ITS A CARD CATALOG

Last week I had the opportunity to travel to a convention with my new boss. My new boss, the editor at the paper where I work, is much younger.....MUCH younger. Like half my age younger. Never before have I felt so old but so young at the same time as when I hang out with him. 

He's a lot of fun to work with, talk to and hang out with. Generally he makes me feel young because his mindset about everything is so much more laid back than mine, and I feel he is a good influence on me that way.

While we were in Lexington, Ky for the convention, we braved the single digit temperatures to go to dinner together. He was meeting friends after dinner, and was kind enough to take the “old lady” out to a nice restaurant.

We had a great dinner with great conversations, the restaurant he picked was very modern and chic and the food was delicious. When our checks came to the table, they were on small pieces of wood, held down by a band stretched across the wooden plank. 

I commented on them, I like unusual touches, and he agreed. “It's the little things,” he said. 

I told him about a restaurant in Atlanta, the West Egg Cafe, where my husband and I had eaten this summer. How the décor was library and literary oriented, with old books and library tables and other cool touches. This “exchange” followed. 

Me: When they brought the check, it came in a card catalog drawer. It was really cool. 

*blank stare*

Me: You know what I mean? A card catalog. Like in libraries?

*blank stare*

Me: Before the internet, every book in the library had its information written on an index card. 

*blank stare* 

(I'm pretty sure I lost him at "before the internet." after all, he was born in 1991 I have mouse pads older than him)

Me: They were in a drawer in this card catalog. You pulled out the drawer and went through them until you found the one you wanted? *gesturing with my hands how you'd file through them*

Him: Oh, yeah. Ok. 

I'm pretty sure he said it just to make me feel better. Or to get me to shut up. 

I've never felt so old as I do right now....honestly.....

Strange Days Indeed

I mean really, how many times do you start your day by backing into the BOOKMOBILE? That's right. I said it.

This morning, as I was leaving a business meeting, I backed my car out of a parking space and heard a crash. I knew the Bookmobile was right behind me, but way underestimated how far it stuck out of the space. And I backed right into it. The passenger side back bumper took the majority of the hit and the Bookmobile had a paint scratch and a big hole/split in the bumper. (Oh, for the days of the metal bumpers)

So I trekked over to the library, which is next door to where I was parked. Neither of the people working at the desk wanted anything to do with the situation and one of them called the lady who is in charge. I was so embarrassed and speaking quietly, being in a library and all. So the lady picks up the phone and says, in I swear what was most definitely an OUTDOOR voice, "THIS LADY HIT THE BOOKMOBILE IN THE PARKING LOT. ON ACCIDENT..... THE BOOKMOBILE...SHE HIT THE BOOKMOBILE....IN THE PARKING LOT..." Seriously, Shhhhh.... that's what the phone is for. To keep you from having to shout up to her. After I waved to the twenty or so people sitting at the first floor computers (who were now all looking at me with fire in their eyes) I looked up in the direction the lady was shouting. I could see the director through a glass window in her second floor office, throwing her hands on her head. Her silent mouth exclaiming "oh, no!", her face distraught as if I'd smashed her kitten. I turned the other way to smile wearily at the lady working the desk. "She wants me to get a police report" she said, hesitantly. "Of course". I smiled, sighed, and wondered once again....why me?

How in the world do I get myself into such strange situations? To top it all off, the director came down to the first floor to give me a little ribbing.(I am just going to go ahead and assume she was joking, because she really could have been nasty about it, couldn't she?) "Why didn't anyone ever hit the big, ugly bread truck Bookmobile? Why is is always the cute little one that is all painted up nice?" Then she asked my name and when I told her she said..."Oh, Mitch's wife?" Yep. That's me. Mitch's wife. (Because although I have achieved Internet fame, no one in my hometown seems to remember who I am (sarcastic font, remember?))

To top it all off, the policeman shows up, like, 10 minutes later. In his cruiser. To take the report. Now, for those of you who don't live in my small town, the police station? Is RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from where this happened. SERIOUSLY. We took longer inside looking up the non-911 number to call to report the accident than it would have taken to walk over there and tell them in person. **Sigh**

The culprit. I think it was entrapment.

So later when I stopped by the newspaper office to drop something off to my best friend Amy, I had to give her the scoop on the happenings. Being as she's a crack reporter and would find out anyway y'all. I mentioned that the policeman said "So, you were just backing up or what?" (**really?***) and I had to bite my tongue not to say "NO, I am waging a war against literacy and thought I would start by crashing my SUV into the Bookmobile! That will teach those uppity shut ins not to read so much." She got a huge laugh out of that and said "I so wish you had said that. It would have been too funny." Yeah, right. I do NOT need to go to jail today, not even library jail.  Oh, and by the way? The Bookmobile? Less than a year old. Yeah. My life? Honestly...

Oh, and PS. Whoever tattled to my mom? About my blog? I will find you out. She is demanding explanation. Do NOT tell her about the Bookmobile. I just can't handle one more "Marsha shouldn't be driving" remark. Yeah. Thanks.