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.