"You better bring the cash."

I have always considered myself a "reader". I read constantly. Unfortunately, it costs money to read and money is one part of my life that is severely lacking. A few months ago, I remembered that libraries are a thing that exists and decided to get a membership, or else  resort to burning books for warmth and eating the ashes for food. As to avoid this fate, I planned a day to vist the libraries of Manhattan.

New York Libraries may be famous for their books, but from here on out, I will remember some for a very different reason, the rancorous stench. The smell can be terrible. Just awful. Almost angry. As if, someone filled a pot with stale food, vomit, body odor, and clothing so dirty that it has developed its own consciousness, and then dumped it all onto the carpet.  Conversely, librarians are some of the greatest people on Earth. If I were a librarian, I would probably kill myself. That is not a criticism of them, it is a comment on me. They have a dedication and compassion that I do not possess. The fact that a librarian is able to take someone screaming in their face and then respond like the Pope, is a testament to the will of librarians everywhere.

However, this story is not about librarians or libraries. It is about what can happen outside of a library and how a hapless guy can can be accused of stealing your intellectual property.

I was on my way to the library at the corner of 42nd St and Fifth Avenue. It was the third leg on my tour. Before going inside, I stopped and took a moment to enjoy the air. It was February and the weather was pleasant. The air was crisp and fragrant. Birds were chirping, children were laughing, all that good stuff. It was right about then, that I was approached by a woman who fit the bill of an aunt on vacation. She wore a sun-visor, teal and purple track suit, and sneakers. The kind that aren't fashionable but will give you comfort and support for a day of exploring New York. Stopping right in-front of me, she asked:

The New York Public Library at 42nd and 5th.

"Do you have grandparents?"

"Yeah. I have two grandma's."

"I'm sure you care about them very much. My job is to teach art and poetry classes to the elderly. Would you like to hear an original poem?"

I responded with, "Sure!" but what I should have asked was, "Will this cost money? Because, if it does, we are both in for one awkward conversation."

 Immediately, the woman began a poem about nature. It was high energy, the kind a teacher reads to a class to show that, "See! Poetry CAN be fun!" The performance was accompanied by hand gestures and full-bodied movements. This clearly had taken some time to craft and perfect and I'll freely admit, I liked it.

After she had finished, the woman held out a donation cup, the sort with stickers and hearts on the front with various coins and crumpled dollar bills inside. I meekly fished out my wallet, knowing full-well that there was absolutely nothing inside. I half expected a dust cloud or a pair of angry flies to come shooting out of a wallet that was almost crying, "feed me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't have any money."

"Excuse me? You don't have any money?"

"No. I don't. I am excruciatingly poor."

"Well, you could have told me that in the first place and then nobody would have wasted their time. This poem is mine. It took a long time to create it and I don't appreciate wasting it on someone who will just take it from me." She gave me a withering look that said, "If you ever want to hear a poem again, you better bring the cash." and then stormed off. Looking for the next person who would claim that they too, loved their grandparents.

Fortunately, I had taken two things away from that interaction. Firstly, that listening to a poem can be a form of identity theft. And secondly, If I had given that woman a dollar I probably wouldn't be remembering her or her poem today. Like I said before, it was pretty good.

- Jeff