It's this thing again, where everyone thinks I'm gay. Here in Seattle even the gay people think I'm gay, which is weird. Everywhere else they laugh at me because I'm the straightest thing I've ever seen.

As if it weren't enough trouble already, just trying to use the library bathroom. Everyone in there looks at me like I'm the one who wrote the notes about blowjobs in the basement bathroom at five everyday. As if. I don't even wake up till five, and the library is an hour away. But every time I go in the bathroom everyone looks at me all shocked. I don't get it. Maybe they are the ones leaving the notes, but hell, it's nothing to look so shocked about.

As if that weren't bad enough, I can't find the book I'm in the middle of. Serves me right for stashing it in the wrong section. Terrible, I know, but I hate going from the old crummy part of the library where I have my own desk, to the new space-age part where the book belongs. Too many icky frat boys in the hallways, snickering, and I have to run the gauntlet.

So I'm searching up and down the aisles, trying to find, Jo Pagano in the middle of thousands of Islamic texts. Of course, it looks pretty fishy. Browsing the Arabic section. It looks like I'm cruising. Part of that whole secret scene of public places and anonymous sex.

This guy saddles up to me and asks if he can ask me a question. He looks me in the eye all creepy, and then he says, "Do you believe in Jesus Christ?".

Boy, if it's not one thing, it's another. If I wanted a blowjob or a dead hippie for my spiritual guru, I'd go looking on the streetcorner, not the library. I guess that's the problem with living in a city where it rains all the time: the perverts and religious nuts have to come in to dry off.

I say No, I don't, and I don't want to talk about it. I'm just looking for a book, and I can't even remember the goddamn title.

"Well," he says, "there are an awful lot of books in here".

Yeah, thanks a lot. Fucking christer. I guess you have it easy, just reading the same one over and over.