Free The Incident Report by Martha Baillie Page B

dialed.

INCIDENT REPORT 84
    A patron I’d never seen before presented himself at the Reference Desk. Youth was coursing through him. The time was 4:05. All skinny legs, neck and elbows jutting out, he shifted from one foot to the other. He pushed his heavy-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. He was sixteen and living in a shelter, he explained. Again he shifted from one foot to the other.
    â€œRational, sensible, in moderation, if you live rationally, sensibly and in moderation you’ll get where you want to go, you’ll be all right, sensible, moderate, rational, that’s all there is to it, always try to be moderate, sensible and rational—the rest will come,” he advised me, loud in his nervousness, sweat dampening his forehead.
    â€œI’m trying to live rationally, smoking only two cigarettes a day, I’m succeeding, sensible, moderate, sensible, everything in moderation, this time I’m really trying, everything in moderation, sensible, rational, sensible, rational, I’m really doing it this time, sensible, and you know what I mean, moderate, rational, and pretty soon everything will be OK, moderate and sensible and rational, you understand, don’t you?”
    He glanced at the clock on the wall behind me.
    â€œWell, I see it’s getting late. Everything in moderation, don’t want to keep you too much longer. I’m going now. Good luck to you, to all of you.”
    He waved goodbye. He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and with a wide smile walked out of the library.

INCIDENT REPORT 86
    At 6:30, I knocked for the fifth time on the door of the men’s washroom. A voluble grunt of displeasure was the only response offered. A queue of several male patrons, wishing to relieve themselves, had formed outside the washroom.
    I inserted the master key in the lock and opened the door. A man was seated on the toilet in a condition of nudity. His only garment, a pair of orange coveralls, lay on the floor. His condition was one of utter vulnerability. He stared at me. His condition was one of drunken indifference. I told him to dress.
    Whenever I’m forced to open the door, it is this man that I find naked, seated on the toilet. He is a regular.
    He gazed at me blankly, from the depths of his private and reeking oblivion.

INCIDENT REPORT 87
    My head was rising and falling, slowly with Janko’s breathing, as I stared up and along his chest to where his nipple stood, immense.
    â€œWhat has been the most frightening moment in your life, so far?” I asked.
    â€œYou mean there will be more?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI don’t want to sort through everything frightening.”
    â€œWas it when you lost your finger?”
    â€œNow.”
    â€œNow is the most frightening?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I have met you.”

INCIDENT REPORT 88
    This afternoon, at 1:14 PM , a male patron wished to leave the library but refused to open his bag for inspection, though it set off the security alarm. This was the third day he’d refused to cooperate. I spoke to him firmly, and in accordance with the Rules and Regulations I did not touch his bag. He started to yell that I could not force him to open his bag, and that if I so much as came near his belongings, he would cut of my arm.
    The police were called. From inside his bag they removed a large knife and a can of bear repellent. Handcuffed, the patron in question was led away. He was not a regular.
    For the remainder of the afternoon, I could not help but think about the suffering of medieval performing bears.

INCIDENT REPORT 89
    This afternoon, at 2:45, a patron, Mr. Macgregor, a regular, expressed an interest in history. He asked to see a list of every title owned by the Public Libraries of Toronto, under the subject heading of History.
    He sat in a state of expectancy—hands on knees, eyes alert. His shirt was buttoned properly and his