Lost In Translation (Of Cross-roads, Dead-ends and Queues)

And we continue the journey as was promised last week.

Why did they say the chicken crossed the road again? Well she was obeying the sign above, its that simple.

Then I saw the sign.... It simply read 'LIBRARY'. Or what did you think the sign was? The apocalypse? I saw that too. But for the sake of staying true to this blogs topic, I will leave that heavy weight alone. So I quickly dashed across the street to the heavy but creaky wooden door that bore the sign and walked in. Actually, it really did not happen that fast. For what felt like a day and a half, I held the heavy door while the old lady with the rickety shopping cart tried to get in. She was quite grateful, that I held the door and I in return felt pleased to have been of service. That was before the shaky front wheels of her cart hooked onto the bolt in the lower part of the heavy door. Then she panicked and tugged hard at the cart that was already homebound in all its unsteady glory. This action, now caused the first layer of the cart's meshed square pattern to get hooked also. When I saw what had happened, I tried to tell her to stop tugging because it was making an already awkward situation worse. She never heard that piece of advise. Infact, she never heard anything. As I would find out later, she was very hard of hearing. Her auditory nerves had been severed, for real.

As I watched my whole life flash before me on the mirror that was the back of the old woman's head, I regretfully wondered how a simple trip, to one simple destination, for one simple item had turned into a 'cart-o-wheel-tug-of-desperate-war' at a library threshold. Was there really no rest for the weary? I could not step-up and around her, to unhook the cart as I was holding the heavy wooden door with one hand! If I moved away from the door, it would slam into her small and frail frame and probably knock her right into the cart and then..... You get the picture. So between her slouched and agitated movements and the numb feeling creeping up from the 'heel of my hands' to my upper-arm, I wrote a poem of departure in my head. This had got to be the end surely. Hardly. Help came in form of a belligerent teen, who plowed right through both of us from inside the building to the sun-kissed pavement. The cart was at this point, three fragmented baskets. And the old woman? I will spare you the details because frankly it hurts me to re-visit that scenario. But she lived Hallelujah! And so did I obviously, for the simple fact that you are reading about it.

After a few fleeting minutes of recovery from the trauma induced by 'Demolition Teen', I proceeded to hobble into the building. I was really impressed that my fancy pumps had not given up on me so far. It even made my slight limp look stylish. I can tell you for sure, it was not designed for cross-country treks and sliding on street curbs. I do however, intend to send a 'well done' note to the designer someday. No I won't tell you who that is, they don't pay me to advertise. So back to the building with the sign. As soon as I get in, I join the first civilized queue I noticed. Afterall, all lines should lead to the librarian right? Wrong. Before I proceed any further, let me answer the unvoiced question of what I had hoped to achieve by storming into the 'house of books'. Well, Considering my present lost state. I was hoping and thinking I might find the encyclopedia of 'how not to get lost'. Scratch that, it was already too late. Maybe the article; 'the secret to reading road-signs for dummies', or the booklet on 'how to translate multiple road intersections'! Or even better still, the original street map for the city. You know the one that Christopher Columbus drew on his little boat before it capsized. Please do not come for me history buffs, I am having a bad limb day and I am baring teeth.

So twelve minutes later of blankly staring at a woman smacking and kicking what looked like a microwave oven, I find out I was on the wrong line. These valiant citizens of which I stood behind, were waiting to self-checkout whatever it was they had borrowed. And the woman with the Jackie Chan moves? Well apparently her receipt showed some hefty accrued fines, which she disputed with the machine before going beserk. Something about books borrowed since June, which she claimed she still had not read. Duuhh!! It is still in your possesion ma'am. Anyway, how I found the time to get all this information, considering I was nursing my own personal plight beats me. But hey, "Being in the 'know' does a mind some good" (Chioma Onwudiwe). So of I went again, to find the right queue. Surely the librarian would know every nook and cranny of their job location and province.

I finally find the desired chain and I go ahead to claim my coveted spot. Just three sane looking people in front of me and behind me..... Well it did not matter at first, until the unthinkable happened. So there I was, post 'grandma broken cart' and 'Demolition Teen' ordeal. Soothing my sore hand and stretching the kinks out of my numb fingers, when Rocky behind me asked; "Are you a belly dancer?" You don't say! Really?! One hand with five wriggling fingers stretched to the ceiling, no visible or exposed mid-riff. No swaying or what have you. And I get asked that. Where in the world did that correlation come from? I can't wait for the answer today. Way too exhausted to even consider it any further. See you all next week, as my journey through the jumbled section of the streets of the 'Big Apple' continues. Bye.

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