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Jodene

reads, writes, speaks, listens & does lots of hand holding

the best description of me is in my words- please read the posts and there you will find me ...

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Hell's Gift to the Book Cellar

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

I beg to differ. Whoever coined this ludicrous saying was clearly a hermit or completely immune to language. Words can do far more harm than sticks and stones. I’d rather be showered with sticks and stones than bashed and abused with malicious words. Bones can heal.

While in the “book cellar” – literally the cellar of my local public library which accepts donated books and sells them for cheap, I was caught in a war of words. I was Switzerland caught between the mean-spirited, toxic-tongued bully and the meek, sweet-spirited victim. To think they were both volunteers was mind-boggling.

As I pushed aside picture books in search of interesting literature for a 5^th grade class, I was startled by the bully yelling across the room at the victim. He asked the cost for a videotape, to which she screamed at him that he should know- two dollars. She took a breather, yelled a few more choice words while ignoring his plea to speak later since he was with a customer then finished by suggesting the book cellar would function better without his presence. She could have meant on earth and thrown in a few more explicit insults for it would not have softened the overall tone of her message one bit.

When it was time to pay for my boxes of books, I found myself standing between (as I nicknamed her) hell’s gift to the book cellar and her co-volunteer. As she counted my books, he asked if I was a “home-schooler” and was quickly promptly to hush. I replied in a whisper and we stood awkward and silent until she was done. On the trip to my car, with his help to put the boxes in my trunk, I was tempted to comment on the spirit of his co-worker in not-so-kind words. I’m glad I caught myself after looking at his name tag. Turns out they share a last name. The only explanation for her acrid tone and ugly behaviour toward him, and only him, was they are married.

What made me sad on the drive home was my assumption that she would not have spoken to a co-volunteer in such a tone. While her choice words were startling to the patrons, he didn’t seem phased. I wondered how one grew used to being spoken to in such a manner. Thankfully, I’ve never known.