People don't become librarians for the fame, fortune or excitement, but there's a little
Walter Mitty in all of us...
Marian
the Librarian is flying to a librarian convention, nodding off in her
middle seat, which she has thoughtfully not tipped back to avoid
annoying the passengers behind her, and trying not to snore or drool or
touch either arm rest lest she infringe on her seatmates' personal
space, she hears the P.A. announcement,
"Is there a librarian on board? we have a slight emergency in Business Class requiring immediate biblio assistance."
Marian
jerks awake instantly, eye's pop open, she nods apologetically to the
passenger in the aisle seat and indicates she needs to get by. Grabbing
her bookbag from under the seat, she hurries up the aisle to the Flight
Attendant and whispers,
"I'm a librarian. How can I help?"
"There's
a passenger in extreme distress, hyperventilating over a book he's
reading and looking pale and clammy, almost like he's in shock," the FA
explains as she leads Marion through Business Class to a seat where,
indeed, a male passenger, middle-aged, well-dressed, is breathing
unevenly with his hands gripping the latest Dan Brown best seller
tightly.
"Oh dear, that's the third case I've seen this week. Deadly
Prose Syndrome with Implausable Plot Complications. We have to act
quickly."
Marian carefully pries the stricken man's fingers from
the Lost Symbol and places it in a sick bag for disposal.
"I'm afraid the only treatment for this patron, er patient, is an immediate infusion of
The Classics or
failing that, any book with sufficient character development,
three-syllable words and dependent clauses to act as an antidote. I
think this will work."
Marian riffles through her black bag and pulls out Hawthorne's
The Scarlet Letter, and places it gently in the man's hands.
"That
should do it. I may have to read it aloud to him at first but then his
ability to read on his own should kick in and he'll be right as rain."