Books meet counter-top with resonant exclamations of relief. Librarian eyes my "abortion tickles" shirt momentarily, quickly concentrating on the texts in front of her as horror passes over her face.
"Write your name in them already..?"
"Boy, I sure am glad I don't have to carry these around all day."
"Just do the barcode thing."
She was obligated by school policy to be unamused.
"It's my real name," I say in tones indicating a life of exasperation with strange parents, "My birth caul caught fire after it fell off of me."
Sixty-something is caught in a state of limbo.
"And this one," she says, indicating an Algebra 2 book with her checkout gun, "Pantaloon O'Saughnessy?"
"That's from my stagecoach robbing days. By the way, are those anatomy books for sale?"