Here to rectify

Breakdown time. Yesterday, the results of patron abuse finally bubbled to the surface. I use the word "patron" loosely, for the most part the consistent problem we have in the library, besides for our sorely lacking daycare skills, is the use of the Internet. People want their porn and their myspace, and they want it now, and for as long as they need. However, that doesn't always work out. So, me being the fucking idiot Internet hostess who always sits at the desk where people stand and wait for assistance in asking someone to get the out of the way, gets the brunt of the level of frustration comparable to loss of limb or foreclosure. Jack and Eamon had me in a messy teary love sandwich when I started to cry into the already salted pasta water boiling away on the stove, apropos in it's illustration of my internal tumult.