Among books

No one goes to the library. There are few books worth reading, but that's not the reason. You'll find all the work of Daniel Steele and one book by William Styron. The Dean Koontz collection is complete, with spares; there is one copy of Hamlet. I keep telling the librarians, but they ignore me. The culture is what it is. The students who do come to the library regularly are ridiculed. In fact, there's a name for the person who goes around seeing who is in the library and then taunting them later.

But the place is always immaculate. The chairs are all in their places. The varnished tables glisten. The newspapers are perfectly laid out, the magazines are stacked, although in no particular order. Although the wifi connection often doesn't work the plugs do. There is no toilet paper in the bathrooms, but the librarians are friendly. The guards who watch everyone come and go are personable. Once I got locked in and thank god I had a cell phone. Half an hour later two guards came. They were apologetic. Why it took so long I can't say, although here you assume they are reminding you who is in power. That is how far the head game has gone with me.

Libraries have their mysteries. Recently, I found the draft of a letter in a book by Collette. I don't care for Collette but I was looking for short stories and I picked her out at random. The letter was to a student, presumably from her lover. There was the suggestion that the relationship was illicit. Perhaps the writer was a professor. This happens from time to time here. I told you about the Egyptian who promised one of his students a top grade if she went out with him. I told you about Mr. K. And of course you only have to attend one of the classes, nearly any class, to see how the girls display themselves. It's a fashion show; make-up is de rigeur; cleavage is encouraged; flirting is built into all smiles.

to be continued.....