Library Hieroglyphics

Notes found in the stacks:

Hyena-men
or
Jackal-head wizard

and

COULD YOU HEAR ME
THINKING I SHOULD
STOP?

Any connection? You be the judge.

Full Moon Fall Out

The full moon was three days ago but apparently our patrons aren't aware that it's now waning.

My top couple of the day--he wanted book of tattoo designs, she was looking for books on teen pregnancy.

What a winning combination!

Librarian Man Column

There are times when I either have nothing to relate or have no time to regale readers with our many tales of terror. Today is a little of both. But, fortunately, my email contained this little tidbit of informational humor (or would than be humorous information?) from the Modesto Bee:

http://www.modbee.com:80/opinion/community/story/118769.html

Halloween Hauntings

As holidays go, Halloween day is usually quiet. Apparently, not many people think of going to the library to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Which is fine with me, since we get some unique costumes on regular days.

So other than the director showing up in a get-up that he thought was wizardish--we knew that because he wore a sign stating he was the "Exalted Wizard of the Library"--it was slow going. Until the the androgynous individual showed up at the OPAC.

From a distance, we couldn't tell what gender. Think Joel Gray in "Cabaret". But with more eye makeup. But upon making myself available to help I discovered that it was female & she wanted "a picture of my grandpa, Jesse James" because her copy disappeared when she "lost" her house.

Now, this female was maybe in her late twenties, early thirties. Much too young to be a grand-daughter of Jesse, unless you threw in a few greats. When we--well, by that I mean I--discovered that our Jesse James books were all checked out I suggested she look online for a photo. "Oh no, I hate computers & they hate me".

OK--then perhaps we could put some books on reserve for her.

"No, I have to go to court so I'll check later."

Now, that would have been a fun case to observe but then I got to thinking. Never seen this person before, comes in wanting photos of "granpa Jesse", pale skin, dressed in black, computer phobic, & it's Halloween. Could she be an apparition who only appears in libraries every October 31st searching for her ancestors?

That would be the best of our world. Which means that I have no doubt that she is flesh & blood (& eyeliner) and will return. Sooner than later. And probably when I'm working alone....

"CAb RANgooN"

Until now I've only heard stories about her, especially the way she smells (one staff member saw her using the Lysol spray behind the desk to "freshen up"). The book discussion had just wrapped up and I was about to enjoy some cake and coffee leftovers when she crests the stairs.

She's wearing gray sweats, not clean. And she smells worse than dead animals.

She hands me a note: "CAb RANgooN".

I wish I could relate what she said word for word but I didn't understand most of it. When she speaks it sounds like someone gargling mouth wash- though I'm sure she's never done any such thing.

She's looking for a recipe, a VERY specific recipe of Crab Rangoon. She leans over the desk to see the results of my search. I instinctively lean away as she continues to wetly babble about what she wants. She actually spits on the innocent slice of cake between us.

At this point I'm pretty sure this recipe doesn't exist and I'm starting to marvel at how refined her taste for Crab Rangoon is while she obviously can't smell herself. At this point she is getting frustrated too, so she decides to just show me what she is looking for. Literally

I can't hide the look of horror on my face as she pulls out of her pockets three crumpled Crab Rangoons and holds them out to me in grubby hands. I throw up in my mouth and manage a "This is all we have, I'm sorry" while gesturing toward the cookbooks. Finally she too resigns and starts thumbing through our selection. I back away to the desk, toss the cake and dump out the coffee. I won't be eating Chinese ever again.

Must Be the Full Moon

If it's not the full (or almost full) moon, then why...

...does the mother and grandmother who sit in the computer lab let the pre-school boy in their charge run barefoot back & forth to the unsupervised men's room?

...does the man speak loudly on his cell phone as he converses about his financial difficulties?

...are there myriads of unsupervised children running amok every afternoon after school who can't recall how to behave from day to day, forcing us to tell them over & over what they can and cannot do while in the library?

...do adolescents use the card catalog computers to access their Facebook accounts after being told they need to use the computers in the YA space? Why do they even have a Facebook account?

...does the almost creepy old guy have to call me honey?

Maybe the lunar eclipse will negate more full moon behaviors.

Question of the Day

Message left on voice mail:

I'm looking for the book "Eat a Cat" by Emily Post.

He actually needed an etiquette book by said author.

Too bad we couldn't get a pronunciation guide for him, too.

Dog Days, Continued

The heat warnings continue so it's no surprise a patron came in complaining about the heat and asking for water. Which got the new guy wondering what to do in case someone was suffering from heatstroke.

Being the information specialists that we are, we went to the Internet (after all, isn't everything on the Internet?) and looked it up. The website we found said one should remove the victim's clothing and apply ice packs to the armpits & groin.

Can't think of too many patrons with whom I want to become that familiar.

Dog Days of Summer

It's that time of year again--heat advisories & warnings are already issued for the rest of the week. And I truly feel for those who do not have the luxury of air conditioning and come to the library to stay cool. But have they not heard of soap, water, & deodorant? By 10:00 AM I was overcome by the fumes rising from two separate patrons. I swear I can see the miasma rising from their bodies.

Trust me, my dogs have never smelled that bad & I know that they are prone to rolling in all kinds of nasty stuff. So why is it so difficult for humans (& sorry guys, but the majority of them are male) to smell decent? Which is why I'm also so happy when sparkling, clean-smelling gents come to the desk for help. Unfortunately, that is a rare occurrence in these dog (and all) days.

"Up"rorious Time @ the Library

Apparently, someone put a hex on the library last week as our department was also hit with bodily fluids.

Lenny is a frequent visitor. Don't quite know what his diagnosis is, but Lenny has some issues but always keeps to himself & other than some muttering & self mutilation, is not a problem. Even when he approached the desk last week, he was quiet with his request for something he could use to wipe off his shirt.

Jack is a new employee but quick on the uptake & saw that the substance on Lenny's shirt was in fact vomit. And since he hadn't come out of the restroom, it was a sure thing that wherever the sickness overtook Lenny, it was in a very public place. Yep, all over the table where he was sitting. And the chair. And a bit on the floor. And the book he had been reading.

Fortunately for us, the janitor was not only on duty but also able to be found & he had the herculean task of cleaning up the mess, not us. And fortunately for me, I was at lunch when all this took place & "only" had to come up with a way to get Lenny back to his place across town (men of the cloth are good to come to the rescue).

Tonight is full moon; I dread what could happen next.

Harry Potty Party

Fortunately, I was not working on the day of the Harry Potter-palooza for young readers but the following is a true account of what transpired.

The staff person in charge of the event--a three hour drop in, do your craft, get your food, & leave affair--was called into the children's area right as she was preparing to open the activity room doors to the HP fans. There in front of the desk was human excrement--and apparently not the kind that could be associated with overflowing diapers. Not only that, but it had been stepped in & tracked throughout the area. Naturally, no one fessed up to it & the one family in the general vicinity of "it" had a (possible, very handy) language barrier. So she donned gloves, antiseptic cleaner, & went to work cleaning.

And to add insult to injury, she went in to start the first reading of "HP & the Deathly Hallows" to find that the food that was to last for three hours had already disappeared and those in attendance were not inclined to leave after taking part in the craft-making. They stayed & stayed--and those kids were no doubt on a sugar high after ingesting all the treats.

Icing on the cake? Discovering the mother who, despite instructions to the contrary about one chance per child for the book drawing, had entered each of her children (half of who aren't even reading yet) twenty-five times.

The staff person person deserves combat pay, compensatory leave, and a dinner paid for by the library (but won't get it). Although on Saturday I suspect she would have settled for an invisibility cloak.

These Shoes Were Made for Reading

The young woman rushed up to the desk, asking frantically, "Do you have the Birkenstock books?"

Thinking perhaps someone has put out a series along the lines of Noel Streatfeild but geared more towards comfort-loving Gen X-ers, I turned towards the computer to see what I could come up with as I said to her, "umm, I've not heard of that series."

"You know, that Christian writer. She has that mystery series. Birkenstock. Or something like that."

The light bulb went off in my head. "Do you mean Terri Blackstock?"

"Yes, that's her!"

I took her over to the mystery section, showed her what we had in, and she went off happy as a lark, books in tow (if, in fact, a lark could tow books).

That ranks right up there with the request for "those romance books written by that Harley Quinn guy".

Storyteller, fit the first

"I could get drunk if I wanted to."

I'd thought I recognized him out of the corner of my eye as he entered. He's hard to miss, and he always comes straight to the desk to tell me stories. You'll hear more from him, without doubt. When I looked up from my typing to see what Storyteller wanted, he withdrew from his pocket a small bottle of liquor.

"It's 90 proof," he told me with a wide grin.

"You can not have that in here."

"Wh... Uh... I... just had it given to me!" he protested.

"Doesn't matter," I said. You need to take that out of here.

"But... I won't drink it in here."

"You can't have alcohol in the library. Take it out."

"Okay," he finally agreed, looking contemplative. His eyes brightened, and he asked "Can I just take it out and set it outside the door?"

"No, a little kid could pick it up. You need to leave, right now."

Not three minutes later he came back and claimed his buddy had driven by, and he gave him the bottle to take home.

Don't bother, I'll give them to you

Picture a man, about 5'6" and 260 lbs. His beard has clearly not been trimmed in, at a rough estimate, at least six months. He leans back, nearly reclining, as he stands, even as he walks, seemingly using his head as a counter-balance against his belly. He wears a baseball cap, a t-shirt tucked deeply into jersey shorts that are pulled as high as they can be, black Velcro-fastened shoes, and long, white socks, drawn as his shorts to their vertical limit.

I can't begin to guess his age, or that of the teetering woman with whom he peruses the movies, but he calls her "Momma." Could be his mother, could be his wife. My grandparents call each other Mama and Daddy. (I know the spellings of Momma/Mama are inconsistent here, that is intentional, in deference to how my grandparents spell it [Mama] and how it seemed the man in question, based on his manner of speech, would have spelled it [Momma.])

He speaks very slowly, dragging each word from his mouth as though with great effort. Every syllable lasts about 2 1/2 times as long as it would if spoken by most other people in this area. I can hear a slow exchange between the two about the distinct lack of worthwhile films (not a quote, by any stretch of the imagination) in our collection as I approach the area with an armload of DVDs to reshelve.

"Heeey maw-muh," he quietly strains. "We could jes' rawb them deebeedee players what he's got thay-uhr." I suppose I could have continued shelving, but instead I turned to the table behind me, set down the movies, and left them in a pile through which the pair could rifle.

Premonitions

When she asks "Is my book in," I know before asking my standard first question that she will answer in the negative.

"Did somebody call you?" I ask anyway.

"No." Of course. "But it should be in. I ordered it over two weeks ago."

"Okay," I say. "Let's see if something has gone wrong with the reservation. What was the title?"

"Um," she exhales, a three-second-long syllable breathed forward as her eyes roll up toward the ceiling. "I think it was Love's Neverending Love."

I pause. "Love's Neverending Love."

"Yeah," she assures me.

"Was the author Janette Oke?" I ask. Snobbery, I realize, to assume that a generically sappy incorrect title from someone I assumed to be a tad dumb the moment I saw her was a Janette Oke book, but in this case I'm correct. "Okay then, let's look search for that title." Naturally we don't have it. I'm certain there is no book by the title Love's Neverending Love. But I have to show her it doesn't exist before we move onto the next step, which is me reading to her every Oke title we own that either ends in love or contains some variant of neverending or enduring. She shoots down every one. Same with Amazon's list.

During this search, she actually tells me "You do have it, you just can't find it." Really. "It's from a series," she eventually tells me. So we open the series list, she comes to the slow, slow, god-it's-so-slow realization that it's the Love comes softly series, and that Love's Neverending Love is actually Love Finds a Home.

I tell her that book is in, there must have been a mix-up with her reservation, and I'll take her to it. She says it's not on the shelf, she already looked. I say I'll help her look. She wanders off halfway there, so I call her back, and she says I'm in the wrong area, it's Large Print. Didn't mention that before either. Back to the computer, it is checked out, she is on the reserve list, and it's not due back for another week, so the 'over two weeks ago' time frame she quoted me was actually less than one week.

DIY?

In an incredulous tone, the male half of a very noisy couple I'd never met before exclaimed "Advanced dental care?!" as he pulled a telephone book from the shelf. I could almost feel his disappointment as he realized it was an ad, not a title.

Misshelving is the only rational explanation

"I rented the other day..."
While she paused to think, I wanted to tell her to stop right there, that this couldn't end well, that no conversation I've ever had has been entirely pleasant if the other party thinks s/he 'rents' from the library.
"Um..." she hesitated again. "Four tapes of Roots, I rented four tapes of Roots, 'cause you know you can only rent four at a time, ya know?"
"Yes." I considered how best to ask her what her question was as I waited to see if she would actually ask it.
"Well, and there are more than four tapes, and I want to watch the rest, but I can't find 'em."
"Oh," I brightened up. This should be easy. "Okay, they'll be... well, they would be right here if they were in, but it looks like the entire series is checked out."
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly, maintaining eye contact. "I checked out the first four."
"Right..." Again, what is she asking? "Somebody else has checked out the rest of them."
"No," she repeated. "I had the first four, and I just returned them. Just now."
"Yes, so somebody else must have checked out the last ones while you had the first ones."
"No," she insisted again. "That would mean they watched the last ones without seeing the first ones. That'd be out of order. They must be in the wrong spot."
"..." Though an ellipsis can't be verbalized, I'm fairly certain I stood silent for at least a second or two with my mouth open. "Maybe they checked out the first ones before you did."
"..." Her mouth was mostly closed during her ellipsis, her jaw jutted to one side and her brow furrowed. "Oh. Yeah, I guess so."

Just Another Day in Paradise

(Written to the accompaniment of screaming, crying children leaving story hour. What exactly do they do in there that makes the children so unhappy?)

Patron: "Sometime back I read an article about chickens in a Mother Earth News Magazine. Can you get it for me?"

Me: "Do you recall when you read it?"

Patron: "No, it's been awhile. But it was about chickens. Exotic breeds of chickens."

Me: "Let's see if I can find a listing for it on their website (which I do, find the date--Feb/Mar 2005--retrieve the issue from another floor of the library, and give it to waiting patron)

Patron: "That's it!" and goes off on his merry way.

Same patron, three minutes later: "It didn't have pictures so I don't need it. I sure thought it had pictures but it's been a long time since I looked at it. Here it is back."

No "thank you", no "I'm sorry you went to all that trouble", just a wasted effort on my part.

*************************************************************

Seen from a far: Mother looking up titles on OPAC as her 9 or 10 year old son approaches her with a baseball book, big grin on his face, saying "look what I found!" She snatches it from it, opens to a page, & thunders, "you can't have this! Go sit over there until I'm finished". Which is when she comes to me & asks for a particular author, saying "he's a Christian." Too bad she isn't.

************************************************************

Related from the circulation desk:

A young man came in to get a library card. When asked for ID, he pulls out his card showing he is a recently registered sex offender with the state. Now that takes balls!

True Democracy

This afternoon the local pimp came in for videos, which I helped him find (not that it matters but he ended up getting two PBS-related series, so you shouldn't make judgments about patrons' tastes. But he also has gotten Good Times seasons 1 & 2 from other libraries so maybe you can). As he left the reference desk and headed towards the circulation desk, he passed two Mormon missionaries on their way to the computer lab.

Only in an American public library! Makes you want to wave Old Glory. Almost.

Size Matters

College Student: "I need Mengele & the Nazi Doctors".

Me (looking up title on OPAC): "I'm sorry that title isn't coming up."

College Student: "No, it's two different books".

Me (still looking up titles): "We have two biographies with the title Mengele; which author are you looking for?"

CS: "Oh, it doesn't matter. The instructor just said we should all read those two books".

(Nothing like light reading for entertainment, but we go back to the stacks to the 92's)

Me (handing books to her): "Here they are".

CS: "Oh--they're really big" (and no pictures) "But the print's not too small. I'll take this one".

And off she goes with a smile on her face. Nothing like the prospect of reading about Nazi medical experimentation to put a spring in one's step.

It could happen to you, too...

My shift isn't half over, but the event I am positive will stand out as today's highlight has already occurred:

*drumroll*

I had a disagreement over library policy with a brand-new cardholder, who happens to be the local pimp.

*trumpet fanfare*

/bow, exit stage left.

My goodness, you've fallen down a well.

Slow, nasal mumbling preceded the utterance of, "Never mind, I'll make him look it up. He looks smart." I pretended not to hear, hoping the walk to the ref desk would be a deterrent. I finished reading the sentence I was on in the news, then ventured a glance at the reference floor in general.

"That's right," said a man looking for all the world like Baby Huey in that unique sides-of-the-head-shaved mullet that virtually requires the wearer to be a bigger fan of Metallica than any person should be, "I'm talking about you."

Is it weird how much I enjoy using run-on sentences? Never mind.

"Look up The Doors," the distinguished gentleman ordered my computer monitor, looking and pointing past my shoulder at the screen. My previous post indicated how well I tend to deal with this sort of person, but as the library had been open for exactly 24 minutes at this point, this-- we'll call it a question, though it clearly isn't-- this was only the third stupid question I'd been asked so far this morning, and I wasn't yet feeling broken down by the weight of my town's collective idiocy.

Sidebar: One of the two other stupid questions I'd been asked prior to the one about The Doors was "Where is the computers?" Not "where's," which, though incorrect, is an understandable lazy contrivance of speech, but "where is," with the word "is" enunciated as though calculated to accentuate the incorrectness of the query.

Fresh-faced as I was, I asked, "What exactly do you want to know about The Doors?"
He rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes.
"Like, yer books?" he minced.
"Like, which books we have about The Doors? Is that what you're trying to find out?"
"Yeah."
I turned to the computer. I know we have No One Here Gets Out Alive, but searching for Doors, The Doors, or Doors, The, under subject or under subject keyword returns nothing. I try looking for Morrison, Jim under subject, telling Baby Headbanger "Nothing is showing up, I'm going to see if I can find anything on Jim Morrison."

"Holy sh**," he blurted out, "did I just..."
I looked up, waiting on our excruciatingly slow catalog. His jaw was quite slack.
"I can't believe you know Jim Morrison. Like, about nobody knows who The Doors are."
He can't be serious. "I'm pretty sure," I say slowly, turning back to the catalog, "everybody knows The Doors." Honestly, even if you haven't heard them on the radio, (in this area they're still in very regular FM rotation Despite the nearly 40 years since the death of their singer,) or from a friend, (lots of stoners around here, and half of them have Doors stickers on their cars--I think it's the visual equivalent of a secret handshake,) then you might have noticed the movie about them. It was pretty low profile, I mean it only starred Val Kilmer and Meg Ryan in the 90s, but it's possible you stumbled across a copy somewhere, right?
Maybe not.
"Hell, nobody I know. Ain't nobody heard of them."

I thought about this for a moment. I wondered if introducing him to genuinely obscure music would shock him. I pondered the implications of this man thinking of a band whose status in popular culture was once like unto living gods... as obscure. I asked myself what that means for digital distribution of independent artists, and for the Creative Commons movement, and I thought for the briefest of moments of telling him about these musicians who just give their music away, and how I can guarantee none of his friends have heard of any of them, I thought it would positively blow his itty-bitty mind.

I entertained these thoughts all within a fraction of a second, ending with the realization that it would culminate in a discussion about nerd-core, I'd inevitably force him to listen to MC Frontalot, letting him in on a secret that would grant him membership to a club so exclusive, so niche-y, so tiny that, judging by suggested market saturation for podcasts, numbers at most fewer than 200,000 people world-wide, and he'd glaze over and wander out, drooling and mumbling about geeks.
I told him I'd found two books about Jim Morrison, that they were both checked out, and that I could reserve them. He shook his head and left.

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone (or when she's here)

The advent of Spring is always a delight--birds singing, flowers blooming, and a blessedly quieter-than-usual library. There are days when I actually get some work accomplished. But yesterday's gloomy weather brought in some new folks--and I have little doubt that they'll become regulars.

The transaction went like this:

I was sitting at the desk, obviously doing work on the computer (and it was legitimate library work!) when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a family coming closer to the desk. I stopped my typing & looked up to see a Grizzly Adams type veer off in my direction while his wife & child headed off towards the bank of computers. Before I had a chance to "greet" him, I heard this:

"Hello Sunshine"

Let me make this perfectly clear--I am not a Sunshine. Even on my best days, when the male patron with great legs (yes, unfortunately, there's only one) comes in wearing shorts, I do not radiate sunshine-iness. And I certainly do not want total strangers who look like they just came out of winter's hibernation addressing me with such familiarity. But I was brought up by a mother who would not tolerate rude behavior so I bit my tongue & asked (with no sunshine in my voice), "can I help you?"

Which I did & he was quite excited when I found the "campfire cookbooks" he wanted (all the time keeping the oh so clever remarks to myself). I left him in the stacks & made my escape.

Until he returned to the desk: "Thanks Sunshine!"

And still I refrained from letting loose with all the ferocity associated with a F5 tornado.

So did I get rewarded for my good behavior with a visit from the male patron with the great legs?

Of course not--ain't no justice here either.

Would you like fries with that?

Sometimes, once in a while, I'm legitimately unhelpful. Not hostile, but unwilling to extend more help than a patron asks for. There is generally a reason for it, and the vast majority of the time, the patron in question is the reason.

For example:
If you, the reader, were to walk into the library, situate yourself in front of the catalog, loudly smacking your gum as you stare at the screen, obviously confused, and if, when I attempted to ask "Can I help you find something?" you only allowed me to say "Can" before you blurted out, hypothetically speaking, "Uh you not have Brother Odd b' Dean Koontz?," enunciating each syllable in a manner more staccato, more flouncy, and more indignant than the preceding, and if, when I tell you that yes, we do, then look at your screen and suggest looking for the title Brother Odd instead of the subject Brother Odd you, oh I don't know, let's say you insisted that "Uh already did!" despite the fact that the catalog very clearly says subject, then changed it to title, narrowed your eyes and smirked at me when it now shows up, then crestfallen, you realize it's checked out and ask if it's the only copy, if all of that should occur...

Then no, no I will not offer to put it on reserve for you. If you asked me to, I'd do it, but I'm not going to volunteer it. I know, I clearly have a bad attitude, but if you can't be nice to me even once during our entire exchange, it really kills my motivation to go out of my way for you. Ask any of the people for whom I do go above and beyond. You can tell who they are, because they're semi-regular here, and they look happy. They look happy because they know they'll leave either with what they came for, or with a promise that they'll have it soon. And they always get one of those options, even if it's not easy, because they treat me like a person.

On a side note, if you treat me like the hypothetical person in the beginning of the story, I have to assume you treat other service people that way as well. The knowledge that you have that sort of disdain for people, and that you treat people in a disrespectful manner like that tells me something you don't know about yourself. I think I should share it with you. Every time you go to (Insert Generic Megalithic Fast-Food Chain Here), you eat somebody's spit. Sorry, it's not mine, so there's nothing I can do about it. You know how you can put a stop to that? I'll give you three guesses.

I'm a liar, and unhelpful to boot.

"I'm looking for The Day After Tomorrow," the elderly woman at the desk told me. She paused, and I opened my mouth to ask VHS or DVD? when she began speaking again.
"I want VHS, but the lady downstairs said you don't have it." Again I opened my mouth to ask if she'd like me to order it, and again I am prevented from speaking.
"It's about Art Bell, you know."
"Well," I successfully spoke. "That makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it? I can probably order it from another library if you'd like."
"No," she told me. "I want to read the book. It's called The Great Global Storm."
We have no book called The Great Global Storm, nor do we have anything written by Art Bell. We do have a book entitled The Day After Tomorrow, but it's in no way related to the movie.
I check ILL. No Dice. I search Amazon for The Day After Tomorrow under books, and discover that not only is it written by Whitley Strieber, (lending potential credence to an Art Bell connection, if that makes any difference,) but it is in fact entitled The Day After Tomorrow and bears the same cover art as the DVD. This is, of course, not what she wants.
"No, that's not it. Art Bell wrote The Day After Tomorrow. He said so on his show."
"This is the one the movie is based on, ma'am."
"No it's not. That isn't written by Art Bell. Art Bell said he wrote it."
I check Amazon for books written by Art Bell. He co-authored The Coming Global Superstorm with Whitley Strieber, and I assume this must be what she's talking about. I show it to her, she decides that may be the right one, we find it on ILL, and she decides she doesn't want it.
"Are you sure?" I ask, feeling surprisingly calm under the circumstances. "It doesn't cost anything, it'll take a couple of weeks, but we'll call you when it gets here. All you'll have to do is come pick it up."
"No, thank you. I just wanted to know if you had the VHS. My neighbor was going to tape it for me, and I told him not to go to the trouble, but since you don't have it, I guess I'll just have to ask him to tape it after all."

Spring Break

Much to my surprise, this has been a quiet Spring Break for the library. Often times we're inundated with adolescents who have nowhere else to go & they decide that the library is the perfect place to run amok. But that's not the case this year, fortunately.

But there are the adults....

The majority are fine. Weird, odd, annoying but nothing out of the ordinary. But then there are those who make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up.

Which was the case yesterday.

The couple were straight out of central casting for Law & Order: SVU: he was a good 30 years older than his "date" (who we all first thought was his daughter--oh, my goodness, surely she wasn't!) & we first noticed them because they had "re-arranged" the furniture to accomodate their two laptops & allowed them to sit side-by-side on the floor as they worked. As I walked down one aisle of books I saw that they had apparently left without bothering to put the furniture back & went over to take care of it. Which is when I discovered that they had not left but were in fact hidden by the overstuffed chairs so I did not see them reclining until I was upon them and heard their loud, smacking, kissing noises. The perv said in a perfect Eddie Haskell tone, "oops, caught us" & I'm quite sure my disgust showed in every pore of my body (in fact, I felt like I needed to disinfect my eyes for having witnessed the sight). Unable to come up with a really stinging retort, I merely said that we usually had to deal with much younger types engaging in such behavior, moved the chairs back to their regular position, & walked away.

They left soon after, with smarmy comments to me, & I really wanted to ask her if she was so desperate that she settled for him. It's not like he's a catch, what with one ex-wife (possibly two although Andy thought he was still married. Well, it will be two soon enough). Or perhaps it's a sting operation to catch middle-aged pervs! (I really watch too many episodes of L&O)

But it's a spin that's less likely to turn my stomach. So I'll live in my little fantasy world where justice reigns supreme. At least until they return.

How True!

This was on the Fiction_L listserve:

Gres library law # 8: (Also known as the "Slips of Paper in a Jar Theory") Patrons randomly mix authors' first names, last names, gender, and various phrases and words of titles in order to come up with the author and/or titleof a book previously read and that they desire to read again.

Corollary: They will always remember the color of the cover correctly.

This person has obviously spent time on a public service desk!

Nom de somebody else

A woman called just moments ago with a list of books, all by the same author, to be ordered through interlibrary loan.

"Okay," I told her as I finished transcribing the list, "I'll see if I can find those and we'll call you when they come in."

"Would you like my name, its spelling, and my phone number?" she asked.

I wondered why she would need to tell me her name again, and it sounded like an easily spelled moniker, so I spelled it back to her myself.

"Okay," she said, pausing, "except that's the author's name. Would you like mine?"

I wouldn't have been able to spell her actual name, either, if I had already heard it.

All in a Morning's Work

Patron on Phone: "I would have returned your phone call earlier but the woman who answered the phone took three minutes to say "City Library", then she transferred me to the children's department. The employee in there told me to hang up and call the main line again rather than transfer the call. I'm sure they are very nice people but do they not know how to use the phone?"

(unfortunately, this is not a rare occurrence).

Patron in Person: "Can I use this computer?" as he gestures to the microfilm reader.

(this rarely happens, but it didn't surprise me)

Patron in Person: "Where are the papers for sale?" (I explain we don't sell newspapers, but we have them for people to look at.) "They told me downstairs you sell newspapers up here." (well, they don't know how to use a phone, either, so why would you believe them?)

Patron in Person: "I have a rash that my daughter couldn't identify so she told me to come to the library to find out what it is."

(look, we can barely function when it comes to answering a phone, why would we dispense medical advice? Fortunately, she didn't show me her rash)

Director in Person: "That man over there wants books by Tim LaHaye. How do you find out which are the new ones?"

(unfortunately, that's not a rare occurrence either since the director doesn't seem to know how to use the OPAC. But I know for a fact he can transfer phone calls since I get them on a regular basis).

Fortunately, I have a reprieve--lunchtime!

Fifth Circle of Hell

They're baack! I swear, the tax people will drive me even nearer to insanity than I am usually.
The incessant roar of chatter is worse than the time the bug flew into my ear. So far today the following have taken place:


Wife of one of the workers greets a staff member with "you're late again today" even though she's here before the library opens.


Different wife of a different worker who acts as the "greeter" is sitting there yammering on her cell phone, talking louder than any of those waiting to get their taxes done.


Gentleman waiting his turn accosts a true, honest-to-goodness patron trying to get the morning newspaper with "those are for us" (or something similar; I really do try to block out the whole scenario), then 'jokes', "I'm just playing with you".


Woman who has waited less than an hour huffs off, saying she doesn't have time to wait. I refrain from saying, "it's a free service; go find a real accountant & pay him if your time is that valuable".


And that is only in the first hour; there are five more to endure...


This, too, shall pass. Just not fast enough.

This Hell Called Tax Season

Each year the tax assistance program descends on our library and takes over a big chunk of the space reserved to the adult services department. In my heart of hearts, I know they are doing a wonderful service to the elderly & disadvantaged--in fact my father was a faithful volunteer for many years--but I want them to do it someplace far away from us! For two months out of the year, they literally take over.


The volunteers are almost as needy as those waiting for their help--everything from setting up computers for them, wanting our phone books, using the only phone at the reference desk--even wanted to take our waste basket into "their" room!


And then there are those who have been hounding us for tax help since before Christmas ("no, we don't have the forms yet", "no, I can't do your taxes; why not? Because I don't do my own"). They're not regular library users--except once a year to get their taxes done--and they have little concept about what a library is all about. Staff members know to stay clear of the entry when the doors open at 10 AM for they stampede in--and take no prisoners as no one wants to wait (and these are people without jobs! What else are they going to do all day?) There are magazines & newspapers close at hand--not to mention thousands of books--but they don't pick up anything to read (well, except those few who grab newspapers & then leave them strewn across the tables. Was no one else taught to put things back the way you found them?) Which leaves them with plenty of time on their hands to complain about the library's services.


"They don't have coffee for us. What do they expect us to do while we're waiting?" (gee, maybe next year Starbucks will offer their area for the tax assistance program. And see if it's free then).


"Do you have a needle? How about a pin? I have this splinter that I need you to get out". When told that no, I did not have sharp implements at the desk he announced, "Well, you're not very helpful, are you?" (no, and why would you even ask a stranger to come at you with a needle?)


And my favorite came today when the gentleman came up to me & asked, "is the headlight bearing in?" I had no idea why a headlight would be bearing in on me or if a headlight needed a bearing--and why would I have one--when I politely requested that he repeat the question. Looking a bit perturbed at me he repeated, "is the head librarian in?". Finally, a question I could answer!


Eight more weeks of this. Hell hath no fury like a librarian gone mad!

Library equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle

My discovery for the day:

We have 14 books on preparing for the GED test, not including multiples.
Today, one was on the shelf, one is being repaired, every remaining one is listed in our catalog as "Lost."

Embracing the Stereotype

I'm one of those librarians who is secure enough in her profession that I am not offended by portrayals of the stereotypical librarian with her hair in a bun, glasses down on the end of her nose, shushing everyone in sight. In fact, I say embrace the stereotype! If we aren't that way, then who cares? And if we are, so what? Better to be thought of as an informed, well-mannered, and insightful professional than an arrogant attorney, surgeon, etc, etc. And besides, I have heard rumors to the effect that a number of men actually fantasize about those prim & proper librarians (though I'm still ruminating over whether that's a compliment or not). But I digress....


I recently heard the latest installment of "Ruth Harrison, Reference Librarian" on Prairie Home Companion & thought it was hilarious--and I readily confess to being a bit like Ruth. Read the script & make your own judgment but remember--if you are a librarian & are offended, you may be more like Ruth than you care to admit.


The script can be found at: http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/programs/2007/01/27/scripts/librarian.shtml

Still surprised she thanked me.

"Do I need to sign up for (the upcoming book discussion)?" a patron asked me today after reserving some books.
"No," I told her, "just get a copy of the book and show..."
"I already read it," she cut me off.
"Okay," I continued, "then all you need to do is show up to the book discussion on..."
"Don't like to listen to people talk," she interrupted again.
*Blink, blink* "Then I think you're all set," I replied, cocking my head and trying to figure out if she was asking something else and I just wasn't getting it.
"Okay then, thanks." Then she smiled at me and left to peruse the stacks.


Later, when I can tell it without wanting to swear, I'll let you in on yesterday's obnoxious patron.

Sometimes smart is scary

I normally am thrilled when my patrons not only search for things on their own, but spell those things correctly. But when the man who successfully typed "Machiavelli" into our catalog is around 20 and wearing a bathrobe, at noon, after an indeterminate period of time in our computer lab, I am mildly concerned about his intentions.

I offered to order the book he wanted from a nearby affiliate who did have it, since we didn't, but he declined, explaining he had no library card, and instead wandered the stacks for about an hour.

***Update***

After about an hour and a half away from the library, he has returned. On his way to the computer lab he stopped at the ref. desk to ask me a question.
"When you hold the door open for a woman," he began.
"Not touching it," I responded, both hands in the air.
"No, really, just what side of the door do you stand on. Do you push it and let her through, or go through yourself and hold it behind you?"
(That's not a direct quote, what he asked had fewer words and more pantomimed gestures.)
"I go through, unless it's for my wife, in which case I generally push the door ahead and let her pass before I do."
"Yeah, 'cause marriage, it takes precedence ya know..."
He kind of trailed off there. A guy who was with him this time (but not before) rolled his eyes and asked if they could go on.
"Yeah," bathrobe said, "just trying to make a point."

Indpendence, paranoia, and triumph

A young girl, maybe 11, came to the reference desk looking for information about Lou Gehrig a little bit ago. I found her a book, but the phone was ringing and there was another patron waiting in line, so I asked if she knew "how the numbers on the books work." She smiled and said she did, so I wrote the call number and the first to words of the title for her on a scrap of paper. Maybe two minutes later, as I was walking the stacks with an adult who didn't understand the Dewey decimal system, I saw the girl leaving with the correct book.

It makes sense, I guess, that almost no adult who comes in here can find things, but children can. When I was in elementary school, our librarian drilled into us how to find our own books, and they probably do even more now than they did in the 1980s, and probably did so less before I was in school. Today's kids naturally have a leg up on cataloging, just like they do with computers, by virtue of immersion at a young age. Regardless, it's neat to see kids be independent.

Sure, that same independence will likely manifest itself in a few years as snottiness, and she'll come back in here dressed all in black, accompanied by loud friends who won't get off their cell phones and only want to hang out in the computer lab all day leeching illegally-obtained music from the internet and glaring at the 40-somethings for no reason, but not now. Now she can find her own books, and that understanding won't go away, even if she does turn obnoxious. As long as she wants to read something, she can find it, and be afforded the privacy one has when the library staff don't know your business, don't know what you're reading in the back corner.

As a teenager I spent a lot of time ate the library, but I never interacted with the librarians at all. If I'd had too, I'd have read far less. In junior high at least half of the reading I did was about UFOs, because I was going to uncover the cover-up. If a librarian had been a necessary part of my book search, it would have just made me paranoid, and if they couldn't find what I wanted it would have been nothing less than proof that they were part of the cover-up. Then I'd be afraid of libraries, and I wouldn't have a job today. Also I wouldn't have first crack at the new John Scalzi books, and that would just be sad.

It's really not, is it?

A patron was upset today when I told her how much her copies would be. She didn't seem to mind paying, she just thought she shouldn't have to pay for all of them. "That's not cool!" she told me when I said she couldn't have some of them for free.

I work at the reference desk. Being cool is not my job. When the reference librarian interviewed me, I wasn't even *asked* if I was cool.

Likes & Dislikes

Two events this morning provided me with smiles (sometimes an entire week will go by without that happening!)

As I was sitting at the reference desk doing reference work (really--it may not look like it to the civilian but, yes, it's what I get paid to do), I happened to look up & caught sight of a middle-aged plus woman scanning the shelves containing the new books. She plucked one down, smiled almost beatifically as she hugged the tome to her chest, and went blissfully to the circulation counter to check out. Coming to the library should be akin to a religious experience and I envied her.

Not too long after catching that raptuous moment, Lenny, who is somewhat mentally challenged but has more sweetness and politeness in his little finger than the dozen or so people waiting to get on the computers to find a mate combined, came up to request two DVDs. "But won't that put me over the limit when they come in since I'm taking these with me today?" Politeness always wins me over so I suggested he just not mention it when he came in to pick them up. He could check out three-fourths of our collection and still get them back on time. However, I felt a twinge of guilt as I realized that I had just told the nicest patron we have to break the rules. But isn't that why we make them?

Then afternoon came and any residue euphoria quickly evaporated. I don't want the library to be as quiet as a tomb but is it too much to ask that cell phones be turned off? And people not broadcast their conversations to everyone in--and outside--the building? Or that children and adolescents learn that running and yelling are not proper library behavior? In just a matter of minutes, I believe I sprouted a bun, glasses on a chain appeared around my neck, and my finger is permanantly positioned in the "shushing" mode. Fortunately for all concerned, my shift is nearly over.

Another Day in Paradise

Yes, this was a real encounter. I don't have that active of an imagination.

A man who (whom?) I surmised to be in his 40's limped up to the ref desk this morning & asked for information on collapsed veins. As I searched in reference books, and then online once the books failed to provide any info, he provided me with the following details:

"I had foot surgery last week & it took six nurses to find a vein they could get a needle in. I want to know what causes it".

Me: "Did the doctor or nurses tell you anything?"

"Well, it can be caused by dehydration"

Me (as I'm finding Internet sources that say things like heroin & meth users have a higher incidence of collapsed veins): "yes, I've heard that too".

"I've been on Viagra for a long time. Do you think that could cause collapsed veins?"

Me (doing everything I can to avoid making eye-to-eye and eye-to-crotch contact, as he was standing directly in front of me as I sat at the desk): "you'll need to talk to your doctor about that."

"Oh, OK. Thanks". And he limped off to the stairs & out of my life. Or so I hope. And pray.