The books were chilled. The library’s temperature was thirty-two degrees. The words made it more swiftly into people’s eyes and brains when the pages and the covers were chilled to this temperature. This is, of course, the way all libraries are. A librarian sat at the information desk, crying. When Stan entered the library, he said, “Boy howdy, it’s cold in here!” and went back outside to get a coat and some gloves. Stan did not go to libraries. He was more of a home improvement store kind of guy. He spent the time most people spend reading working with his hands- on home-improvement projects.
Stan came back into the library and said to the librarian, “Can I please speak to the manager? Where is he?”
The crying woman at the information desk said, “I am the head librarian. How can I help you?”
She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I’m a businessman,” said Stan, “and this here—what do you call this place?”
“A library,” said the librarian, sniffling.
“A liber-ee,” he said, “like a jamboree, huh? This liber-ee must be the opposite of a jamboree, because it’s really dreary in here. And, really cold.” He rubbed his hands together. “Anyway, I’m here to buy this liber-ee. You probably don’t know this, but your liber-ee is in a prime location for a fried chicken restaurant, and furthermore, dare I say it, a fried chicken experience.”
“I did not know that,” said the librarian.
“Yes, I aim to turn this place into Chicken Land. Imagine: a fried chicken experience that includes a waterslide and video games. Doesn’t that sound like fun to you?”
“Um,” said the librarian, “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. The city owns the library.”
“Well, do you have the number for the city?” said Stan. “I’d like to talk to them.”
The librarian pulled out a box from underneath the information desk. “Can you sing?” she asked.
“A little bit,” said Stan. “I used to sing in the choir at the Satanic temple I went to as a child.”
“Well,” said the librarian, “in order to open this box, you have to sing a high C note. I can’t open it because I’m tone deaf.”
“Well, why did they hire you?” said Stan irritably.
“I don’t know why they hired me,” the librarian sobbed. “I’m not good at anything. I just needed the job, and they gave it to me.” The librarian sobbed very loudly for about a minute.
“Well, okay,” said Stan, “no sense in beating yourself up, even though you might deserve it. I will attempt to sing a C note.”
He cleared his throat.
“Do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do!” sang Stan, and with that second do, the box clicked open. In the box was a fortune cookie. Stan cracked it open. Inside was a tiny piece of paper with the words “Mayor’s Office” and a telephone number written on it.
“Here’s a phone,” said the librarian, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Thank you,” said Stan. He set about dialing the number.
The librarian sat down in her swivel chair and retrieved a box of cookies from behind the information desk. The cookies were black on the outside with white frosting on the inside, and they were delicious. Most people know of these cookies. They have a name, but unfortunately I can’t type the name, because if I did, it would be treason. The librarian ate the cookies and cried some more. She was a failure at life because she was bad at her job. She didn’t know where any of the books in the library were. She had kept the job because no one had asked her where any of the books were. If a person asked her, she would not know, and she would be found out as a fraud, and if she was found out as a fraud, the library police would come and take her to jail.
“Look here, mister Mayor,” said Stan, “this liber-ee is the perfect place for this Chicken Land that I have described to you. I am at this liber-ee right now, and I tell you, it is cold and boring. My Chicken Land would upgrade this property considerably. Chicken Land is fun; Chicken Land is happy; Chicken Land is warm; and Chicken Land delivers a delicious product that the type of person who lives in this neighborhood loves.”
“You have given me a lot to think about,” said the mayor, who was drawing a picture of Darth Vader on his desk with a crayon. “Let me put you on hold, while I speak to my associates.”
Stan turned towards the librarian, who was eating cookies and crying. Stan took a deep breath and released it. She was a very beautiful woman, and she looked especially beautiful when she cried. She was like the crying angel in a painting he had seen on the walls of the Satanic temple he used to go to. Also, there was a delicious smell coming off of her now that he had not noticed. He had a hunch, and he was going to act on that hunch, act on it right . . . now.
“Say there, Honey,” Stan said, “this is an odd request, but would it be alright if I tasted one of your tears?”
“Go right ahead,” said the librarian, sniffling. “I’ve got plenty of them.” She put a finger to her eye and then brought the finger to Stan’s open mouth. Stan tasted the tear and smacked his lips with pleasure. What a glorious taste, he thought. It was like sunshine mixed with the zest of a gun battle in the Wild West.
“Honey,” he said with a grin, “how would you like to be the coinventor of the greatest fried chicken recipe in the world?”
So, there you have it. That is how Stan and the librarian came together to found Chicken Land, which as we all know, went on to be an exponential success. The librarian was able to quit her job and have a new one crying tears for the chicken. She was not depressed about her job anymore, but she found other things to be depressed about. That’s the way she was. Some people just always see the glass as half empty. Sometimes, they can be very frustrating!
