The minute I waded through the first puddle of the day, I knew I was in trouble. My foot was suddenly cold -- too cold. Icy water oozed between my toes. Of all the days for my shoe to spring a leak! Once the wind picked up and it started to sleet, then snow, my wet foot felt all the wetter. And colder.
I kept wondering if anybody else could hear the squelch-squelch I made as I loped along, gamely leaping over puddles in a vain attempt to keep my foot from getting any wetter. I pulled my hood over my head and cursed myself for leaving my umbrella in the car.
But I couldn't stop to do anything about it. I had a student to meet in the morning, at the University of Glasgow. Running late, I had to sprint across town to meet her on time. As she and I pored over her essay on economics, I surreptitiously flexed the toes of my frozen foot to get some circulation back into them. Then I had to rush back in the opposite direction to get to the library. I'd left home without the lesson plan and teaching materials I needed for my next student, and I needed to cobble something together. Perhaps the library would have simple books for learners.
"Do you have any books for beginning readers?" I asked the librarian, trying to wiggle my toes. I was concerned that I was losing sensation in three of them.
She looked at me over the top of her glasses, taking in my wet hair and clothes. "What do you mean by beginning reader?"
"Someone who can read fairly well, but still struggles a bit with vocabulary," I told her, distracted by my frozen toes.
The librarian studied me a bit, then shook her head. "Perhaps a children's book..."
"But she's not a child," I protested, thinking of Megumi, my smart, quick-learning student, a young, busy housewife. "She's a grown woman and very bright."
Another librarian stepped forward. "There are easy-reading books over on that shelf," she said, pointing.
I squelched my way across the room, leaving muddy footprints on the library floor. A few minutes later, my toes were still numb, but I'd found five good books I thought Megumi might enjoy.
As I waited my turn at the desk, I noticed that an EFL tutorial session was going on. Three women in burkas sat huddled with a middle-aged woman with a heavy Scots accent; a young man with a Spanish accent frowned at the book in front of him, trying to copy his tutor's intonation.
I handed the librarian my five books. "I'd like to check these out."
She took the books from me and eyed me, as though trying to make her mind up about something. "You know," she said slowly, "we run free classes for slow readers." She glanced across the room at the EFL students.
"No," I said, shaking my head. Megumi's level was way over that of the library's EFL students.
"Not just for foreigners," the librarian rushed to add, "but for people such as yourself..."
My chin dropped. She meant me! She thought I was illiterate! I'd just edited a hard paper for a graduate student. I have a Master's degree in English. I had a book in my bag I'm supposed to be translating into English, and another to read, with loads of multi-syllable words in it. I'm all over English, reading, writing, speaking -- I teach it myself, for pity's sake!
"These books aren't for me," I said a little too quickly. "They're for my student."
The librarian smiled and gave me a pitying look as she handed me back my card.
I could feel her eyes on me all the way to the door. It didn't help that I pushed the wrong door either -- the one with the 'No Exit' sign on it.
As I shut the door behind me, I could see both librarians looking after me in concern. Suddenly I saw myself in their eyes: a middle-aged American, a slow reader, but -- poor thing! -- in denial. And on top of it all, frazzled and miserable-looking, shivering and limping, wearing a spectacularly unflattering coat. Which was wet.
They say humility is good for the soul. It's a comforting thought.
