So. I come into the library to check the intarwebs, because I didn't feel like toting my laptop around. It's crowded but there's a station with cleaning supplies in its chair. Now I go to the library all. the. time. It's shouting distance away from my house. Everyone that works there knows me. I know full well those cleaning supplies are the library's to clean the computer keyboards when there's a moment free. So I ask the guy @ the computer next to the cleaning supplies if they're cleaning it.
"Oh, no. Someone's sitting there." he hastily assures me. I KNOW full well the freezedried wackaloon is lying. but I'm not in the fucking mood. So I sit down to wait. Behind him. He turned & said something about 'ten minutes' yackity smackity blahblahblah. I looked him in his beady eyes & firmly told him I was waiting where I was supposed to to be next in line for the computers & went back to ignoring him.
Well.
He promptly became Chary McSuspicious, photo evidence ->here<-. Because wearing cardigans on your body is SO fuckin' passe, haven't you heard? Nahhh, it's all about the thriftstore sweater flung ever so nonchalantly over your greasy combover while you do everything short of monkeyhump the computer monitor so noone can see your flavor of kink. You are SO subtle, sir. No one would EVER think you might be looking at something illicit, oh, say, gay asian teen midget bestiality snuff porn or anything. Noooo. Because NOTHING says 'casual' like A SWEATER OVER YOUR HEAD while you surf the internet in public, while fidgeting & casting terrified glances over your shoulder every 1.34 minutes and/or whenever someone walks behind you.
Sure enough, once he got done looking at long lost nude pix of Minnie Pearl or joining the GOP or whatever, he takes the sweater off his head, takes the cleaning supplies out of the chair next to him & scampers off nonchalantly.
I cannot make this shit up, I can only display it to prove that I am NOT the batshitcrazyloon in this scene...
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