the next half hour…
…when he panics again. Thankfully, it was time for the library to close, and he had no choice but to stack the books on the cart. I sighed. I could re-shelf those books even with my eyes closed.
