What do you think?

Condescenscion is when you talk down to someone

A very nice and intelligent girl of about 11 or so came up looking for books on several topics. What we owned seemed to be either for younger children or checked out. After exhausting several topics with disappointing results, she asked if we had anything by or about Martin Luther King, Jr. Sadly, with the recent holiday, pretty much everything was out except for a few little kid picture books. I could tell that my patron was not that impressed with our little library, even after I reminded her about the recent holiday. I hate not having something and was offering the usual menu of choices like copies of an encyclopedia article, prints from a biographical database and holds on a multitude of biographies at other libraries in the system. She thought about it for a moment and then offered to spell King's name for me, in case I typed it in wrong. Thanks, kid.

You want my advice about what?

On a good day, I feel minimally competent to give advice about books I have read and enjoyed. So I get a fresh shock each year when people come in and ask my tax advice. I try to listen patiently to the question and at the first pause I say something like, "I'm really sorry, but I'm not allowed to give tax advice." Then I try to get out the AARP-staffed FREE tax help appointment book to sign them up for FREE help. (Did I mention it was without cost? Freebie? Comp? Gratis? Not a single simoleon need change hands?) This is usually not good enough. The person (often a twenty-something guy) wants to know which form he's supposed to fill out, the 1040, 1040A or the 1040EZ? What's the difference between the 1040 and the 1040A? I tell him that I am not allowed to give tax advice again, but he doesn't want advice, you see, just to know which form he's supposed to use. And on. It's dispiriting. Even when I tell them that I do not do my own taxes and haven't for many many years because I made such a mess of them, people seem to think that I'm just holding out on them.

The only thing more annoying is people asking where the tax forms are, since they are about 4 and a half feet from the asker.

FYI

That young woman on Internet Terminal #7? As soon as her check comes, she's leaving. That's right: moving to Texas. You heard it here first.

Pop Quiz

Q: What do you do if you are a bored teen who isn't into that whole reading thing and who is sick of Myspace and is waiting for mom to come with the car?

A: Annoy the desk slave. I don't want to describe my job to you. Yes I like working here just fine. About 3 years now. No, you can't do this job next summer. Because it's not as easy as it looks, e.g. you have to know the alphabet. Actually, none of us gets to sit around all day reading books. If I got to do that I would be a much more pleasant person.

Friends to the Rescue

Well, on a regular basis, ya'll give me a hard time about my habit of buying books from the ongoing Friends of the Library booksale here. But ha! Listen to this!

A teen girl came up to the Info Desk today and needed a specific memoir...very obscure...only two libraries in our system owned it and both copies were checked out. She needed it for a school report due, like, yesterday.

The title rang a bell with me..."Hey, self" I thought to myself. "You just saw that book (which you've never ever heard of before) on the booksale shelf just yesterday. Oh yeah! I bet it's still there!" So I told her about it, and we went running downstairs to see if it was still for sale. Everything went in slow-mo, and I could hear the Chariots of Fire theme song in my head. Both arms extended, reaching towards the books on the sale shelf...reaching....reaching....Yes! The book was still there. I was so pleased, I even paid for it myself. A whole 50 cents.

And that is why I shop the used book sale shelf in our library. It's a selfless act, really. ;)

Finishing Up Bathroom Day

Pardon me while I use a little Purell. I'm getting a bit creeped out.

It must be bathroom day

A patron came to the desk with a section of the local paper. He had been reading the paper and brought a section of it with him to the Gents' and when he came back the rest of the paper was gone. I did not offer to take the section. I asked him to put the newspaper, which he presumably held with his unwashed poo-wiping hand, on a shelving cart. Mental note: buy own newspaper unless you grab it first thing in the morning.

Here's a new one...

A patron came up to tell me that there was somebody asleep in the Men's room. I admit, I was incredulous. The patron insisted, though. "He's in the stall, snoring away. See for yourself." Being the token Y chromosome on the staff, this lovely task fell to me. Thanking my lucky stars that I got that Masters degree after all, I took a deep breath and plunged in. The patron was right. Stall locked and some world class snorage going down. Reacting decisively, I pounded on the door.
"Hey, wake up!" I said in my calm, self-assured voice, doing my best not to breathe in since this was the men's room after all.
Nothing. Pound, pound, pound! "Hey! No sleeping in there!"
I heard something that sounded a lot like "Hhhmmmmwwwffff," but I could be wrong.
"Okay! Finish up in there! Other people need the bathroom, too!"
"Ssswwwrrrgh," he opined, which I think means "Righto!"
I left and started breathing the relatively normal air of the library proper. I figured five minutes would do it before I needed to check again. After his five, I took another deep breath and waded in. He was at the sink, looking pretty bad but at least conscious and upright. Just your typical homeless guy.

Best Internet Interaction-Evah!

I was checking the identification of our Google users to make sure they were all 18 or had parental permission to use the unfiltered Google. A young woman pulled out a torn sheet of notebook paper with a note in pencil and said, "I have a note from my mom". I looked at the note and had to stop myself from giggling. It was written in a very juvenile hand and it was in PENCIL! I don't know many adults who write in PENCIL. I told her (nicely) to get off the Google and tell her mother to come in and sign a permission form.

It made my night.