It has been a while since I wrote a Coffee Chronicles. I haven’t been able to sit at any coffee shops or visit them for longer than 10 minutes. A few weeks ago, I decided to go to the library. I had a rare opportunity, no Trivia on Tuesday Night, due to Mardi Gras. I was torn between doing a step class with my favorite drill sergeant fitness instructor. Imagine the scene from the Crosby show when Debbie Allen worked Phylicia Rashad out until exhaustion. I played with the idea of starting back up to solid core classes, but I flash back to feeling my body tremble to exhaustion. Plus, I checked my account and didn’t have enough for a Solid core class and parking downtown. The snowstorm at the end of January messed up my rhythm to be a solid core baddie, given my current discipline level. Earlier this year, I told myself I wanted to make writing a habit. I decided to go sit down and write. I could do the Whole Foods in Towson, grab dinner, and write. Even though I considered going to the Paris Bakery, I loved the lighting and the food. I hated the parking in the area and knew it was outside my budget. Cue Dave Ramsay, “You don’t have to spend money on parking.” “You are damn sure don’t need to spend money on overpriced food when you have food at home.” So, I decided to be frugal and go to the library. I have gone to the Towson Public Library a few times. Parking is reasonable, $2.00, and going to the library is fiscally responsible.  

So, I decided to go to the library, even though this particular library has a smell, and not a book smell. I should mention that there is a large, unhoused population at this library, but honestly, they’re quite nice and don’t bother anyone. I would rather have them in the library than deal with the harsh winter conditions. At least they are warm and not freezing.  So, I can grow the f*ck up while I use a public space to work on a project.  I got to the library ready to work on my writing when I realized I had left my cell phone in the car. I felt my eyes roll as I thought to myself that it would be ok to sit and work without my phone. I can work without my phone, but my addiction to that pocket technology called a cellphone dragged me back to my car. I couldn’t spend 90 minutes without checking TikTok or pretending to listen to music while really procrastinating by swiping. I went back to my car, trekking back to the library to sit next to the quiet older lady. She was color-coding a notebook and felt like the area I chose was perfect. I could see and hear while also maintaining privacy.

After 30 minutes, the lady beside me left. I figured she must have finished her work, so I kept typing. When I felt a pair of eyes on me, I looked around to see if someone was watching me. Cue the Rockwell song, lyrics popping into my head: “Somebody watching me.” Fun Fact: Michael Jackson sings the hook on that One-Hit Wonder. When I noticed a young man drop his bookbag at a desk over from me. I thought nothing of it and continued writing. An older man hacked up part of his lung. Which made me realize I needed a mask.  I had an uneasy feeling, and I kept my head on a swivel. The man who was one desk over was not quite jumpy, but he seemed to be analyzing people. I thought nothing of it until I felt eyes on me again. I looked over at the young man, and he disappeared, moving back into the racks of books. I would be fine if he brought the books back to the desk. He still wore the pooh shiesty, and now my danger signals were going off. Whoopi Goldberg’s voice penetrated my head, the movie clip from Ghost, “You’re in Danger, Gurl.”    I decided to move to another area of the desk, closer to the librarian. I settled and noticed the lady I sat beside was at the computer. I open my computer to see the young man from the back with his bag sitting in front of me. I thought, “Why the hell did he move?” I kept my head down, but noticed he wasn’t watching everyone, just me.

At this moment, all my years of watching the CBS murder mystery combo kicked in. Angela Fletcher and Perry Mason trained me in how to escape a perp without getting caught. The next time he moved, I took my parking ticket and the bank card with the least amount on it from my wallet and shoved them into my pocket. I checked everything around me. Now I could go to the third floor and sit there for a moment until I found a new target, but that felt like I would isolate myself. I noticed I have two exits. One was the bridge to the parking lot, but it was also the most dangerous, because there were no cameras, and this rejected YN could not follow me. Then the Ramp, which seems the most dangerous, takes me to the ground floor, but I could make my way to Subway or 7-11 or even run down the street where the police usually pass. Next time the pooh-shiesty fellow got up, I acted like I was going to the bathroom. I realized I should have waited to move the parking ticket and card until I got to the bathroom, but I wanted to be ready. I then bobbed and weaved through the stacks, making my way to the exit. I stopped in an area with a parent and a kid, looking as if they were about to leave.

Pooh shesity man, walked towards the bathrooms. I got up and walked out with the family, taking the ramp to the bottom floor. Why would I take the Ramp!!!!!  I really am like Jessica Fletcher; that was a bonehead move. The Ramp, but I made it to the bottom. I didn’t feel it was fluttering anymore. No-Kill Bill musical sequence with whirling sounds before the bride attacks her next victim. I sprinted up the street to the parking lot and paid quickly.  I took the elevator to my car. Looked around and ran to my car. I drove away, wondering if I just psyched myself out for nothing, cause maybe it was nothing. I know my danger signs, first “Rockwell,” “Somebody Watching me” playing in my head. The YN is moving to different parts of the library as I try to write. My fight or flight response is kicking in, and instead of going to the librarian and saying, ” Hey, I feel unsafe I turn this into an overactive imagination of getting to the car. I told my friend about this interaction, and their response was, “You need to be more careful.”  I side-eyed my phone, my inner Kanye before his antisemitic rant came out, “How Sway?”  Am I supposed to go home and never venture outside? Am I only going to the library between the hours of 10-3 pm?  Was I supposed to go home, watch TV, sleep, and say, “maybe next time”? I just know that moving forward, I am going to the coffee shop, and parking next to it costs a damn. I do enjoy the library, but until I do like Cardi B, and get some Bear Mace. The library is only an option during daylight hours.

In conclusion, I was unable to write a story.  The man in the pooh shiesty mask moved on to another target. But I got a really cool essay out of trying to do the right thing, and realizing I got to start my morning runs again.

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