And she's back.

Okay, okay, so the post below is from January 8. I thought I was going to revise it, make it punchy, fun to read. Seeing as it's January 24th and I haven't changed a word, I'm throwing it out there as is. It was an exciting first week of work. On Friday of that week we all cheered because there wasn't a single incident all day long. Well, at least not one we had to call security for.

However, the best was yet to come. It was Tuesday of last week. I hopped on the 729 bus at Western and Olympic and met the happiest city employee that ever existed. The bus driver sang songs over the loud speaker, pausing each block to shout out the name of the next stop (though, for once the recorded voice announcing the stops was loud and crystal clear). He greeted each and every person that got on, asked them how they were, and expected a reply. I was even singled out and serenaded. I wasn't in a position to film him since I was about half way down the isle shoved up against someone's arm, but I did manage to capture the sound:



This, however entertaining, came in second place for that Tuesday. The librarians I work with (who are far my cynical and disgruntled than the happiest bus driver on earth) forever won my respect later that same morning.

I was in a meeting in the community room at my library branch with three other new children's librarians from other branches and the person who was training us. The community room looks out over the parking lot and we had the door open. However, it was getting a bit noisy, so I went to shut it. As I neared the door, I noticed that is was actually QUITE noisy, and stepped outside to see what was going on. Two men were yelling at each other. About what, I couldn't tell. I thought of telling them to be quiet except that it suddenly looked like it was coming to blows. So I decided instead to tell my supervisor to tell them to be quiet. Which she did. Hannah marched right out there and told them this was the library and would they please whisper. She had asked Gil, another librarian, to come out after her. You know, just in case. He's a big guy and though anyone in their right mind would be much more scared of the harmless Hannah than the very very very harmless Gil, she thought perhaps he might at least look more intimidating than, say, me. Gil came out all right. With a hot pink bunny puppet on his hand. Well, it turned out the two men were fighting about a cat. And they felt, upon being told to whisper by Hannah and by the pink bunny, that they could agree to disagree. Or something like that. Anyway, they left. I went home that day with a far more sophisticated understanding of working with mentally ill people than I could have learned in years of medical school.

The rest of my non-blogging time, I've been working. At the library. At the bookstore. At the cooking school. At the other library. And snowboarding. Ali and I drove up to Tahoe and met up with Chris and Michelle. I was all decked out in the hippest snow gear ever, thanks to Linsey. A brown pinstriped jacket with faux fur around the hood and Kelly-green pants. Ali tried to help me out on the slopes, but I still spent a good portion of the time alternating between ass and face plants. I can't wait to go again. Tahoe was gorgeous. So much snow and not a lick of wind. Every tree had inches of snow piled up on every branch. The slopes were velvety soft (luckily for my two ends that spent so much time in it), and the light shining down on the lake was incredible. It was my first time in a gondola.

My flight home was late and ended up getting in around 1am. Still, I was up and at it to work the next morning. Luckily, I had a meeting at the central library which is 8 minutes away on the metro. Unluckily, it was raining when I left the library that evening at 5:30 wearing white pants, red shoes, and a wool coat. I believe I walked about 20 yards from the door of the library to the bus stop across the street. A man who had ridden in the elevator mentioned that since we already shared an elevator, we may as well share an umbrella. I was grateful (since he, not I, was the one with the umbrella). In spite of his efforts, bt the time we crossed the road I looked as if an entire bucket of water had been dumped on me. And wool, let me tell you, does not smell so pretty when it's been doused in water. And white pants, let me tell you, do not look so pretty when they've been doused in water. And red shoes, let me tell you, do not feel so pretty when they've been doused in water. By the time I got off the bus, walked through shin-deep water in certain places for the four blocks home, my red shoes were black, my white pants were hot pink up to the knees and see-through up to my, well...the rest of the way up. And I smelled like a sheep fresh off the farm.

I assumed that, in typical LA style, that was our one day of "weather" for the year and we'd be back to sunshine today. Again, I left my umbrella at home. I didn't get as wet as yesterday. But that's only because it hailed.

Another day at the office

Yesterday. I started my new job at a library in Hollywood. I arrived and was shown my locker. Hmm. Okay. And my desk. On my desk was...nothing. No computer, no phone. Surely, they would be getting this set up for me. I gazed around at the other desks. No computers. No phones.

Hillary: Um, so, if I need to make a phone call or use the computer, uh, well...

(one of these devices, by the way, is needed for nearly EVERY SINGLE task I must do to fulfill my job requirements).

Boss: Oh, anyone can use this computer here. There's a phone too.

Hillary: Oooooooh.

I SHARE a phone and a computer with the other three librarians, with all of the clerks, and with the random security guard that comes by and checks his Hotmail account. If only that was the worst of it. So far, I've used the phone exactly once. The number I dialed? 9-1-1.

But I am getting ahead of myself. The first day we only dealt with a man who was upset that we don't let people sleep in the library. When the security guard (which we have for a few hours per week) kicked him out for yelling in the library, he claimed the guard had hit and injured the woman he was with. He called an ambulance. We found out the next day he's suing the city. However, both the man and the woman were back to use the library less than 24 hours later. Our best guess? He injured the woman himself and decided to pass the buck and get a buck out of it too.

Day two: man starts screaming. And I don't mean yelling, but screaming, full throttle. He thinks a person that only he is able to see hit him. He's so out of control that my boss tells me to call 911. I do. It took more than 20 minutes for anyone to arrive. By which time my boss managed to get him outside and find out that no, he didn't play any musical instruments but he just liked to wear a gold guitar earing in one ear, and that he plans to move to Hancock Park since he's already been arrested at the Beverly Hills library, the West Hollywood library, and now here. He hopped in his car (!) and drove away less than a minute before the police arrived. When I went back into the library, the children's section was full of adults. They had huddled there as it was the furthest space away from the screaming man. I had to kick them all out.

Still famous...

Orin and I have been trying to make it swing dancing forever. After several times of looking and not finding any swing in Los Angeles, we decided to go to a place called the Alpine Lodge in Torrence. After work yesterday, we ventured out into the freezing cold (in the 50s!!!!) Los Angeles weather and stuffed ourselves into Orin's car with the heater blasting. Half hour later we arrived in suburbia. Jamba Juice, Ralphs, parking lot, Target, Ralphs, parking lot, Best Buy, Ralphs, parking lot. And then we turned the corner and, voilà, we were in Solvang. Or, a parking lot filled with randomly placed buildings that all had pitched roofs, white trim, and rounded shingles that make it always look like Christmas and butter.

We push open the wood doors with diamond windows in bottle-glass green to find a giant room with a sunken dance floor and a big band playing "why don't you do right..." On the dance floor, we do not see kids in rolled up jeans and tight white t-shirts flailing around and throwing each other into the air. We do not see girls in retro house dresses wearing two rolls on their head. We see couples dancing small, dancing carefully, respectfully wearing slacks and button-downs, small heals and skirts hemmed below the knee. The average age is, perhaps, 70. And that's with me and Orin factored in. Orin and I look at each other and grin. This was swing in the good ol' days (by which I mean the 90s, before the craze hit) when we were 15 and never danced with someone under the age of 60. It was fun to be the kids again.

It was a good bit into the night when people started plopping themselves down right in the middle of the dance floor, WHILE the band was playing. From the crowd a wiry man with a big grin dances out in tap shoes and completely wows us with his agility and ability to entertain. "Hey, Orin, don't we know that guy??? Isn't that Chester?" Orin couldn't remember, but when they announced his name, sure enough, it was old Chester from our Jonathan and Sylvia days.

A while later someone approached us. "Hi, where're you guys from?" We figured Santa Barbara was the right answer. "I was just over there thinking, he replied, "'I KNOW those white people from somewhere.'" He proceeded to tell us a place to go dancing in LA every night of the week. Later, we met Betsy who recognized that we learned from Jonathan and Sylvia by our style. No wonder we loved swing dancing. People are so nice!

Linsey and I watch Martha Stewart make quiche

Martha: You just pop the crust right in these little tins, then you just pop the cheese in. Pop it in the oven. Pop it out. You can just pop one of these lovely little bites in (she eats a miniature quiche).

Linsey: And you can just pop it right out in the morning.