Saturday, April 16, 2011

Catching a Coney

During my shift at the library last week, a young man approached the volunteer’s desk carrying a grungy backpack and a large, clear plastic bag stuffed with white fabric. He dumped them  on the floor beside the desk and asked to use the internet.  When I requested identification, he retrieved a folded paper from his back pocket and made a big production of spreading it out on the desk. It was a letter from the Department of Corrections stating he had been paroled from the Central East Correctional Centre, a maximum security prison located in a nearby town.
There’s a halfway house for parolees just up the street. New arrivals often make use of the library computers. They usually show me a smaller, and much more discreet, laminated parole card, handing it over with surreptitious hesitancy.  My more savvy reintegrating clients visit the Ministry of Health offices first and present me with a bland, health insurance card.
I read enough of the letter to find his name. While I entered it on the sign in sheet, he told me this was his first day of freedom and he’d lost his bus ticket to a city on the other side of the province, delivering this information with an ingratiating smile. His teeth were large, square and white. His upper right incisor had been broken off at the gum line. Standing up, I pointed to a free terminal. He carried his belongings over to it.
Leaving the letter lying open beside the keyboard, he took off his jacket. Beneath it he wore a white t-shirt. Beneath that, he was the illustrated man. Elaborate tattoos writhed around his arms. Colorfully inked flames crawled up his neck, suggesting a demonic theme informed the rest of his body art. He kept talking while I logged him in, telling me he only had ten dollars and wanted to use the computer to contact a friend and ask for a loan.
Way to much information, I thought as I walked back to my desk. He’s going to be a problem. And he was. He invented all kinds of excuses to get me back to his terminal, not because he needed help, but because he wanted to tell me, and everyone else within hearing distance, his story.  If everything he said about how he lost his bus ticket was true, the guy caught a tough break. At first I sympathized, but after my third trip over to his terminal, I lost patience. He didn’t just want to bend ears. Although he never voiced the request outright, it became obvious he wanted someone to buy him a replacement bus ticket. Because his methodology pretty much guaranteed failure, I made sure he had the address of a local men’s shelter before he left the library.
He reminded me of ooVoo, an over-communication program I recently installed that spastically polluted my screen real estate with pop up “notifications” and evaded my clicks on the “don’t show me this again” button by showing me a different one. The young man and ooVoo wanted the same thing  – my money. They pursued this goal with persistent demands for attention that had the opposite effect. Irritation overwhelmed pity for the young man. Any inclination I had to read ooVoo ads evaporated after the third window popped up.  Not because I’m hard-hearted (although compassion is pretty far down my list of character traits) and not because I’m a cheapskate (although I am). What turned me off was being blatantly harassed for the contents of my wallet.
As the launch date for Sisters of the Sari approaches, this is a huge concern for me. I want people to read my novel, which means I am faced with the daunting task of encouraging total strangers to buy the book. I’m not sure how to go about this yet, but I’m pretty sure how I’m NOT going to.
As the old saying goes, there are better ways of catching a coney than running after it shouting.

4 comments:

  1. What happened to getting shushed at the library?

    You were very kind to this young felon. Were you a Girl Guide in your youth? (Canadian Girl Scout for all you non-Canucks).

    You won't have to pester people to buy your book. Your good reviews and signing sessions will take care of that.

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  2. You are an optimist, Nez. I should take hope lessons from you.

    BTW: the Rent-a-Rant idea is growing roots in my imagination. Thanks again.

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  3. I kind of suspect that if there is a God, then prayers have very much the same effect.

    No one paints a character so vividly, with so few brush stokes.

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  4. Of course! This totally removes the mystery behind that old "mysterious ways" chestnut.

    Brilliant, Chris

    - b

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