Freak Out Explained

Right, so that wasn't terribly fair of me. I got distracted what with Sarah coming to visit and all. So blame her.

There I was, alone on the reference desk. The only librarian around, and by default in charge. Minding my own business, when R and K (circ and page) walk up to the desk. They have this hesitant look in their eyes, but I don't know that this is a bad sign. I catch on when they start talking:
"We're so sorry."
"Huh?"
"You're in charge of the library."
"Uh-uh. No I'm not."
"You're the only librarian here, you are."
"But I don't want to be."
pause
"Fine, what's wrong."
"That guy over at the copy machine said that there were these two teens on bikes..."

On go the latex gloves. On go the protective second pair. Out I march, page by my side for emotional support. Into the foyer. To stop and stare for 10 minutes, repressing the urge to shout profanities with vigor, before I can the gather the courage and master the crawling revulsion shuddering through me. What was creating such a ruckus in my life, you ask? Why the lovely two and a half foot dead snake left in front of our entryway. Yes, I said snake. Clearly dead, I just needed to make sure, so I tried to nudge it with my foot. This was also supposed to give me an indication of the weight and movement of the specimen, better enabling me to dispose of it as quickly and with as little ick factor as possible. Of course, I've forgotten that I'm wearing ill-fitting clogs, so my nudge turns into leaving the shoe directly on top of the now confirmed dead snake. Eventually, I pick up the snake with two fingers, promptly grossing myself out, dropping the darn thing and missing the bag entirely. Sucking it up I do manage to get the snake in the plastic bag and into the dumpster. I don't know if that was what I was supposed to do, but it's what I did, and By God I don't want to do it again.

The picture? That's me going to my happy place.