Nine, Ten, Never Sleep Again

One of the tasks I don't tend to look forward to at the library is waking up sleeping patrons.*  Now, this has gotten much easier in the year since I first started (mostly because I now understand that while most of them are just sleeping, every once in a while . . . they ain't).

Tonight, there was an elderly man asleep in one of the chairs.  Sometimes it's hard to tell if they're sleeping or just looking at their phones/reading/meditating/praying, but this guy was clearly deep unconscious, just from the position of his body.  I approached him and said, "Hey there."  But he didn't stir.  I got closer.  " Sir, are you alright" I said louder, and there was no reaction.

Now, we're not supposed to touch people, so this time, I got very close and sort of shook the chair he was sitting in.  "Sir?" I said, "Are you--"  And he came awake.

Seeing my face looking down at him, you'd have thought I was the wolfman, a zombie, or worse, Mitch McConnell.**  He recoiled and actually exclaimed, "Ahh!" (which you don't hear all that often)

I apologized, saying I was just checking on him.

"You scared me," he mumbled, and put a hand over his heart.

"Sorry about that."  And I had no other option but to leave him alone.  As I walked back downstairs, I thought of how it would be to awaken to see me leering down at you.  It occurred to me that waking up to my face might well have killed the old bugger.

His inevitable nightmares tonight are preferable, though he may not consider them that way.

*It may sound like I'm complaining here--most of my job is quite pleasant, and I often feel useful--but I would rather mop up a spill (or worse) than wake up sleeping homeless people.

**I originally typed Willem DaFoe there.  But he doesn't deserve that.