Several summers ago, flight attendant Steven Slater cursed, grabbed a beer and slid down the evacuation chute of the JetBlue aircraft that was his workplace, and into the hearts of fed-up American workers everywhere. His inspiring (if illegal) escape has given the interior monologue of disgruntled employees a new refrain: "What would Steven Slater do?"

Not all of us who are challenged in our workplaces have an emergency exit slide. And, for klutzes among us who would have broken a leg on the way down and then been run over by a taxiing plane, not to mention those people who would rather not get either fired or jailed, the exit slide option is not ideal. But we can always dream.

And who has these workplace escape fantasies more often than librarians? Like telemarketers and customer service reps, we must be unfailingly polite. "No, ma'am, I cannot spend two hours working on your crossword puzzle." "Unfortunately, Sir, I am unable to research your family's genealogy back to the stone age." "Sorry sweetie, but I'm not going to correct the many grammatical errors in your Yale application."

Steven Slater before his infamous slide.Like parking meter agents and cops, we hand out fines and enforce rules that everybody believes in — till they get caught. "I'm sorry about the tragic death of Caruso, your beloved canary, but I can't waive the fine for that long overdue book." Like teachers, we are poorly paid and asked to do things that aren't in our job descriptions. "Sure I love kids. That doesn't mean I want to watch yours run amuck pulling books from our shelves while you pop off to the dry cleaners." Like IRS agents, judges, attorneys and the clergy, we hear way more than our fair share of lame excuses.

That's why we librarians were so grateful to Steven Slater for adding a new thrill to our already rich fantasy life. For example:

A young woman sits at a table calmly tearing pages from our copy of the latest issue of "Bride" and tucking them into her purse.

Watching her from the Circulation Desk, I wonder — what would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I'd grab the magazine and demand, "What's wrong with you? You couldn't make a photocopy? You had to rip up library property? You selfish turd! And what kind of messed-up marriage begins with an act of public vandalism? You'll be divorced and miserable within a year, and it will serve you right!"

Instead, I take away the magazine, explaining, "This is library property. I'm afraid I can't let you destroy it."

A woman stands in the middle of our otherwise quiet library blathering on her cell at top volume about her sinus problems.

What would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I'd interrupt her conversation with, "What makes you think everyone here wants to hear about what's wrong with your nose? This is a library. Quiet space. Shut up or get out."

If she made even a peep of protest, I'd grab her phone, march into ladies room and lob it into the toilet.

Instead, I tap her on the shoulder and gently ask her to take the call in the vestibule where it won't disturb others.

A patron with a dozen overdue DVDs sneaks them into the library, puts them on the shelf, then pretends to "find" them there. "I returned them weeks ago," he claims. "You didn't check them in properly. Now waive those fines!"

What would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I'd say, "That's a lie and we both know it. Shame on you for trying to cheat the library. Pay up and get the hell out of here before I smack you upside the head with this copy of Morality for Dummies."

Instead, I curse quietly to myself and waive his fines.

One of these days, a flight attendant will return a stack of overdue books. Handing me the $25 fine, he'll explain: "I'm sorry I couldn't get them back on time. I was in jail because I slid down the exit slide to freedom after the customers finally drove me nuts."

I'll push a secret button. A hidden trap door will spring open. We'll jump in, hurtle down a slide and land gently at the neighborhood pub, where we'll use the $25 to buy a pitcher of beer. As we toast to our escape, I'll look up and notice all three of the library miscreants I just told you about, on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.

A librarian can dream, can't she?

This essay was originally published on HumorTimes.com.

Roz Warren is a humor writer whose work appears in The Funny Times, The Christian Science Monitor, HumorTimes.com, Newsworks.org, The Utne Reader and Beatniks from Space.