The Librarian

Would you prefer your bunk to be inside the shelves or on top of them?

The librarian is stealing minimum wage teenagers from their mall jobs. He is driving them to the library while interviewing them to become library pages. 

• What is the purpose of a library? 

• Can you recite the alphabet backwards?

• Can you lift up to forty pounds of books?

• How is your shushing?

One teenager asks for him to look at the road instead of at them while he is driving. The librarian scowls and says he will when it becomes important. He continues.

• Would you prefer your bunk to be inside the shelves or on top of them?

• Will you spread the word of the library to distant lands? If so, will you be able to bear separation from the library?

• How diplomatically can you explain to patrons that the library is free, that they cannot tip you, not even millions of dollars?

• Why did you not apply for the library already? 

The troubled teenager pauses, confused by the question. Every other teenager answers correctly: They did not know they were worthy of the library. The librarian nods, satisfied. Even though his car is veering into various lanes, no car dares come close to him. Every other driver can tell this car carries important people, people on the way to the library.

The librarian continues.

• How are you under pressure? In a fire, how many books do you think you could save before succumbing to the smoke?

• How many lashes are appropriate for defacers? At what point does the library axe become appropriate?

• After a nuclear apocalypse, would you check on your family or the library first?

• Are you prepared to defend the library with your life?

All but the troubled teenager answer perfectly: Yes. They have always wanted to defend the library. The librarian kicks the recalcitrant adolescent out at a red light. “You have to believe in something,” the librarian grumbles. The remaining teenagers swear the oath of allegiance. They are driving to the library. They are learning the battle hymn, the wedding vows, the burial chants of the library pages. They are the luckiest people on earth.