Cry In The Night, If It Helps

I rarely use this blog to toot my own horn . . . and this isn't that either.

Monday, I walked past a guy who was using the courtesy phone at our library, his back to me, his breath hitching in what was either a happy sound or a sad one, but loud either way. I looked over at the Circulation desk, where the clerk there was one of three library employees who have made it clear they're no fans of mine (there are probably more, but they haven't said). Still, I approached her and said, "Is that guy laughing or crying?" She glanced past me and said, "Been there a while. Sounds like he's crying."

Huh.  

Well, I don't always engage with strangers when they're in distress, but the librarians have told me they absolutely don't do it, so I waited until he hung up the phone and took him a box of tissues. He was a heavyset twenty-something, was indeed crying, and when I asked if he was okay, he unburdened himself on me, telling me he had just gotten word that his grandmother died and he had been planning on visiting her in the springtime, but now he never could. She had practically raised him and now he'd never see her again. He made use of those tissues, and I considered telling him I understood, and that just that day, we'd picked out a headstone for my uncle, but he didn't really want to hear from me . . . he just wanted somebody to listen.

So I did. We're not supposed to touch patrons (you can understand why), but I did pat this guy on the arm, and eventually, he went off to find a place to sit down and mourn in peace. I made my way back to the Circulation desk to explain what had happened to the clerk there, but she told me she had heard him (the poor dude had been pretty vocal) and me. She gave me a reluctant nod as if to say, "I still don't like you much, but that was pretty nice."

(I asked A.I. to generate me an image of the lady in question, based on my description.  Not too far off, really)

I'll take my victories, as minor as they may be.