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The Gremlins

Gremlins, contrary to most accounts, are not as short as you’d think. They are by no means entirely nefarious either. On occasion, they do cause trouble, but that’s to be expected. You can trust me. A month or so ago I was working in the library in Bryant Park. I prefer to work in the map room. As expected, the map room is filled with maps. Also as expected, it is quite often filled with people. People who often, for one reason or another, feel entitled to comment on the maps. “Look!” they’ll say, “California is entirely detached in this one!” To which the stout and mildly groomed librarian will reply with a curt, but professional, “please be quiet, people are studying.” I try not to pay attention and focus on my work. Like many rooms in the library, the map room is divided into a public atrium of sorts and, behind the librarians’ desk and a wall of ornate carpentry through whose gaps one can peer, a private collection room filled with “the good stuff”. I have never been in the latter, but I do know what I saw. They seemed to be a tour. A gaggle of them, led by a senior librarian in a red vest and simple brown shoes. They were roughly his height, quite green, and generally had an aire of irritation and arrogance. One of them, who appeared to be staring closely at an old map on a small pedestal, must’ve accidentally touched the artifact, for the elderly librarian promptly turned and admonished the awful beast, causing a small stir amongst the party. It was roughly at this time that I noticed a pair of tourists in my room had let their small child loose. The child had started to attempt to lick Iceland on one of the larger globes in the room, causing the portly librarian to turn red in the face and, quite angrily, storm over to the oblivious parents. Embarrassed, they left the room, leaving the land of fire and ice quite sticky.

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