In Which I Sound Like a Middle Class Snob

The Ibis family currently lives in the Midwest. We are from the East Coast - Mr. Ibis and Imet and lived in Boston, and we have been to New York plenty of times. So we know that where we live now is hardly a major metropolis, but it is still a city. I think of it as having everything a city has, but with only one or two of each thing. We have tall buildings - like, three. We have an art museum - one. We have a bad part of town where all the gang violence is - just the one. We have junkies and homeless people that hang out on the street - like two dozen or so.

Yesterday Mr. I was home and I got off work early so we thought we'd take a little family trip to the library. There are many branches, but Mr. I wanted to check out a particular book that was in the downtown branch. So off we go. Nothing could be wrong with this plan, right?

Wrong. Normally the homeless people and junkies who live downtown like to hang out outside the library. There is a lovely outdoor mall and sculpture garden right across the street where they tend to congregate. But since it was raining, naturally they were all inside the library. Now listen, I understand that addiction is a hard road and that a lot of homeless people are people with mental illnesses who have no money or access to treatment. I feel bad for these people, but at the same time, I don't exactly enjoy carrying my four month old infant through a large building filled with mentally unstable drug addicts. But that is precisely what I did yesterday.

Maybe I sound like I'm exaggerating, but if anything I'm understating the situation. The only people in the building who were in their right minds were the librarians, us, and the security guards posted all over every floor. I wasn't entirely sure if we had walked into the library or a halfway house.

There was an awkward moment when two hoodlum types got into the elevator just as we were heading toward it. They delayed closing the door for so long, talking to someone outside the elevator, that finally it seemed it would be more awkward to stand there waiting for them to leave than to just get on with them. So we did. Let me tell you, standing in an enclosed space with two guys who look like they're packing both heat and methamphetamine and one of them says, "Ready? One, two, three!" - that's a slightly unnerving experience. Fortunately he was just counting down to taking a sip of his Mountain Dew. And after he said "That's some good shit!" his friend apologized to me for his bad language in front of the baby.

So, we visited the third floor and picked out books, and Mr. Ibis just wanted to try one more floor to look at one more thing. And there, as I tried to read the blurb on the back of a book about motherhood, an old woman approached. I was holding Miles in my arms and he was sucking on his binky. She was clearly homeless and, it quickly became apparent, most likely mentally ill. But good old Ibis, always trying to be friendly and inoffensive. Instead of finding an excuse to move away I stood there and indulged in a little chit chat, "Oh, he's four months old, he sure loves his pacifier, blah blah blah," nervous laughter.

Now: break for a wee bit of expository info here. I am ever so slightly germophobic. Or, rather, I'm germophobic only about foreign germs. Meaning that I don't really care if my house is a sty, but I think public places are totally teeming with deadly bacteria at all times. I know I'm a little nuts, but it freaks me out sometimes with the baby, like, if we're at Target and I have touched the front doors and I have to put Miles's binky in his mouth, I'm super careful to only touch the handle and then when we get home I have to wash the whole thing.

So keep that in mind as you picture, in horrifying slow motion, this old crone reaching out with one brown leathery hand and yellowed fingernails and taking Miles's tiny soft hand in hers. Inside my head I'm screaming Ohhhhhhh nooooooooo! but outside I'm just nervously giggling like a fruitcake. Then Miles's pacifier drops out of his mouth and I'm so terrified she'll reach for it that I shift him around and tuck it under his arm, out of reach. He starts to cry so I move away from her, and I shimmy his jacket down over his hands. Because I know at the first opportunity he's going to shove his contaminated hand into his mouth and I will freak out.

Mr. Ibis finally saw my distress and led us out (but not before he chose a graphic novel! Jesus). The old woman stared at us allll the way to the elevator bank. Now, I'm not cold hearted. I know that maybe one day she had a little baby like Miles and she was feeling a rush of emotion and I can empathize with that. But I would be bothered by any stranger touching my kid's hand in public, let alone one who probably hadn't bathed in months.

As soon as we got to the car I got wipes out of the diaper bag and wiped Miles down like a lunatic, standing with half my body in the car and half in the rain. Next time we go out can he just wear mittens?