Today, outside the quiet room, the screaming class for the children included bells and stomping lessons. It sounded like a very jolly mole hunt. Or maybe an Elf on the Shelf had gone rogue.
The older guy with the John Deere hat came in to read and yawn like a cartoon bear, great big screaming yawns. He also had several unapologetic coughing fits and a plug of phlegm that just wouldn't dislodge. And, of course, a phone conversation:
I'M GONNA GET RIGHT ON THAT.
I noticed he was reading a different book, by the way.
A little boy in a Cliff Huxtable sweater came in carrying several picture books as big as him and sat quietly to read. A few minutes later, a name was called over the speaker system to come to the front desk. He looked up sheepishly, took his books, and left.