I am a self professed, self-help-aholic. I have read memoirs of people who have struggled with eating disorders, mental illness, and homelessness. I've blown through numerous books on spirituality and religion. I spent 30 days reading a "guaranteed to help you quit smoking in 30 days" book. My most recent choice is about the connection we have between money and food. I go to therapy and groups, almost daily, to work through issues as they come at me, not after they have all built up. I meditate, do self hypnosis, and practice using DBT skills, so I have a life worth living. I sing to myself, to my friends, and to an entire congregation every Sunday, because I know it makes me happy. I am the epitome of "self help."
This gentleman decided, based on nothing more than my physical appearance, that I needed to spend less time in the large print section, and more time in self help. In the moment, I judged him, as quickly as he had judged me, calling him an asshole under my breath. It was short lived though, because he walked away so quickly and, because I realized how ironically hilarious it was. There I was, browsing books in the largest font possible, (yet another form of self help!) and he suggests I go to one of my favorite sections of the library. Too bad he didn't stick around longer, it would have been a great moment to show off my interpersonal effectiveness skills, or even suggest he read Dale Carnegie's "How to Make Friends and Influence People."