a nearly satisfactory verisimilitudinous creation

Saturday Librarian 01

With apologies to the Shakespeare.

To Saturday librarian, or not to Saturday Librarian? That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous patrons,
Or to call in sick and start a sea of troubles,
And, by not showing, end them. To lie, to sleep
In late, and by a sleep, to say we snore
The day away, and ignore the thousand natural shocks
That patrons engender? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To lie, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub,
For in the lie of sleep, what trouble may come,
When we have lost that gig which gives us dough,
Must give us pause. There's no respect
From going or not, verily we're screwed.