I wish I worked here...

People always say this to me (meaning they want to work at the public library) and they always finish the sentence with "it is so quiet!".

The next time someone says that to me, I am laughing in their face.

Today, we called the cops once every hour for my entire shift. I am not kidding. The top 3 incidents (only 3- there were more, but these were the most interesting!):

1) A woman's purse was stolen. After hyperventilating, going into hysterics, yelling at the librarian who suggested she check her car to be sure she hadn't left her purse there, accusing 3 different people of taking it, and filing a police report, the woman went out to her car and found, you guessed it, her purse. (I would like to note that no one was angry with her, just glad she found her purse. We were also amused, I'm not going to lie.)

2) A man stumbles in, knocks over a display of books, He tells us "Hey ladies, how's it going, woops, that's the floor. No no I'm fine, just having a rough day!" Obviously, he was drunk. So after he stumbled to a chair and passed out, we called the cops. Who had to call an ambulance for him, he was that intoxicated. Yep.

3) Another drunk man FELL ASLEEP on the toilet in the man's restroom. I am not making this up. Since all of our male staff members were either at lunch or out sick, I and another librarian went in the bathroom, where we pounded on the stall and yelled to try to wake him up. Since that didn't work, we called the cops (this was the fifth time out of eight for the day!).

So yeah. And people wonder why we say they shouldn't let their kids run around the library alone if they are under 12? Really?

Ribbit?

I frequently greet patron's with a cheery "Hi!" followed by one of two questions:

"What can I help you with?"

or

"How are you today?" (this second one is especially appropriate when they have a stack of books ready to check out...I know how I can help them, I don't need to ask!)

Today, I asked a patron how she was, and got this answer:

"I'm finer than a frog's hair split three ways and sifted through silk."

I'm not going to lie, I didn't really know what to make of that response. She said it very very cheerfully, and obviously any such hair would have to be very, very, VERY fine, thus making her very happy. Except...frog's don't even have hair, do they? And if that's the case, then maybe she was trying to say that she was really unhappy?

I honestly don't know.

I know I shouldn't, but...

It is science fair time in our area.

That means lots and lots of parents coming in to check out science books.

For the most part they seem completely unrepentant that they are doing the research for their child. Some of them are a little more sheepish. No matter which camp they fall into, they feel the need to excuse themselves. I've heard a lot of variations on these refrains:

"Oh, I know I should make her do the research herself, but she is so busy with soccer/cheering/band/blah blah blah..."

"I'm just picking up books for him, he's doing all of the work on this project himself!"

"Do you have any good ideas for a fifth-grade level project?"

"I have no idea what type of science they are studying this year...does it matter?"

The winner, though, was a mother who came in this morning:

"I might as well pick the project. I'm going to do all the work anyway."

At least she's honest...

If I laughed out loud, at least I didn't snort

Most libraries put notes on patron records for a variety of different reasons. When you check out your books, the person behind the desk can usually see if you have some books being held behind the counter for you, if you have fines, if you have tried to convince us that you have returned 16 of our books that somehow miraculously are not on our shelves and are still checked out to you even though you turned them in, if you are allowed to check out extra books because you are a homeschooler, if your spouse is authorized to use your card, etc.

Most of these notes are, obviously, administrative in nature. The appropriate library protocol is to end the note with the date it is entered and your initials, so if someone later has a question about the note, they know who to talk to.

Someone at my new library, however, has a more colorful sense of humor. On the accounts of a select number of our regular patrons, they have written notes. Some of them are informative ("Will talk your ear off if you let him"). Some of them are endearing ("Sweetheart!"). My anonymous colleague does not put their initials or a date by these notes. I wish he/she did, because today I saw one that took the prize both for accuracy and for its ability to make me feel better.

I dealt with a particularly trying gentleman for nearly 10 minutes, arguing about due dates, renewal policies and why we don't allow cell phones in the library. He was quite sure that I was the stupidest human being ever to walk the face of the planet, and that he knew much more about libraries ("I've been coming to this library longer than you've been alive!" - which made me think: Why, yes, you have, and I've been working here two months and I know the policies better than you! How'd'ya like them apples?) I scanned his card and discovered this succinct, to the point note on his account:

"Ignorant."

I couldn't help it, I chuckled a little. Luckily, he didn't ask what I thought was funny.

A public library without internet

Yesterday was "my" Saturday to work (the staff rotates, I usually only have to do it once a month or so). I got to work, logged in, started doing work, and then I noticed:

No internet. Unfortunately, the problem was NOT at our end, and thus we had to wait on our provider to fix the issue.

They promised to have it fixed on by Monday afternoon.

That means that we were without internet the ENTIRE DAY. While some people do in fact visit the library to check out books, the vast majority of our patrons come for one reason and one reason only: to access the internet. Most Saturdays we have anywhere from a half an hour to an hour wait for the computers all day. Since our main draw was down, I settled in for a long, quiet day.

Oh, how wrong I was! We were ridiculously busy all day. And not just busy telling people "No, the internet is down. No, it won't be back up today" although I said that plenty. You see, while some of the people who would normally come in just for the computers turned around and left, the majority (or so it seemed) actually checked out books! And asked questions not related to computers!

I also noticed another telling fact: normally on Saturdays, I am hoarse by about 2:30. This is from yelling things like "No running in the library! We walk in the library! No, please don't spin that! That chair is meant for sitting! Gentle, please! Please don't throw books!" over and over and over and over over and over and over and over over and over and over and over over and over and over and over over and over and over and over over and over and over and over over and over and over and over.

You get the idea.

Yesterday, I didn't yell at a single child. Not once! Which is not to say that I didn't have kids running or tossing books; there were a few. But an interesting thing happened: their parents told them to stop. This doesn't normally happen because their parents are usually in the computer lab, looking at email/MySpace/whatever. Instead, they were with their kids, watching them, and, dare I say it, parenting.

Maybe I will try to convince my boss to get rid of the internet permanently...

JUST KIDDING. Not having internet sort of feels like having one of my limbs chopped off, and free internet access is a vital part of our service to the community. But still, not losing my voice was nice.

Stop! No hitting in the library!

Today I had to stop a six year old boy from mauling his sister. I was walking over to the information desk from the back of the stacks (that's shelves, in librarianese) and made the turn just in time to see the young man tackle his slightly older sister to the ground (hard enough that he caused my computer monitor to spin like a top!) and begin to beat the living tar out of her.

And yes, I can say living tar. I live in the South. Deal with it.

So I rushed over and started with the "Stop! We don't hit people in the library!" spiel. I would have added that we don't hit people at all, but I got taken to task once for telling a patron's child that "We don't hit other people EVER" , so now I limit myself to saying "in the library."

I seriously though I was going to have to pry the kid off of his sister. It was out of control. He finally stopped and ran off to destroy one of my display racks. His parents? Nowhere in sight. Sigh.

Also, a conversation between Einstein and I at dinner:

E: And then so and so said "Well, it sure sounds like *insert mysogynistic/anti-woman comment here*"
Me: REALLY? I totally can't believe he said that, he doesn't seem the type.
E: Well, I think he's just like me...it doesn't matter if you believe it, it is just easier to say it once and awhile, you know, to fit in...
Me: OH REALLY? So what kind of things do you say?
E: uhhhhhhhhh. Nothing. I don't say anything at work. Ever.

Note to random parent

Dear Madam,

Thank you for bringing your son into the library. We are so happy to have him in the children's section, and I sincerely hope that your visits to our fine library inspire him to a lifelong love of books.

I'd also like to point out that leaving your child unsupervised in a public place is technically child abandonment and you are so freaking lucky that I didn't call the cops. Since you apparently think that your son is young enough to wander around with a pacifier in his mouth (even though he can walk and talk, although he is hard to understand around the binky!) I am at a loss as to why you think it is okay to leave him all alone in a 40,000 square foot building while you are on the other side of it, completely immersed in your internet surfing.

Just because I am sitting at the desk in the children's area does not mean I am watching your son. Luckily for you, I am a fairly patient person who loves children, and didn't mind him following me around or providing him with some books to look through or things to color with.

BUT. I could have been a child molester. Your son has no sense of stranger danger or where to go or not to go, since he is three. Leaving him unsupervised for over an hour is not only unwise, it is also criminal. Also, looking at me contemptuously when I walked over to you (since you hollered for him from the circulation desk, instead of coming to the children's area to fetch him) and reminded you politely that according to library policy all children under seven must be with an adult at all times did not help your case with me. What really sealed the deal was the "little bitch" comment you made under your breath when I told you that if it happened again, I would call the police.

So I've changed my mind. If you do it again, I will go ninja librarian on your ass.

Sincerely,
Nomad Librarian