See, we had story time today. After the little huns left, I spent an hour tidying and re-organizing the children's area. We've separated both the holiday books and the easy readers, so I had to clear shelf space for them, and while I was doing that, I cleaned up the shelves, etc.
On an intellectual level, I know that a children's area, by its very nature, won't stay clean, but on a purely emotional level, I wanted to toss the fat child (provided I could lift her chocolate milk-chuggin' big ass) out the door and put up orange cones and police tape around the area, forbidding anyone from entering it.
Also, this child is obviously sick. She keeps hacking all over everything. Why doesn't her mother teach her to cover her mouth? Now her corpulent germs are all over the children's area and everyone is going to get sick. Where's the damn Lysol?
*Spray*Spray*
On another "these little shits are so precious, I could puke" note, let me tell you why I lament the fact that there is no lock on the employee bathroom door.
A different little shit, obviously coming down from a Ritalin high, waited until I went to take a bathroom break and then pounded on the door, yelling, "I WANNA CHECK OUT A MOVIE! I WANT BLUE'S CLUES!" And then he opened the door, peered in at me on the toilet and said, "I wanna check out a video, hurry up!"
Now, let me ask you, WHERE THE FUCK WAS HIS MOTHER?
On the internet. Checking her e-mail. How she could have ignored the high pitched squeals of her loin-by-product, I have no idea. But I was a bit brusque with her.
I am being tested. Somewhere, there is a panel of librarians with clipboards scoring my reactions like Olympic judges. Next event? Shelf hurdles followed by book luge.