Joel J. Rane

abc3_coverThe Screamer
One day as he walked by me screaming, he made the mistake of looking me in the eye. I had been screamed at for years, begged, threatened, insulted, demeaned. I glared back and screamed myself. “FUCK YOU!” He paused his cart in astonishment. No doubt other people cowered from him, tried reason, control, taking him into custody, kicking him out into the mean streets again. But I was a man after his own heart. He lunged at me, spitting invective, and I countered again to his face, as the lawyers and their secretaries gaped. “No, FUCK YOU!” I screamed at him, The Groanerat them, at the desolate street, at my library, at my evil city, at the polluted sky. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” And he skulked on his way, overwhelmed by a middle-class white male librarian who’d temporarily shattered his world.

2 thoughts on “Joel J. Rane

  1. shinichi Post author

    Scream at the Librarian

    by Joel J. Rane

    From June 2001 to April 2006, I was a reference librarian in the Literature and Fiction Department of the Central Library, Downtown Los Angeles. I rode a bicycle each morning from my apartment to Sunset Boulevard, and then took the subway, reading a book, pretending not to see the insanity around me. Instead of becoming habitual, this routine became more difficult day by day.


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