Can we talk metaphors for a second?
This week has been a big ol’ metaphor and, as everybody knows, February is the metaphor of the calendar year, and I’m fairly sure you’re asking yourself right about now if this gal is even secure on the definition of “metaphor.”
Stick with me, here.
So, the other day, I needed to return some library books for the fam. About 20 of them. It was torrentially raining and I wasn’t much feeling like existing out of doors in the actual elements, but I’m way too much of a rule-follower to willingly chalk up library fines. (Unwittingly? Oh yes. Like, once a month. But nothing premeditated.)
Thankfully, the rain ceased for about an hour, allowing me to a) utilize the book drop in front of the library and b) not feel guilty about shoving books into a book drop in the middle of a rainstorm.
We double-parked right by the front doors and I hopped out with all 20 books. Feeling veeery proud of my efficiency, I loaded the first couple of books in and closed the handle. It sounded…hollow. So, I opened it up again, shoved three more books in and listened. As I closed the handle again, I caught the faintest sliver of…light.
Oh my God.
I ran to the other side of the mammoth book drop to find absolutely nothing at all. It was wholly open. Hahahahahaha, what an M.C. Escher moment, amiright?
So, I crawled under the- completely open– book drop to retrieve my completely muddy books and walked back to my car to clean them off the best I could. (Jasper was confused but, then again, Jasper has been silently questioning my competency since roughly the day we met.)
I walked another car length down to the second book drop (don’t ever let it be said that Chicago isn’t a wealthy, wealthy town) and- after checking all sides of the thing- placed two books inside. However. As it was closing, it caught on another book and got stuck. Like, really stuck. So I looked inside.
And saw a ridiculously full book drop.
Ha ha OH WHAT WHIMSY.
Except now my two books were absolutely tipping the scales from “overfull” to “unusable because it’s super stuck.” And I shoved my arm in to retrieve them- which took slightly longer than I’m proud to admit, during which time I contemplated my new life as a stuck book in an overfull book drop (<—forthcoming book of essays)- and debated getting a real parking spot, unbuckling Jasper, and just walking the darned books inside the darned library.
And then the library’s fire alarm went off.
People- an improbable number of people- swarmed out onto the sidewalk and into the street. Grabbing my armload of questionably clean (and now potentially late) library books, I got back into my car and…waited until people stopped leaning on the hood to pull back into traffic.
Because, like, whatever at this point, you know?
And I drove away. On the seat beside me was every last library book I had intended to return, both us way dirtier for the attempt.
METAPHOR.
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