Money or Morals, Chapter 1

Public libraries are a fascinating place. They are incredibly diverse, with occupants ranging from school kids and their parents roaming the children's section, to middle-aged homeless men using the free internet to look up porn. Incredibly diverse. A lot of thought goes on in libraries, and on any given day (except Tuesdays, when the branch is closed) the Northeast Seattle Public Library is filled with a shmorgasboard of thought.

A young girl in the children's section envisions herself skipping along in a flowery meadow with ponies and make believe friends. An unbuildable Dr. Seuss contraption rolls alongside the dirt path, spitting out candy into the sky all around her. The ponies never pooh, and all her friends are nice to her.

The man behind the counter is brainlessly filing away books recently placed on hold, wondering why he became a librarian. Originally, it was to meet women, but if he had a quarter for every time a single woman came into the library and just assumed he was gay, he'd be retired and the bags of money would attract a woman he'd marry, but wouldn't love.

There is also the hefty guy sitting next to you at the row of computers. You're no computer idiot, but you've got a sinking suspicion that this guy could hack into the library system and see exactly what books you're looking at checking out, and reserve them all for the next two years. It'd be best to stay on his good side.

He must have heard you thinking (can computer nerds do that?), because he just moved away from his comfortable two-inches from the computer screen, pushed up his glasses and looked at you. You shoot him a pity-smile and think it is time to go get your books before he does.

You grab the books quickly from the shelves. You are the reference queen. If there was an annual reference race to find the most obscure books in the library, your only competition would be the librarians. The librarians wouldn't be allowed to compete, but after winning the title five years in a row, you'd get cocky and want better competition. They'd put you in your place though.

As you go to check out, you decide to move your ring from your middle finger to your ring finger on your left hand. The guy at the counter looks a bit desperate, and much like a reverse bank-robbery, you don't want him to try anything stupid. Like a hawk, he sees the "off limits" sign on your finger as soon as you deliberately place the books on the counter for check out.

He looks at all four books you've checked out, judging you based on what books you've brought to the counter. The first two books are newly released mysteries from two of your favorite authors. The third is a how-to book on kitchen remodel. The fourth book is a smutty romance novel with Fabio on the cover. A shirtless Fabio and his golden locks hold a woman with heaving bosoms close to his chest. You had no intention of reading the book, but it was a little game you liked to play to keep the librarians guessing on what category to pigeon-hole you into. You are also in no position to remodel your kitchen, but you love to look at different designs for when you finally do settle down and get to construct your dream home.

"Remodeling your kitchen?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Thinking about it."

"Good luck with that, and have a nice rest of your day." he said as he shot you a rehearsed smile.

"Thanks, you too."

At least he didn't ask you about the smutty romance novel.

The library was the first of many errands planned for your rainy Saturday in Seattle. You've just finished your first week of teaching high school biology at Nathan Hale High School. You're on your fourth year at Hale, and although you originally thought it might be your job for the next 20 years, if someone offered you a job in a respectable field, you might just take it. High school kids can be a drain. The first week, the kids are usually fine--it is the administration you have to watch out for. The new advisors don't know what the hell they are doing, and again this year you found a senior in your freshman-only class.

You pull your 2006 Hyundai Accent into the Starbucks parking lot. Your second, and most important errand (in your eyes) is your Carmel Macchiato. You've tried everything in the book to kick your habit, but nothing has worked. Your Mom has bought you a kitchen-full of espresso makers for home, but nothing satisfies you quite like a Carmel Macchiato in a Starbucks cup and sleeve. Much like your sudoku books, the espresso makers are gathering dust, and you are shelling out $4 twice a week on your favorite drink, while doing the newspaper's sudoku puzzle.

At Starbucks, you usually relax and spend an hour savoring your Macchiato while completing the six-star sudoku puzzle from Saturday morning's paper. You haven't spent much time thinking about Starbucks as a place to meet men. Usually, there aren't any eligible men sitting down when you are inside, but today a well-dressed man probably only a few years older than you grabbed a table in front of you after you were about halfway through your sudoku puzzle.

You take little glances his way every few minutes. Not bad eye-candy for a Saturday morning. You two catch eyes a few times, which elicited a quick glance back down to your paper. A bit childish, but you like the roll of playing hard to get. It hasn't worked out very well so far, but whenever you do meet your ideal man, he is going to fall for you from the moment you two catch eyes and then quickly look away--you're sure of it.

As you're getting to the end of your Carmel Macchiato and simultaneously filling in the last few numbers on the sudoku puzzle, the well dressed man leans over and asks, "Are you working on today's sudoku?"

A bit flustered, you reply, "I am, are you finished yet?"

He laughs, "Not even close, I can do the four-star ones, but I have trouble on the five and six-stars."

"You'll figure it out, it took me a while too," you lie. Sudoku's came to you as naturally as fresh-squeezed orange juice.

"You aren't a teacher, are you?" he asks.

"Lucky guess, how did you know?"

"You look like a teacher, but your Nathan Hale sweatshirt also helped a bit," he says with a smile.

Okay, maybe he's a little bit too cocky for you. You take a moment to fill out the rest of the numbers on the sudoku. As you stand to leave, you walk over to his table and say, "I don't usually condone cheating, but here is a cheat-sheet if you need a little help on today's puzzle."

He extends his arm for the newspaper and says, "Thanks, your husband is a very lucky man."

You stand there dumb-founded for ten seconds until you realize you forgot to switch the ring back to your middle finger. Once you realize your mistake, you can feel your face starting to turn its patented beet-red, so you smile at the man and quickly exit the premises.

Safely in your car, you sit with your hands on the wheel and bang your head on the steering wheel while calling yourself a bad name. You look down at your left hand and decide that you should probably move your ring back to its appropriate finger before you forget again.

The rest of the day is a blur, as you can't get your mind off the fact that through one of your tricky ways to get out of embarrassing situations, you end up falling into one anyways! Rainy Saturdays in Seattle for a single 28 year-old woman can be sadly lonely. But this isn't the first rainy day you've spent alone in Seattle, and you're prepared. Especially after a mishap like the one earlier this morning. All you could think about for the last hour was getting home, slipping into sweats, fixing yourself a bowl of ice cream and starting in on the new mystery from J.A. Joyce.

After setting your things down on the kitchen counter, you head into the bedroom to change into sweats. Through years of finding coins, keys, money and receipts in the laundry, you've finally conditioned yourself to check your pockets--ALL of your pockets--before taking off your pants. You don't remember putting anything in your pockets besides your keys, but the jingle in your right pocket says otherwise.

Duh, the change from your various errands. But, there are also a few receipts stuck in there. You separate the coins from the receipts and put the coins in your pink piggy bank you've had since you were nine years old. You toss the receipts into the trash, but the way the receipts land, you notice something written on the back of one. You grab the receipt from the top of the trash bin and uncrumple it.

Dan 206-555-9016

It is on the back of a Starbucks receipt. He slipped a receipt into your pants pocket? And he expects you to call him, really??? You don't think so.