I’ve got my stack of books and happily make my way to the computer stations. My friend is texting up a storm on my phone and I try to keep up. How can someone type so fast?
Then one message unleashes the power that is The Black Keys’ Gold on the Ceiling.
I try to turn it off. It won’t turn off. Oh no. My ringtone is the whole song because, you know, it’s awesomeness in motion.
I issue a general apology to people around me. I explain that I’m trying to turn it off and, either way, the song will be over soon.
“Miss, you’ll have to leave the library. We’ve received complaints.”
Really? I didn’t notice any disapproving glances or shushes. I look around to see who I may have offended:
1. The drunk passed out on a table and snoring loudly. I may have interrupted his dreamscape.
2. The shrieking kids stampeding about throwing books at each other. The harried-looking adults trying to corral them. Unlikely they noticed my existence, auditory or otherwise.
3. The 80-something guy surreptitiously surfing porn. Doubtful he’d risk attracting any attention to himself.
4. The tweaker pacing in front of a CD rack. He’s watching me watching him watching me. Yeah, man, the guitar riffs are code. For: n-a-r-c.
“Miss, you’ll have to leave the library. Now.”
I gather up my books to check them out before leaving. The librarian/bouncer smiles at me. A quietly triumphant smile-smirk. Aha! Her glasses and Maoist outfit belie the heart of a subversive. The Black Keys have offended her sensibilities with their white-bread pseudo-rock.
Nicely played, my friend.
Then someone runs after me, “What’s the name of that song? It’s great! Who is it?”
I smile at the librarian/bouncer on my way out.
I ain’t blind, just a matter of time…
It’s all right, ain’t no guard in my house
[Lyrics in italics, from: “Gold on the Ceiling,” by The Black Keys. Original release: El Camino, 2011.]