What can I do to make myself look less approachable? Should I get a big ugly nose ring? Forehead studs? A mohawk?
Nick (Nick O'Tine, we're calling him, referencing his odor) is bad enough, but today an entirely different scruffy-looking old man in a red sweatsuit with white hair and a beard was wandering around the library. A staff member wondered out loud what he was doing here. I suggested he might be preparing to hand out presents with his elves.
He lingered at the circulation desk, at the reference desk, and finally at my office door (of course). He noticed my name on my door and asked me about its origin. I told him it was my ex-husband's name and that it was possibly French Canadian. He had a lot to say about the German meanings of my last name, and after saying it all, he asked to sit down (because of his bad leg).
What he was after, apparently, were books about chiggers, lice and other skin parasites that infest humans and pets. He proceeded to tell me about the "pubic crabs" he picked up in the army, and how there was no shame in it, really, as he only got them by sitting on another infected man's bunk. I was horrified, but also trying hard not to laugh. He soon went into such startling and excruciating detail that I really thought I must be dreaming.
"I'll tell you something interesting," he said to me (he must have mistaken my stifled laughter for a yawn) "because you look like an interesting woman. You're an interesting person to look at." Oh, god. I began to type and stare at my screen. He told me about follicle mites, which live in our lashes and brows all the time, without our even noticing. Then I heard all about the dogs he raises. And about all of their parasites.
As I consulted the Internet for him ("I don't know how to run a computer"), he asked me how many times I'd been married. When I told him I preferred not to answer personal questions, he informed me that he didn't relate well to women, not even to his 87-year-old mother. He talked about the trials of being his mother's caregiver as I printed two articles from WebMD for him. I asked him if he'd like to take a walk with me to retrieve his printouts (I sent the job to the printer furthest away from my office).
At the printer, he thanked me, asked if I knew where he could get lessons on running a computer, asked me if there were any library books he could use to research his surname, whether we had any books with coats of arms, and whether he could look up his surname on the Welsh exhibit interactive stations ("Yes! Please go ahead!") even though he wasn't Welsh.
He came back to my office a final time to thank me yet again. What will I do when he returns? Because you just know he will.
Meanwhile, I need to go and Lysol my chair.
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