Life in the Library by Owen Townend

Note: This is what I call a patchwork of anecdotes. 

All occurrences described did happen but certainly not all on the same day... 

A woman lays a copy of An Orphan's Courage by Cathy Sharp on the counter. She opens it.

            "I was halfway through when I noticed this."

            The left hand page is marked 186, the right 201. Fourteen pages are missing. No obvious tearing: a probable misprint. Still, very odd.

            The red-headed woman laughs. "I get the feeling that might have been the best bit."

            A reservation is made for a copy that is actually complete.

            There is commotion to the right, at the table where the newspapers are kept. A male septuagenarian stands over a female octogenarian.

            "I just want to read today's headlines!" the fidgety man says.

            The stiff woman glares up at him. "I was here first!"

            The fidgety man lands heavily on the seat opposite, trying to read page 5 of The Examiner upside down.

            An obese Asian woman with brown hair in an untidy bun, waves from PC8.

            "Can you help me print this webpage please?"

            It's a simple job: copy and paste onto a Word document so that the printer will recognise it.

            "I just want this bit," the woman says. She holds a manicured finger and thumb up to the screen, isolating a picture of a man with a black mask and a hairy chest. His name is Saf and apparently he services women and couples, light BDSM. The job is successfully sent.

            There is a brief respite after payment. A chance to pause and check emails.

            Moments later a young blonde woman with a younger blonde guide dog arrives at the counter.

            "I've come to pay for a book," says the woman, "I'm afraid Sam chewed it."

            The rambunctious pup is trying to shred her jeans as she speaks.

            She hands over her library card. There is currently only one item on loan: Clever Dog by Sarah Whitehead.

            It costs £7.99. Eventually Sam settles down enough for the woman to get out her purse.

            The debt paid, they head off, crossing paths with a teenage lad in a black puffer jacket. He calls out before he's even at the counter.

            "Hey, mate," he says, "When's the next 371 go?"

            Five minutes from now.

            "Ta." He shrugs out.

            A man stands at the Xerox machine, manila folder in hand. He pulls out an A4 sheet with multiple magazine clippings glued onto it.

            "I'd like fifty of this please," says the man, "Black and white. And could you leave about three millimetre's space at the bottom?"

            After several failed attempts, he finally scoops up the sheets he wants. A grin lights up his wrinkled face as he pulls out a handful of plastic pots and tips out £5 worth of greasy pennies.

            "Hey, mate," a familiar voice calls out, "That bus didn't go! When's the next one?"

            Another five minutes from now.

            "Ta." The lad is gone again.

            Behind him the man at PC3 swigs from a litre bottle of fizzy water. He tucks it back into his dirty red rucksack, glancing around him as he does so.

            This man is big and wide, his bum crack visible over tracksuit pants.

            He puts in earphones and plays a music video from Florence and the Machine. He starts to sway and click his fingers.

            3pm. Families flood in, heralded by childish screams of excitement. More colouring pages are printed: Paw Patrol, Princess Elsa and Peppa Pig. Crayons are slammed against the table.

            Teddy bears are found by toddler hands. The toys are hugged, brought to the counter.

            "No," says Mummy, "You have to leave Bear here."

            A wobbly bottom lip. A teary sheen to the eye. A primal scream.

            After a minute's shushing, Mummy turns back to the counter, ten picture books under her arm.

            "Sorry. Little Miles forgot his card."

            Little Miles is sniffling beside her until all the books are checked out manually.

            More emails.

            "Hey, mate." The teenager again. "Where does the 371 even go?"

            Via Google maps, he is shown the one minute route from here to the bus stop.

            "What time?"

            Five minutes.

            "Ta."

            Come teatime, all is quiet. There are still books to be shelved.

            One draws the eye. It looks brand new, unfamiliar.

            A quick scan reveals that it's not part of this library's stock. A Town title among  Community books.

            It's by Fern Britton.

            A Good Catch.