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“I was just sorting through a few hold requests for other branches that I began about an hour ago. If you’d like, you can start sorting through the book returns. The drop-off access is right behind you.”
Twisting at the waist, I spot the return deposit. I open it up, pull out the books, stack them onto an adjacent cart, and then wheel it over to the monitor next to Foster. Logging into the system with my ID, I begin the process of manually checking in and organizing the materials to be returned to their proper places.
After checking through about half of the returns in silence, I ask, “Is it always like this?”
“Like what?”
“This…dead.”
Foster scans the room. “Yeah. It’s Friday night, which is usually the quietest. I suggest bringing your homework for your next shift. You’ll likely have a lot of spare time.”
“If it’s not busy, why do they need two people working?”
“Safety reasons.”
“So, I was sent over to babysit you?”
“That’s an interesting way of putting it, but yes. It’s school policy.”
I go back to my task—clicking away, entering, and organizing. When the rest of the pile is sorted, I wheel the cart around the desk, preparing to put the books back into their proper places.
“So, what’s your story?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You had access to my full bio at your fingertips. So, what about you? Give a little. Make it even.”
Adjusting his position in the chair, Foster leans an elbow on the desk. “Foster Blake. Senior. Chemical engineering major, business minor. Four-point-oh average. Honor roll for every year in attendance. Chemistry scholarship. Howard Medal Award Winner, two years in a row. American Institute of Chemical Engineers member and student treasurer. Member of the American Chemical Society, Engineers Without Borders, and the Investment Club. I also play recreational soccer and golf and volunteer tutor once a month at an after-school program for middle-schoolers.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah, I had to drop a recreational ping-pong league to make sure I would have time to work on my thesis. Sometimes, we have to make sacrifices.”
“I hope you know I was just kidding. You’ve got more action going on than a whore at a bachelor party. With a schedule like that, do you even have time for restroom breaks, or did you just opt for a catheter?”
He pushes the bridge of his glasses up with his forefinger. “What days do you work?”
“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. Why?”
“Same as me.”
Foster focuses back on the monitor to continue his work. As he’s jotting down notes in a notebook, I quickly glance at the unfamiliar scrawl. The symbols are completely foreign, leading me to believe he’s no longer going through the request list. For all I know he could be translating an obscure nerdy creature language from some fantasy novel.
“I’m going to take these books back to the shelves and familiarize myself with the library layout.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be here all night.”
