Showing posts with label Chris Robbins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chris Robbins. Show all posts

Monday, November 26, 2012

November 26, 1991



Country taping and the drive to Kohl's to buy more blank tapes and Land's End to see if any of the merchandise screams "wife's birthday present.  An Indian knit sweater takes up the chant, but at $84 I decide to think about it.  Then I spot the tattersall shirt of my dreams and continue to keep a clamp on my wallet.

I have little ambition today.  My biggest accomplishment is use to a clipboard to organize all of my upcoming meeting agendas and reports and other various enclosures.

The evening is slow but not too slow.  Chris Robbins actually sits at a table for 2 hours and concentrates on his homework.  Before going to bed, I sit at my desk and drink a martini while going through the newspapers.

Monday, October 22, 2012

October 22, 1991



I spend the morning taping tunes and otherwise putzing around.  During most of the afternoon, I stare at my workroom computer and continue to my nuts and bolts notes.  I've been ignoring this project for the past three weeks.  I take an early supper break so I can be at the reference desk from quarter of 5 to closing.  Chris Robbins just about drives me berserk.  Then the senior teen queens take their turn.  I walk home feeling exhausted and trying to bury the thought that I'm overpolicing the library.  I watch the final innings of the World Series (game 3) before going to sleep.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

April 1, 1991

A new week, another Monday finds me at the information desk, composing my weekly column when I'm not helping people.  It's a surprisingly busy morning, Madison's last day of spring break.  The atmosphere in the library becomes increasingly squirrelly as the afternoon progresses.  Reports from Liz, Sharon, and Pat indicate that Chris Robbins is his usual uncontrollable self.  When I confront him with his variety of misdeeds, he naturally denies everything.  My asking him to leave makes him feisty, a little too much so.  "Faggot!  Motherfucking bastard!" he says to me as he starts to leave.  I tell him not to come back for the rest of the week.  Then I call his Mom and express my displeasure.  She says an apology will be forthcoming.

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