The girl who just can't play it cool

I think it’s having to speak in hushed tones all the time. It just makes people want to scream. But they know they can’t so they have to suppress everything and then it comes out in awkward ways. Or that’s how I feel at least. It’s not healthy.

It’s because I had to return some books to the library yesterday. Usually I go to a different branch, so when I went to this one, I wasn’t sure where the return bin was. After mistaking a large rectangular design in the librarian’s desk for a book slot, I was shamefully forced to ask where it was. The librarian gestured to a sign directly to my right that read “RETURNS” with a helpful little arrow pointing down, just in case you didn’t see the gaping hole in the wall. Which, in retrospect, maybe I did need. I’m flustered and feeling like an idiot now as I take my books out. I start to put them in as I read another little sign that says to drop the books gently. No problem. I can do that. I care about books. You can barely hear them drop anyway. It sounds like I slid them onto a giant silent pillow.

Done with my little mission now, I begin to gather up my bag.  And that’s when a different librarian lady from behind the desk says all casual-like: “Just drop them in one at a time type of thing, ok?”

What…the fuck? Nodding like crazy, trying to match her intense level of passive aggressiveness, I say: “Oh, yeah for sure,” before she disappears into the back.

As if we’re on the same team: The “One Book At a Time to Maximize the Amount of Anal Retentiveness in This Library” team. Or as if I’m saying “Oh yeah, for sure, you’re totally right. Thank God you’re here to micromanage this menial task. There are sickos out there who would just put them all in at once.” She probably gets hard at the thought of those books slowly dropping into the magical bin on the other side, one at a time.

She could smell my weakness, I know it. I bet she saw the other librarian point out where the return box is. She thought I was noob at the library and pounced on me to establish her dominance. But I got her number. I know who she is and what she’s about. This ain’t my first rodeo. I can’t wait to take out more books and put them in three at a time. I can hear her screams of agony now. Screw her. Didn’t she see my sweatpants? I’m hardcore. It’s “I Don’t Give a Fuck Day” in the life of Jess.

Who actually cares about this besides a middle child? Who actually even knows this term exists besides a middle chid?  You know whoever made up that term was definitely the peanut butter and jelly of their sibling sandwich.   

Ok I just looked it up and according to the internet, the guy who first thought of this, Dr. Alfred Adler (an Austrian psychoanalyst), IS a middle child. Man I totally called that. And I was just kidding. I knew it though. I can sniff us out anywhere. I also found this quote from an interview with a woman who wrote a book on middle children that I thought was hilarious. The quote’s aimed at parents of middle children:

“Be aware that middles don’t cry wolf: A study of teens revealed that although middles are far less likely to attempt suicide than other birth orders, when they do, they are eight times more likely to need medical intervention.”

So, we’re pretty cool because we won’t try to kill ourselves for the most part. But if we do, we’re going to go all out and make sure that you notice us.  Go big or go home. This is our time to shine.

Wait a second, I just thought of something. If we need medical attention is it because we didn’t do it right? Man we really do need special attention. Middle children to the end. I can hear my mom now: “If you’re going to do something, do it right”. Not helping Mother! Don’t you know I’m a middle child? I’m sensitive! 

No one can see me. But I can see them. I used to be so afraid. But now I run this place. Don’t like the crinkly sound my Bear Paws make when I open them? Too bad. Don’t like that I put my bag on the chair beside me? TOO BAD. Watch me as I text my Mom back. Yep, using my cell phone in the Quiet Study room. I could even be going on Facebook right now for all you guys know. Quiet Study? More like quiet creeping.

It was just arriving at my stop so I got up from my seat. To this day, I’m still trying to figure out how what happened, happened.  I had just let go of the pole, meaning to get off at the back doors. I think I got caught in that awkward moment when the bus is slowing down but hasn’t made a complete stop, like I was caught in some weird gravity tunnel.  All of a sudden my left hand felt something fleshy. I didn’t understand it. I felt flesh on flesh. Why was I feeling that? I looked down, surprised. There’s an Indian girl sitting there, holding the left side of her face.  I had smacked her. I didn’t know how. My hand must have collided with her face somehow while I was trying to keep my balance. The next few minutes were a blur. I kept apologizing, feeling like an idiot.  We both got off the bus and I kept saying sorry but I really think she just wanted to get away from me. I remember she had a French braid. I didn’t know what to do. She just turned around and started walking away. So I walked away too. I had to get to class anyway.