3) Small Room

It seems I have done this right. I have not heard any talk about me. What I understood was that no one would actually read these blogs, anyway, that the committee would only check that you made one. I should be safe. That is good, because now this is necessary to me.

May pushed a cart out for me today. I would not have asked her to, but she was the only person in the workroom that could leave their station, except for supervisors, and I have the impression that they do not do that. Shelving non-fiction means a ride in the elevator. I do not like elevators. I do not like small rooms--or having them move. So I concentrated with deep breaths and did not talk. Neither did May. We stood on opposite sides of the cart, and because of my height I could not see her. I wanted to, but my heart was beating fast enough already.

I opened the door to the public area for May to bring the cart out. She thanked me and I said, "You are welcome." "Where would you like it?" she said. I said, "As close to the middle as you can without getting in anybody's way." I pulled and steered from the front as she shoved. When the cart was where I needed it I looked up at her and thanked her and looked away again before she answered politely. I gave her time to turn around before I looked again, but I waited too long. She had turned the corner.

I took my time. I had to; daydreaming slowed me sometimes to a halt with a book in mid-air. But as shelving is all I do, it does not matter how long it takes me to empty a cart, and I always empty the cart.