Saturday, August 08, 2009

A Little Story

Friday was a day.
It started out as a sad one. Our car sounded like a dying polar bear and took three or four turns to purr into usefulness. My computer loved crashing. Our cute little apartment had big and ugly unanticipated fees. We have no money. I cried a lot. Then, at 1 pm, we kissed goodbye and went to work.

I got to my office. The door was ajar and a security guard was sitting in a chair outside of it. What?! They were painting my walls. My desk was shoved against the wall so I only had a foot of space. Whatev. My boss left me a journal, one hundred and twenty three years old, for me to copy. It was on a loan to the BYU library. I needed to handle it carefully and photocopy it. No big. I do this all the time. I took it to the copier and carefully opened the journal. The cover fell off. I looked at the instructions left by my boss (who has his OWN wikipedia article, just for being smart and writing all kinds of materials on Mormons. how cool is that?! ps. he knows everything). He said to be extra extra careful with the cover. Apparently it was attached before I got ahold of it...

I looked up and down the hall. It was 1:20. No one else was in sight. So I sighed and laid my elbows on the copier and rubbed my temples, frustrated. And then I remembered that Mr. C. bought me not one but TWO amazing soundtracks late the night before via an iTunes gift card gifted to him. He spoils me. And so, I turned the two new CDs into a playlist and started scanning away, thinking of nothing but music.

After a few songs, my headphones blaring at (almost) full volume, I realized that I was no longer actively scanning. I was still carefully picking up the journal, flipping it over, holding my breath that it wouldn't break when I sidled it up against the glass and covered it. Such an action was automatic. But during the heart tugging song "As Much As You Lead," I realized I was not standing still. I was moving back and forth. And not a little. A lot. I was swaying. Not just a little. I was swaying in huge motions. In fact, if I told you that I was dancing next to the copy machine, I would not be lying.

So I looked down the hallway again. I put my forehead in my right hand. And I couldn't help it. I giggled. Loudly. Next to the copy machine in the basement of the Harold B. Lee Library where most people will never go. And I just kept dancing. For the next three hours as I stood next to the copy machine, flipping over a nineteenth century journal every thirty seconds.


P.S. If you haven't taken advantage of Nylon's Summer Playlist, and you like unknown, rather erratic music (as I do), you should. Now.