It's Called a Bra. B-R-A

At the Redwell Waters branch, where I get this horrifying patron.

A woman comes in and asks if we can look in the lost and found. She had left her driver's licence and other personal information at the library and wished to see if we had found it. However, what was truly disturbing about this woman was her bosom, which was located underneath her waistline. No exaggeration, she was drooping hardcore. Furthermore, she was a hand-talker, gesturing wildly to punctuate her quirey.

So here's what the whole conversation was like on my end:

Droopy: (Waving hands to get my attention, which also results in her shirt moving in ways that aren't wholesome) "Do you see my licence!?!?"

Me: "Not yet"

Droopy: (Leaning over the desk in order to see my progress. Of course, her chest was totally on the counter. I was honestly fearful that she'd expose herself from the bottom of her shirt) "Are you sure it's not there?"

Me: (Trying my hardest not to wretch. This desire to be rid of her disturbing chest only spurs my efforts. I really want to find her information) "Wait, I think I see it"

Droopy: (She jumps back off the desk, making the most horrifying movement yet. Too much independence in the bosom area) "Oh! Thank you!"

I'm still disturbed by her attire. I mean, I know it's biological, but things weren't meant to droop that low