San Diego Library on a Rainy Day.

The new San Diego Central Library opens at 12 o'clock on Fridays. I park my car at the Old Town Commuter lot. I don't need the hassle of looking for a space or paying for parking place
. The Green Line going south drops me off at the Imperial Transit station, only two long blocks from the Central Library. Of course I love to walk.
   Hundreds of Mexican laborers, servants, domestics and the what-ever-else-there-is-to-be-done aboard when I leave. The represent the back-bone of San Diego. Without them, San Diego would not operate. The Transit Center is only two long blocks from the library, and the scenic walk with the Coronado Bridge to my back makes it memorable.  
     The Imperial Transit Center is where all trolleys and three bus lines meet. It is still raining. Hundreds of Mexican exit the Blue Line Trolley and enter the Green Line going to Santee. The come from across the border every day. They are the laborers, maids, servers and whatever-else-there-is-to-be-done. I open my umbrella and sit inside the Transit Café. I eat two of my tangerines to wash down the heavily spiced Mexican breakfast I had eaten a bit earlier. A few hardy workers carry trash bags of cans and bottles. They are going to a recycling plant a few blocks away.
    The skies opened earlier that morning. No it was not the God of Moses opening up the Red Sea, or the blitz of London. I opened the door of my little Motel Six and a sheet of rain slapped me in the face. The deluge came down in the Mission Valley at exactly six o'clock.  
   
   In no way would I drive today, the trains and buses would do the honor. Streets flooded in about one hour of insistent, stubborn rain. Peering out my Motel Six window, I felt happy to watch the commuters' on the 8 going east were able to dance around freeway puddles and avoid a car that had rear-ended another.
    Earlier the San Diego channel 10 provided pictures of San Francisco. Many streets appeared to be rivers as small boats weaved around submerged cars. Homes were flooded and the city counted more rain that early day than the entire month of December of last year. San Francisco suffered the worst rain storm in five years. Street are flooded and marine stores are selling out of rafts, life boats.
   
   I walk my one-half-mile-way towards the new library. I enter by myself on the Tenth Street side.  On the North side the doors are opened. A hoard of hundreds of soaked patrons stampede towards the escalators. Many of these homeless live in tents on Park Blvd,, close to the library. Their Ralph's shopping carts serve them as their kitchen.  
  Some have hollow-cheek faces upset that their teeth left long ago. Their bank is their E.B.T. card that E.B.T cards.  wherare burned at the Seven Eleven or Starbucks where sodas and two hot-doggies serve and food. Some are young but without teeth appear older. Those who have lived under the stars at night have dark, too-dark skin with wrinkles fighting for space.  Of course I fit perfectly into this herd of the homeless. None are Chinese or Mexican. They are mainly blacks in the majority and white in the minority.
  Why one would have thought Macy's was having a once-a year sell. Many Library clients run t the little bathrooms which sit one-at-a-time. Others take up luxurious sofa-chairs facing large wall windows with a view of Petco Park and the South Harbor area. 
  I take the elevator to my eight floor computer station. I am the second one to log on. 'Laughing Gas sits across from me and Mr. Piggy sits two down. Mr. Piggy snorts every thirty second or so. The laughing one punches the computer with one finger. The computers become their play stations.
    I find computer number 805 on the eight floor and begin to settle in and write. I hear a commotion. Maria, who I met two months ago, comes in and helps one of her five children reserve a computer. I place my finger over my mouth. She shouts like always. They think that the library is a day-care-center or a playground. One signs her kid on one of the computers. I know it must be a school day, since her boy is old enough for third grade but still baby sits for her younger one.
    Across from me he laughs as usual. Another girl is carrying on a conversation with her boy friend. A few more hollow-cheek homeless walk in with their straggling girl friends. The one with a cane brings a dog with him. He lumbers to a lounge chair with a southwest view of the Harbor. I wonder how much of their EBT card is used for dog food.
    I have learned to filter out the noises and yearn for the days when libraries behaved like libraries. Now it is a place to socialize, toilet, or scroll their smart phones. Each homeless one owns a cell phone. Many live outside inside tents that litter Park Blvd. It is no wonder many refuse to entertain this Zoo. Many argue about where to park and how much it will cost.
    After my computer work, I go upstairs to the ninth floor to watch some microfilms and JPG some pages for my football story. I love this California Room. Few people know about it so I will be quiet.
   Yes the new Library is a zoo. But I am one of the animals and it is exciting. On the first floor I play chess with another who creams me in five moves.  One Friday each month they have a swing band play on the ninth floor.
   If only this thirteenth wonder of the world had been built on the Westside, the California room would be occupied by many rather than two or three. I can only guess that the decision to build it in the center of the homeless population was to keep them away from the rest of the city.
   The library is opened every day. It opens at ten each day but weekend ones. The Blue and Orange lines drop you off at Market Street and from there it takes only a minute or two to walk there.