I hate fucking potlucks.
Library staff loves them. When I say love, I mean, I get emails thanking me for putting together a great potluck. Look, all I did was come up with a date and a time, that's not a big deal.
I've got to three potlucks this week. I don't have a choice. I'm management and have to make nice-nice and look like I care. Me being at the potluck fosters a sense of camaraderie and shows that I care about my team.
Or, some bullshit. I don't know, I read that in a text book in a management class at some point in time of life.
At one potluck, the staff opened the door for me, sat me at the head of the table, poured my beverage, waited to sit until I sat, and then waited to eat until I ate. Awkward much?
I threw up from that potluck. I think that they were trying to kill me now that I look back on it. I ate a piece of fried chicken (store bought--I only eat store bought things from potlucks unless I know the person) and in an hour, I was puking. No one else puked. I think my food was laced with rat poison. Shitrats.
At the second potluck, I just ate a piece of (store bought) cake that had so much sugar in it I nearly went into diabetic shock (I'm not diabetic). Then, I drank some punch because I was so thirsty. Dumb idea. The sugar numbed my nuerons, which was just as well, since I had a meeting after the potluck anyway.
At the third potluck, I had to deal with pissy crybaby staff that didn't want to play nice with the other kids and participate in the potluck. I just ate some veggies and the dessert I brought. Then, I remembered I didn't bring enough for lunch (so, here I sit hungry).
For fuck's sake. This would be easier to just deal with crazy patrons than to sit there and make chitchat smalltalk with people that I don't really like and don't really care about and then later worry about being poisoned.
Ah, that sounds so cold, but it's true. At these events, I usually sit off to the side. I'm management. I'm the one that they try to suck up with, so each person gets to have their "special time" with me. A few tend to sit and socialize with me like I'm a real person rather than a motherfucking robot. These people get big points in my book. I'm not out to get anyone. I supposed I should say, I'm not out to get anyone if the job is being done. If you're an idiot and sitting around picking your ass all day, I'll stick my shoe up it, but otherwise, I just want a piece of pizza like everyone else (please, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, no fried chicken).
However, really, at these potlucks, it's so forced and painful and the food is so bad that I'd rather just eat my lunch in the car, get sworn at by a drunk patron, and then go back to getting bitched at about library policy.
I just wonder if my vomit really fostered the sense of camaraderie and if it did, the next time I'm at a leadership workshop, can I just vomit on the speaker?
30 December 2010
26 November 2010
Things I Have Found In DVD Cases
Because I can't let November go without a post, you get this sort of retrospective of things I've found in DVD cases over the years. Some are disgusting, some are mundane, some are genuinely "WTF" inducing, which, if you know me, which most of you don't, is pretty typical of most interactions that I have with most people. I have to give props to a friend for recommending this little gem of an idea to me. If you, dear readers of my little piece the internet, have an idea for a post, I'm all ears.
However, no, I am not writing library porn for you. Sorry. I save that for my paying customers.
Just as a little background infotainment, I've worked with the public for going on 6 years now. Before that, I was in an academic library. Granted, I was a student employee and simpleton shitrat, so life was a lot more fun (probably because I was drunk most of the time since I went to a party school). Groundhog Day will be 6 years in public librarianship for me. It's like the movie, except, I think, instead of getting a soul or any of that rainbowshitter gooey bullshit that happened to Bill Murray's character, I grow a little harder each day I have to deal with dumbasses and gross perverts.
So, without further ado, here is the list of THINGS I HAVE FOUND IN DVD CASES (in no particular order and by no means is this comprehensive):
1. Dead roaches: this is pretty common. Sometimes, the DVDs have been missing so long that the roaches are just their exoskeletons
2. Live roaches: this is less common and far more disgusting and makes your little Fucky scream to the high hills like a ridiculous girl. I don't do roaches or bees. Most other bugs, I can handle like a champ.
3. Condoms. In wrappers. I never found a used one, THANK FUCK for that, right? Oh, give it time though, my career is young. I hope. Who knows how this budget crap-o-la will work out.
4. A small bottle of baby oil. No, we don't loan out porn. Then again, I mean, it doesn't take much to get men off, does it? A flash of nipple could be enough to set someone in a tailspin, but dude, you left your baby oil in the DVD case, we know you were jerking it to Reese Witherspoon.
5. Love notes. To baby mamas. To librarians.
6. Social Security checks.
7. Birth certificates.
8. Baby pictures.
9. Child custody papers, court date hearing shit, other IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS WITH IMPORTANT INFORMATION that you really don't want sitting around in a DVD case.
10. A dead tropical fish.
11. Porn: this is really common. I love calling the patron to say, "Hi, you returned your DVD in our case and must have ours at home." Patron: "What DVD of mine do you have?" Me: "Backdoor Sluts 24." Patron: Click.
12. Cat food niblets.
13. Pieces of fast food, specifically, a piece of nugget and some french fries, petrified from the cold and sitting in the book drop overnight.
14. Phone numbers begging the librarian to call for a date.
15. Scissors.
16. Funeral programs.
17. Earrings.
18. Gum. Chewed and still in stick form.
19. Pens. Pencils. Cigarettes. No peanuts or cotton candy.
20. Directions.
21. Various bills.
22. Jump drives.
23. Driver's licenses, state i.d. cards, social security cards.
24. Pills. One will make you smaller, one will make you larger, one will make everything just disappear. Why, we're all mad here.
25. A grill. Like, as in, yo teef.
26. Marijuana.
27. Crack. I remember first seeing a crack rock in a DVD case. I actually thought it was a rotted tooth. I'm such a niave white girl. Well, I was.
That's it. My list. I'm too tired and hungry to come up with more literary musings this afternoon. I'm sure tomorrow's hell of Saturday librarianship might inspire me to greater heights of annoyance. That is, if something doesn't catch on fire and I'm not whisked away by 5 firetrucks full of smokey-scented firemen.
Hrm, note to self: bring lighter to work tomorrow in case boredom sets in. Who can't use more firemen in their lives? Less crack rocks in the DVD cases please, more firemen to damsel-in-distress-librarians who wear plaid skirts and stilettos. Yes, why yes, Saturday, you might not suck so bad now that I have a plan...
However, no, I am not writing library porn for you. Sorry. I save that for my paying customers.
Just as a little background infotainment, I've worked with the public for going on 6 years now. Before that, I was in an academic library. Granted, I was a student employee and simpleton shitrat, so life was a lot more fun (probably because I was drunk most of the time since I went to a party school). Groundhog Day will be 6 years in public librarianship for me. It's like the movie, except, I think, instead of getting a soul or any of that rainbowshitter gooey bullshit that happened to Bill Murray's character, I grow a little harder each day I have to deal with dumbasses and gross perverts.
So, without further ado, here is the list of THINGS I HAVE FOUND IN DVD CASES (in no particular order and by no means is this comprehensive):
1. Dead roaches: this is pretty common. Sometimes, the DVDs have been missing so long that the roaches are just their exoskeletons
2. Live roaches: this is less common and far more disgusting and makes your little Fucky scream to the high hills like a ridiculous girl. I don't do roaches or bees. Most other bugs, I can handle like a champ.
3. Condoms. In wrappers. I never found a used one, THANK FUCK for that, right? Oh, give it time though, my career is young. I hope. Who knows how this budget crap-o-la will work out.
4. A small bottle of baby oil. No, we don't loan out porn. Then again, I mean, it doesn't take much to get men off, does it? A flash of nipple could be enough to set someone in a tailspin, but dude, you left your baby oil in the DVD case, we know you were jerking it to Reese Witherspoon.
5. Love notes. To baby mamas. To librarians.
6. Social Security checks.
7. Birth certificates.
8. Baby pictures.
9. Child custody papers, court date hearing shit, other IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS WITH IMPORTANT INFORMATION that you really don't want sitting around in a DVD case.
10. A dead tropical fish.
11. Porn: this is really common. I love calling the patron to say, "Hi, you returned your DVD in our case and must have ours at home." Patron: "What DVD of mine do you have?" Me: "Backdoor Sluts 24." Patron: Click.
12. Cat food niblets.
13. Pieces of fast food, specifically, a piece of nugget and some french fries, petrified from the cold and sitting in the book drop overnight.
14. Phone numbers begging the librarian to call for a date.
15. Scissors.
16. Funeral programs.
17. Earrings.
18. Gum. Chewed and still in stick form.
19. Pens. Pencils. Cigarettes. No peanuts or cotton candy.
20. Directions.
21. Various bills.
22. Jump drives.
23. Driver's licenses, state i.d. cards, social security cards.
24. Pills. One will make you smaller, one will make you larger, one will make everything just disappear. Why, we're all mad here.
25. A grill. Like, as in, yo teef.
26. Marijuana.
27. Crack. I remember first seeing a crack rock in a DVD case. I actually thought it was a rotted tooth. I'm such a niave white girl. Well, I was.
That's it. My list. I'm too tired and hungry to come up with more literary musings this afternoon. I'm sure tomorrow's hell of Saturday librarianship might inspire me to greater heights of annoyance. That is, if something doesn't catch on fire and I'm not whisked away by 5 firetrucks full of smokey-scented firemen.
Hrm, note to self: bring lighter to work tomorrow in case boredom sets in. Who can't use more firemen in their lives? Less crack rocks in the DVD cases please, more firemen to damsel-in-distress-librarians who wear plaid skirts and stilettos. Yes, why yes, Saturday, you might not suck so bad now that I have a plan...
28 October 2010
A Morning in the Life of Library Manager
Before I even got to work, disaster struck.
This whole week has been a disaster, with fire, people getting hit by cars, the accident on the way in that sent random debris flying into my lane and my car.
I'm telling you, this week is trying to kill me.
And tomorrow, I will be extra careful. It's the 5th anniversary of my horrible car wreck. I will wear good luck beads and rub the cat's belly before going to work. You Fucky lovers out there better do a dance, a jig, a spell, a something for me. I need it. I feel bad juju air out there. Hide me.
It's train-a-new-fucking-moron week at Starbucks, so the line was out the parking lot. Being the caffeine junkie that I am, I guessed the line to be at least a ten to 15 minute wait and I'm busy, I have shit to manage, work to delegate, shitrats to smack over the head, I don't have that kind of time in the morning. In some ways, I'm lucky to have a drive though Starfucks that I pass by each morning on the way to work so that I don't have to crawl through the mean urban streets begging and hooking for coffee; well, lucky when I get get in and out in less than 15 minutes. Today, not so much. I can only hope for fire so I can hit up a hot fireman and hop in the back of a truck for a coffee date.
Prolouge over.
So, two minutes before the branch opens, this lady is pointing, knocking on the door, and yelling. I walk over to the door, she demands that I open said door to let her in. I try not to laugh at these rude schmucks. I don't have any control over when the doors open, it's all done centrally. Well, I mean, I guess I COULD have let her in, but her face annoyed me, so fuck off, and wait your two minutes like the rest of the world.
And two minutes later, what, oh what was the urgency?
She wanted Microsoft 2007.
I said "Did you want information on using it or the software for your computer?"
MinuteLady: The computer stuff, my friend wants it.
Me: Oh, Microsoft is a cruel mistress and wants her profit. All of the software is copyright material and if little library us was to give that out for free, Bill Gates would wrangle us up and force us into a work camp in Washington state.
My sparkling wit was met with a blank stare. As usual. No one gets it. That's why I have a blog. I'm surrounded by morons with two brain cells that don't get even a drop of humor.
Meanwhile, why I'm trying to explain the difference between software that you know, like, load on to a computer and use versus just a damned book that tells you how to use the stuff, this lady stomps in with a box.
The box is tattered.
The box is old.
The box looks like it has been sitting in a basement for the past decade.
IT'S SHITY BOOK DONATION DAY!
[However, good suck up employee recognized need for coffee and immediately ran out the door to go get me some. Diner coffee. DINER COFFEE. OH, DINER COFFEE!!!!!!!!]
Let me tell you something about people with book donations. It doesn't matter what they donate, big amounts, small amounts, children's books, National Geographic Magazines from 1971, textbooks, old Nora Roberts paperbacks, they all feel righteous about it and they all feel that you should drop to your knees and kiss something.
I was in the middle of routing in new cds (seriously, how many Glee soundtrack CDs does an urban library need? For FUCK'S SAKE) and handling Microsoft lady, when book donation lady decided that I needed to drop everything and kiss her ass, but I didn't have time for that, so I half-heartedly, but politely, asked her to just put the stuff on a table for me.
She looked at me like I asked her to maul a kitten.
"These," she sputtered, "are new books. These contain valuable information for the children of our community."
Oh, really. I'm sure they do. Lady, I have a master's degree. I know what the fuck books contain. Don't lecture me.
I swear, the minute someone starts with lecturing, my brain just shuts off, it goes to Tahiti, it sips on a Mai Tai, and imagaines stabbing you in the eye with the little pointy part of the paper umbrella. Shut. Up. Now.
Do you want to know what the books are? Well, aside from being covered in dead spiders, here is a sampling of titles:
The Treasure Hunt by Bill Cosby
Scream Shop Abracadanger by Someshittyauthorthatdoesn'tevenmatter
SpyKids Adventures, ibid
Hulk, The Junior Novel, ibid
Clearly, valuable information, right?
So, ok, I have like this 45 minute interruption where I go continue to play circ clerk bitch. An old man yelled at me about his fines.
They were at $26.50. "What?!?!?" he croaks, "they were at $11 last year when I paid a dollar to them."
Me: well, you've been checking out things since then and you've accumulated fines, so you'll have to pay something.
Old croaker: Fine, fine, fine. [digs in his pockets, takes out keys, a 50 dollar bill, a one dollar bill, a bag of chips, nail clippers, and a packet of red hots]
Me: Ok, let me go get your movies.
And of course, as it would have it, I can't find one of his movies because god only knows where it it. I return to tell him this and what is he doing?
Eating the chips.
Chomping away.
And what does he tell me?
That wasn't his movie. He didn't want it. He just picked it up and put it on the counter because he was cleaning up.
And then he asked why it takes us so long back there, if we are, to quote, "Getting the newspaper and taking a shit."
This whole week has been a disaster, with fire, people getting hit by cars, the accident on the way in that sent random debris flying into my lane and my car.
I'm telling you, this week is trying to kill me.
And tomorrow, I will be extra careful. It's the 5th anniversary of my horrible car wreck. I will wear good luck beads and rub the cat's belly before going to work. You Fucky lovers out there better do a dance, a jig, a spell, a something for me. I need it. I feel bad juju air out there. Hide me.
It's train-a-new-fucking-moron week at Starbucks, so the line was out the parking lot. Being the caffeine junkie that I am, I guessed the line to be at least a ten to 15 minute wait and I'm busy, I have shit to manage, work to delegate, shitrats to smack over the head, I don't have that kind of time in the morning. In some ways, I'm lucky to have a drive though Starfucks that I pass by each morning on the way to work so that I don't have to crawl through the mean urban streets begging and hooking for coffee; well, lucky when I get get in and out in less than 15 minutes. Today, not so much. I can only hope for fire so I can hit up a hot fireman and hop in the back of a truck for a coffee date.
Prolouge over.
So, two minutes before the branch opens, this lady is pointing, knocking on the door, and yelling. I walk over to the door, she demands that I open said door to let her in. I try not to laugh at these rude schmucks. I don't have any control over when the doors open, it's all done centrally. Well, I mean, I guess I COULD have let her in, but her face annoyed me, so fuck off, and wait your two minutes like the rest of the world.
And two minutes later, what, oh what was the urgency?
She wanted Microsoft 2007.
I said "Did you want information on using it or the software for your computer?"
MinuteLady: The computer stuff, my friend wants it.
Me: Oh, Microsoft is a cruel mistress and wants her profit. All of the software is copyright material and if little library us was to give that out for free, Bill Gates would wrangle us up and force us into a work camp in Washington state.
My sparkling wit was met with a blank stare. As usual. No one gets it. That's why I have a blog. I'm surrounded by morons with two brain cells that don't get even a drop of humor.
Meanwhile, why I'm trying to explain the difference between software that you know, like, load on to a computer and use versus just a damned book that tells you how to use the stuff, this lady stomps in with a box.
The box is tattered.
The box is old.
The box looks like it has been sitting in a basement for the past decade.
IT'S SHITY BOOK DONATION DAY!
[However, good suck up employee recognized need for coffee and immediately ran out the door to go get me some. Diner coffee. DINER COFFEE. OH, DINER COFFEE!!!!!!!!]
Let me tell you something about people with book donations. It doesn't matter what they donate, big amounts, small amounts, children's books, National Geographic Magazines from 1971, textbooks, old Nora Roberts paperbacks, they all feel righteous about it and they all feel that you should drop to your knees and kiss something.
I was in the middle of routing in new cds (seriously, how many Glee soundtrack CDs does an urban library need? For FUCK'S SAKE) and handling Microsoft lady, when book donation lady decided that I needed to drop everything and kiss her ass, but I didn't have time for that, so I half-heartedly, but politely, asked her to just put the stuff on a table for me.
She looked at me like I asked her to maul a kitten.
"These," she sputtered, "are new books. These contain valuable information for the children of our community."
Oh, really. I'm sure they do. Lady, I have a master's degree. I know what the fuck books contain. Don't lecture me.
I swear, the minute someone starts with lecturing, my brain just shuts off, it goes to Tahiti, it sips on a Mai Tai, and imagaines stabbing you in the eye with the little pointy part of the paper umbrella. Shut. Up. Now.
Do you want to know what the books are? Well, aside from being covered in dead spiders, here is a sampling of titles:
The Treasure Hunt by Bill Cosby
Scream Shop Abracadanger by Someshittyauthorthatdoesn'tevenmatter
SpyKids Adventures, ibid
Hulk, The Junior Novel, ibid
Clearly, valuable information, right?
So, ok, I have like this 45 minute interruption where I go continue to play circ clerk bitch. An old man yelled at me about his fines.
They were at $26.50. "What?!?!?" he croaks, "they were at $11 last year when I paid a dollar to them."
Me: well, you've been checking out things since then and you've accumulated fines, so you'll have to pay something.
Old croaker: Fine, fine, fine. [digs in his pockets, takes out keys, a 50 dollar bill, a one dollar bill, a bag of chips, nail clippers, and a packet of red hots]
Me: Ok, let me go get your movies.
And of course, as it would have it, I can't find one of his movies because god only knows where it it. I return to tell him this and what is he doing?
Eating the chips.
Chomping away.
And what does he tell me?
That wasn't his movie. He didn't want it. He just picked it up and put it on the counter because he was cleaning up.
And then he asked why it takes us so long back there, if we are, to quote, "Getting the newspaper and taking a shit."
18 September 2010
Wordapalooza and the Word Wizard V. Your Saturday Librarian
I just spent 27 minutes with a patron trying to help her find the book she wanted. Too bad that the book doesn't exist (oh my GOD, I thought I got rid of her, she just came back, ack, ack, ack, just go read some Zane, for fuck's sakes). She seemed nice at first. That is, until I couldn't produce the goodies. Then, your favorite FuckItLibrarian, Saturday Edition, became the raging moron of the century.
Let me just tell you that having the right words really helps. A lot. I mean, unless you're foreign, then there's no excuse. If you can't come up with the right words for the book, ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE READING THEM OFF OF A SLIP OF PAPER, then there isn't much I can do to help you.
Word Wizard: The book I want is "The Central Woman."
Me: Ok, let me look it up, but do you have an author, because I bet there's a lot of books with that title.
WW: Why would I have an author? This person didn't give me an author. {Like I'm supposed to know who 'this person' is as Word Wizard waves around her papers. Nut jobs always come into the library with lots of papers. It's the first sign that you should duck and cover, but I was the only one on the floor and was a sitting, well, duck).
Me: Well, I have over 200 hits, so I can give you a print out and you can select which ones I want to order for you if you want to try it that way...
WW: What are they about?
Me: {meanwhile, screaming toddlers are throwing books, an annoyed lady is telling me that I should have more Triple Crown Books in the Branch, a teenage boy just grabbed a girls ass, some girl is still bitching about her headphones not working--god try earbuds) I'm sorry, I really don't have time to read them for you or summarize them, is there anyway you can contact your friend or the person that wrote the letter so you can maybe can an author's name?
WW: No. Try Central Woman. Try that. I think that's the name of it.
Me: Is the name of the book Essential Woman or Central Woman.
WW: {mumbles something I can't even fucking understand}
Me: Well, is this a book of stories? Or, is is non-fiction, like the history of women's sexuality?
Word Wizard: I don't know. She just told me to read it.
Me: Can I maybe see the letter?
Word Wizard: {folds up the letter into a tiny sqaure, exposing just the part that shows the title, there are three titles written down, all scrawled in old lady neat handwriting, like is her grandma telling her to read this? For fuck's sakes.) Yes. Here.
Me: (OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKES, the TITLE of the book is "Sensuous Woman.") Oh, the book you want is Sensuous Woman, not Essential Woman. Is that right? Or, did you want two books? (I enunciate, because, at this point, we're on like 10 minutes of this conversation, the toddlers are screaming louder, I have a headache, I need my snack, the kids are ridiculous, she's ridiculous, Triple Crown Lady is still screaming at me, and now Word Wizard is getting pissy with me.)
Word Wizard: Look up that.
Me: {That's so....clear, you dumb bag of rocks wearing a terrible powder blue cardigan with a glasses chain yelling at me how to be a sensous woman. Try not wearing that shitty outfit and throwing out those hideous monk shoes. I look up "Sensuous Woman.") I see a few things for "Sensuous Woman," but it doesn't seem like it's anything like what you're describing. I think that you should call your friend and maybe try to get an author. I don't want to order the wrong book for you.
WW: I can't call her.
Me: Well, I can try to order some of these for you, and you can see if they're what you want.
WW: I want the one my friend has written down.
Me: I'm really sorry, but I can't find that one, I'm seeing several titles, I can order them, and you can see which ones match up. You'll get in the books that I see that could be it, and you can send back the ones that you don't want. How does that sound?
Word Wizard: [glares at me] Why can't you just find it.
Me: Because you aren't giving me an author's name.
WW: What about Central Woman? CENTRAL?
Me: Ma'am, you're giving me three different words, I think that you need to get the exact title and author and maybe a summary of the book, otherwise, I think that you'll continue to be disappointed. We just need a little more information to get you what you need and then we'll be happy to help you out more.
Word Wizard: Oh, well, I think I'll try Barnes and Nobles.
And this, dear readers, was 27 minutes of my life down the shitter.
Of course, while I was writing this blog entry on a break, she came back to pester the sub here to ask her what she thought. The sub told her the same thing. I'm sure Word Wizard is off to another library to go torment some other poor Saturday Librarian now with her "senuous" baby blue cardigan and monk shoes.
Let me just tell you that having the right words really helps. A lot. I mean, unless you're foreign, then there's no excuse. If you can't come up with the right words for the book, ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE READING THEM OFF OF A SLIP OF PAPER, then there isn't much I can do to help you.
Word Wizard: The book I want is "The Central Woman."
Me: Ok, let me look it up, but do you have an author, because I bet there's a lot of books with that title.
WW: Why would I have an author? This person didn't give me an author. {Like I'm supposed to know who 'this person' is as Word Wizard waves around her papers. Nut jobs always come into the library with lots of papers. It's the first sign that you should duck and cover, but I was the only one on the floor and was a sitting, well, duck).
Me: Well, I have over 200 hits, so I can give you a print out and you can select which ones I want to order for you if you want to try it that way...
WW: What are they about?
Me: {meanwhile, screaming toddlers are throwing books, an annoyed lady is telling me that I should have more Triple Crown Books in the Branch, a teenage boy just grabbed a girls ass, some girl is still bitching about her headphones not working--god try earbuds) I'm sorry, I really don't have time to read them for you or summarize them, is there anyway you can contact your friend or the person that wrote the letter so you can maybe can an author's name?
WW: No. Try Central Woman. Try that. I think that's the name of it.
Me: Is the name of the book Essential Woman or Central Woman.
WW: {mumbles something I can't even fucking understand}
Me: Well, is this a book of stories? Or, is is non-fiction, like the history of women's sexuality?
Word Wizard: I don't know. She just told me to read it.
Me: Can I maybe see the letter?
Word Wizard: {folds up the letter into a tiny sqaure, exposing just the part that shows the title, there are three titles written down, all scrawled in old lady neat handwriting, like is her grandma telling her to read this? For fuck's sakes.) Yes. Here.
Me: (OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKES, the TITLE of the book is "Sensuous Woman.") Oh, the book you want is Sensuous Woman, not Essential Woman. Is that right? Or, did you want two books? (I enunciate, because, at this point, we're on like 10 minutes of this conversation, the toddlers are screaming louder, I have a headache, I need my snack, the kids are ridiculous, she's ridiculous, Triple Crown Lady is still screaming at me, and now Word Wizard is getting pissy with me.)
Word Wizard: Look up that.
Me: {That's so....clear, you dumb bag of rocks wearing a terrible powder blue cardigan with a glasses chain yelling at me how to be a sensous woman. Try not wearing that shitty outfit and throwing out those hideous monk shoes. I look up "Sensuous Woman.") I see a few things for "Sensuous Woman," but it doesn't seem like it's anything like what you're describing. I think that you should call your friend and maybe try to get an author. I don't want to order the wrong book for you.
WW: I can't call her.
Me: Well, I can try to order some of these for you, and you can see if they're what you want.
WW: I want the one my friend has written down.
Me: I'm really sorry, but I can't find that one, I'm seeing several titles, I can order them, and you can see which ones match up. You'll get in the books that I see that could be it, and you can send back the ones that you don't want. How does that sound?
Word Wizard: [glares at me] Why can't you just find it.
Me: Because you aren't giving me an author's name.
WW: What about Central Woman? CENTRAL?
Me: Ma'am, you're giving me three different words, I think that you need to get the exact title and author and maybe a summary of the book, otherwise, I think that you'll continue to be disappointed. We just need a little more information to get you what you need and then we'll be happy to help you out more.
Word Wizard: Oh, well, I think I'll try Barnes and Nobles.
And this, dear readers, was 27 minutes of my life down the shitter.
Of course, while I was writing this blog entry on a break, she came back to pester the sub here to ask her what she thought. The sub told her the same thing. I'm sure Word Wizard is off to another library to go torment some other poor Saturday Librarian now with her "senuous" baby blue cardigan and monk shoes.
17 September 2010
Featured at your local library: grinding dicks, nudity, masturbators
It all started, not so innocently, one languid, end of summer-early fall day a few weeks ago when I stopped into one of my branches to check up on things. I bet it was my non-sensible library shoes. I bet it was the patent leather that really got these pervs going. What doesn't get these pervs going? All that I know is that I'm thinking of investing in a taser. Maybe I can get one shaped like a Blackberry, since mine seems to be permantly attached to my hand.
I noticed a teenage boy standing at the computer, dancing, screaming to Big Meech. Yes, I'm white. Yes, I know who Big Meech is. Yes, this shocks the kids, because apparently, nerdy white girl librarians in plaid skirts shouldn't know who Big Meech is, but the problem is not with Big Meech, because that's a whole separate blog entry, but that in fact, YOU ARE STANDING UP AND SCREAMING A BIG MEECH SONG (or any song) UP IN THE MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARY.
A library is not that place for that. Shut the hell up.
So, I scrunched up my face, wondering where the fuck security was, thinking that this is something that they should really be handling. But, because I am super fucking librarian in plaid, my philosophy is that if I see it, I handle it. So, I told the boy to sit down.
He looked at me and told me "Baby, chill."
I love that the reaction to me, my age, my status, to this little shitrat making noise is "baby, chill." I swear to God, tasers should be issued in library shcool. I think that I am going to begin a campaign to library schools across America that "Effective Use of a Taser" be taught as a one day workshop for librarians.
Incredulous (but hiding that look from my face), but ready to rip this little shit's snotty grin off his face, "I am not your baby, and you need to sit down or leave."
Shitrat: Awww, honey, c'mon, I'm not hurtin no one. Have some cookies. (He starts laughing.)
Me (seething with rage, cookies? Honey? The problem is that he gets that attitude at home and thinks that he can throw out a few cutesy words to women when they're mad. And mind you, this little shitrat is 16): I am not your honey, babe, whatever, I'm the branch manager and you need to go.
Shitrat: What, why do I need to go? You don't want to hang with me? (At this point, he gets up close to me, grinds HIS FUCKING DICK into my leg and tells me) c'mon, you need me.
Me: Ha! (Literally, laughing, loudly, almost cackling, in hysterics) Please, little BOY, I'm old enough to be your mother if I got started young enough. I don't play with BOYS, I only play with MEN. You need a whole lot more growing to do. Get your little COOKIES (said with the term of innuendo to it) on out of here.
The kid was so embarrassed he did pack up the cookies and leave.
Then, when I went to visit another branch, some NAKED man was running around. The guy was in the bathroom and stripped down. A patron walked in and basically said, "OH HELL NO" or the equivalent of that. I can't say exactly, since I wasn't there. I can just imagine what I would say, and it would be, "OH HELL NO." That patron alerted the security guard. The security guard (who is great, thank fuck) went into the restroom and told the patron to put his clothes on. The patron decided that was clearly not in his course of action for the day and ran out of the branch naked. None of us did anything. We were too shocked. Naked people also seem to be running faster than clothed people. Or, are the clothed people just seeing everything else around them in slow motion except for the naked person running? Either way, would you want to tackle the naked crazy guy? FUCK NO! We just let him run out of the door, at least he was gone that way. That's management smarts right there.
To top it off (no pun intended), a chronic porn freak (well, ok, who doesn't like sex, but looking at porn in a public library and jacking it is gross) decided to hit up three branches and spew love juice everywhere.
The next time you visit the library, I suggest a can of mace, a taser, and some hand sanitizer. Please don't bring me any cookies, it freaks me out.
I noticed a teenage boy standing at the computer, dancing, screaming to Big Meech. Yes, I'm white. Yes, I know who Big Meech is. Yes, this shocks the kids, because apparently, nerdy white girl librarians in plaid skirts shouldn't know who Big Meech is, but the problem is not with Big Meech, because that's a whole separate blog entry, but that in fact, YOU ARE STANDING UP AND SCREAMING A BIG MEECH SONG (or any song) UP IN THE MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARY.
A library is not that place for that. Shut the hell up.
So, I scrunched up my face, wondering where the fuck security was, thinking that this is something that they should really be handling. But, because I am super fucking librarian in plaid, my philosophy is that if I see it, I handle it. So, I told the boy to sit down.
He looked at me and told me "Baby, chill."
I love that the reaction to me, my age, my status, to this little shitrat making noise is "baby, chill." I swear to God, tasers should be issued in library shcool. I think that I am going to begin a campaign to library schools across America that "Effective Use of a Taser" be taught as a one day workshop for librarians.
Incredulous (but hiding that look from my face), but ready to rip this little shit's snotty grin off his face, "I am not your baby, and you need to sit down or leave."
Shitrat: Awww, honey, c'mon, I'm not hurtin no one. Have some cookies. (He starts laughing.)
Me (seething with rage, cookies? Honey? The problem is that he gets that attitude at home and thinks that he can throw out a few cutesy words to women when they're mad. And mind you, this little shitrat is 16): I am not your honey, babe, whatever, I'm the branch manager and you need to go.
Shitrat: What, why do I need to go? You don't want to hang with me? (At this point, he gets up close to me, grinds HIS FUCKING DICK into my leg and tells me) c'mon, you need me.
Me: Ha! (Literally, laughing, loudly, almost cackling, in hysterics) Please, little BOY, I'm old enough to be your mother if I got started young enough. I don't play with BOYS, I only play with MEN. You need a whole lot more growing to do. Get your little COOKIES (said with the term of innuendo to it) on out of here.
The kid was so embarrassed he did pack up the cookies and leave.
Then, when I went to visit another branch, some NAKED man was running around. The guy was in the bathroom and stripped down. A patron walked in and basically said, "OH HELL NO" or the equivalent of that. I can't say exactly, since I wasn't there. I can just imagine what I would say, and it would be, "OH HELL NO." That patron alerted the security guard. The security guard (who is great, thank fuck) went into the restroom and told the patron to put his clothes on. The patron decided that was clearly not in his course of action for the day and ran out of the branch naked. None of us did anything. We were too shocked. Naked people also seem to be running faster than clothed people. Or, are the clothed people just seeing everything else around them in slow motion except for the naked person running? Either way, would you want to tackle the naked crazy guy? FUCK NO! We just let him run out of the door, at least he was gone that way. That's management smarts right there.
To top it off (no pun intended), a chronic porn freak (well, ok, who doesn't like sex, but looking at porn in a public library and jacking it is gross) decided to hit up three branches and spew love juice everywhere.
The next time you visit the library, I suggest a can of mace, a taser, and some hand sanitizer. Please don't bring me any cookies, it freaks me out.
08 August 2010
"Honey, You Put the LIE, in my LIEberrian."
That's lie...or lay, as in, like the Biblical sense. Boomshaklalakalakaboomboom. Ewww.
Maybe it's the shoes, maybe it's the skirt, maybe it's my ALABOOBS, but holyshitballs on a cracker, this week was LILF. That's "Librarian I'd Like to Fuck" for those of you who are not familiar with the vernacular.
The week started out with a kid pissing his pants. Then the piss dribbled down his leg, all over the chair, on the floor, piss was everwhere. I got into an argument with the custodian over who was going to clean the piss. First of all, the last time I checked, I'm the branch manager, so I am directing you to clean the piss.
CLEAN THE PISS.
Second of all, I am the branch manager and I have 10,000 other things to do during a given day that doesn't include cleaning piss. Besides, I'm wearing a skirt and $300 shoes.
CLEAN THE PISS.
So, yes, I thought it was going to be one of those bodily function issue weeks. I was wrong. See, sometimes weeks have themes and this theme really threw me for a curveball after the piss. But, it was definitely a LILF week.
Frog Face Fucker set the tide turning from piss to LILF. He materialized out of nowhere on Tuesday morning and decided to stare down my shirt. He doesn't say anything whenever he shows up. He just...materializes. He stands in front of my desk with his eyes bulging out and looks like he's going to croak (no pun intended). Of course, my first reaction when I see the shadow is to ask if the person needs help. Then, when I see who it is, I just get up and walk off the floor. It's so weird and uncomfortable because FFF doesn't talk. He just stares. He checks out his movies and just stares. You can ask him questions and he doesn't answer. He just stares. I know that he can talk about he was bitching about his copies being too dark and wanted a refund. I think that he's just too overwhelmed by ALABOOBS to speak?
The second asshat was a real piece of work. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem.
Yes, you read that correctly. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem. Let me offer the disclaimer that I went to library school. I didn't go to HVAC school. I don't know anything about HVAC other than when it's not working. In this case, it wasn't working. It was 85 degrees inside, which, to me, was a pretty good indicator that the air conditioning about as far away from working as it could be. So, as I'm standing around giving my expert opinion on HVAC in a hot pink and black ensemble with Cole Haan black patent leather heels, an older man walks up to me and declares (and by declares, I mean "SHOUTS AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS SO THE ENTIRE BRANCH CAN HEAR HIM") "OH MY! I'm so glad that they decided to hire a pretty, young librarian up here."
At this point, he grabs my hand and lays a big, ol' smacker on it.
Half-seething, holding my rage and disgust in (how dare you decide to touch me, let alone grab my hand and kiss me, you assvest?), I used my patented line of "Did you need help finding anything?"
Since he was older than dirt, he wanted westerns. He told me that since I was so nice and pretty and was looking so good for him, that he would be sure to check out more just for me. *WINK WINK WINK* Then, of course, a staff person had to tell him that I was the new branch manager, so his old man cane was standing at full attention at that one. Nothing like a woman in a position of power to get those westerns to him faster. Down tiger.
Of course, before he left, he was sure to give me his library card in case I wanted to order any other books for him. "I'm sure whatever you order for me will be fine, babydoll."
First of all, I am not your babydoll, your sweetie, your honey, darlin, toots, or cootchie. I AM YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARIAN. DON'T EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN BECAUSE IF YOU DID THAT IN A BAR, I'D CHUG THE REST OF MY DRINK AND THROW MY ICE IN YOUR FACE AND THEN KICK YOU IN THE BALLS, YOU NASTY ASS CREEPER. Don't give me your library card number and phone number in case I want to call you. I don't. I won't. We have an automated system to call you. I'd rather have my head stapled to the carpet than call you for anything. Trust me on this one. And get the hell away from me.
The third creeper brought me a pie; a friggin' peach pie. How disgustingly symbolic. He schlepped up to the reference desk and told me that he noticed I was new. He said that he wanted to bring me pie because he said I just looked good. All that I could think of was the scene from American Pie. I make it a rule not to eat food from patrons, I'll normally donate it to charity or give it to the kids to eat, but I was terrified that this was going to be jizz pie and not peach pie, so I threw it out.
Later that afternoon, he came back to ask me if I liked the pie. I said that I was just too busy and didn't get a chance to eat it and that he shouldn't bring staff treats. He said he wasn't bringing it for staff, he was bringing it for me. I grimaced. I said, "OH, I couldn't eat a whole pie in the morning." He told me that I needed to eat to keep up my strength to be a great librarian. Oh, for pete's sakes. Then, he dropped off a tray of cookies. I tried to stifle the look of horror from my face because, honestly, the guy was giving off serial killer vibe and I pictured myself biting into a cookie, foaming at the mouth, then being locked in a basement somewhere Hanibal Lecter style.
I told the man to please stop brining us food. He smiled at me like a creeper, like he was thinking of having butt sex with my in the library meeting room. I wanted to take a shower. Seriously, you could tell he was mentally doing gross things to me. I got up and walked off the floor. I threw the cookies out in the staff room. He may have heard me throw them out, I don't care. Just get the hell away from me. I doused my hands in Purell, headed back out to the reference floor, started ordering DVDs for the branch, felt a shadow cross over the desk, and realized it was Frog Faced Fucker. I'm beginning to suspect he's organizing his army of creepers to kidnap me.
I think I'm going to get myself microchipped in case I missing.
Maybe it's the shoes, maybe it's the skirt, maybe it's my ALABOOBS, but holyshitballs on a cracker, this week was LILF. That's "Librarian I'd Like to Fuck" for those of you who are not familiar with the vernacular.
The week started out with a kid pissing his pants. Then the piss dribbled down his leg, all over the chair, on the floor, piss was everwhere. I got into an argument with the custodian over who was going to clean the piss. First of all, the last time I checked, I'm the branch manager, so I am directing you to clean the piss.
CLEAN THE PISS.
Second of all, I am the branch manager and I have 10,000 other things to do during a given day that doesn't include cleaning piss. Besides, I'm wearing a skirt and $300 shoes.
CLEAN THE PISS.
So, yes, I thought it was going to be one of those bodily function issue weeks. I was wrong. See, sometimes weeks have themes and this theme really threw me for a curveball after the piss. But, it was definitely a LILF week.
Frog Face Fucker set the tide turning from piss to LILF. He materialized out of nowhere on Tuesday morning and decided to stare down my shirt. He doesn't say anything whenever he shows up. He just...materializes. He stands in front of my desk with his eyes bulging out and looks like he's going to croak (no pun intended). Of course, my first reaction when I see the shadow is to ask if the person needs help. Then, when I see who it is, I just get up and walk off the floor. It's so weird and uncomfortable because FFF doesn't talk. He just stares. He checks out his movies and just stares. You can ask him questions and he doesn't answer. He just stares. I know that he can talk about he was bitching about his copies being too dark and wanted a refund. I think that he's just too overwhelmed by ALABOOBS to speak?
The second asshat was a real piece of work. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem.
Yes, you read that correctly. I was being asked my opinion on an HVAC problem. Let me offer the disclaimer that I went to library school. I didn't go to HVAC school. I don't know anything about HVAC other than when it's not working. In this case, it wasn't working. It was 85 degrees inside, which, to me, was a pretty good indicator that the air conditioning about as far away from working as it could be. So, as I'm standing around giving my expert opinion on HVAC in a hot pink and black ensemble with Cole Haan black patent leather heels, an older man walks up to me and declares (and by declares, I mean "SHOUTS AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS SO THE ENTIRE BRANCH CAN HEAR HIM") "OH MY! I'm so glad that they decided to hire a pretty, young librarian up here."
At this point, he grabs my hand and lays a big, ol' smacker on it.
Half-seething, holding my rage and disgust in (how dare you decide to touch me, let alone grab my hand and kiss me, you assvest?), I used my patented line of "Did you need help finding anything?"
Since he was older than dirt, he wanted westerns. He told me that since I was so nice and pretty and was looking so good for him, that he would be sure to check out more just for me. *WINK WINK WINK* Then, of course, a staff person had to tell him that I was the new branch manager, so his old man cane was standing at full attention at that one. Nothing like a woman in a position of power to get those westerns to him faster. Down tiger.
Of course, before he left, he was sure to give me his library card in case I wanted to order any other books for him. "I'm sure whatever you order for me will be fine, babydoll."
First of all, I am not your babydoll, your sweetie, your honey, darlin, toots, or cootchie. I AM YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIBRARIAN. DON'T EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN BECAUSE IF YOU DID THAT IN A BAR, I'D CHUG THE REST OF MY DRINK AND THROW MY ICE IN YOUR FACE AND THEN KICK YOU IN THE BALLS, YOU NASTY ASS CREEPER. Don't give me your library card number and phone number in case I want to call you. I don't. I won't. We have an automated system to call you. I'd rather have my head stapled to the carpet than call you for anything. Trust me on this one. And get the hell away from me.
The third creeper brought me a pie; a friggin' peach pie. How disgustingly symbolic. He schlepped up to the reference desk and told me that he noticed I was new. He said that he wanted to bring me pie because he said I just looked good. All that I could think of was the scene from American Pie. I make it a rule not to eat food from patrons, I'll normally donate it to charity or give it to the kids to eat, but I was terrified that this was going to be jizz pie and not peach pie, so I threw it out.
Later that afternoon, he came back to ask me if I liked the pie. I said that I was just too busy and didn't get a chance to eat it and that he shouldn't bring staff treats. He said he wasn't bringing it for staff, he was bringing it for me. I grimaced. I said, "OH, I couldn't eat a whole pie in the morning." He told me that I needed to eat to keep up my strength to be a great librarian. Oh, for pete's sakes. Then, he dropped off a tray of cookies. I tried to stifle the look of horror from my face because, honestly, the guy was giving off serial killer vibe and I pictured myself biting into a cookie, foaming at the mouth, then being locked in a basement somewhere Hanibal Lecter style.
I told the man to please stop brining us food. He smiled at me like a creeper, like he was thinking of having butt sex with my in the library meeting room. I wanted to take a shower. Seriously, you could tell he was mentally doing gross things to me. I got up and walked off the floor. I threw the cookies out in the staff room. He may have heard me throw them out, I don't care. Just get the hell away from me. I doused my hands in Purell, headed back out to the reference floor, started ordering DVDs for the branch, felt a shadow cross over the desk, and realized it was Frog Faced Fucker. I'm beginning to suspect he's organizing his army of creepers to kidnap me.
I think I'm going to get myself microchipped in case I missing.
20 July 2010
Your Copies Are Dark Like My SOUL
I was working on a big weeding project today. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy sitting at a table with many pieces of paper spread out to cover the entire surface area of the table. He was shufflig the receipts as if he was playing Solitaire. He also had several notepads, folders, and large pieces of paper with him. Generally, when I see people doing this, I find it best not to make eye contact, to move swiftly, and to get far away. Because, these paper shufflers are up to something and they WILL try to rope you into "it," whatever "it" may be. "It" may be stapling, "it" may be helping them alphabatize, but whatever "it" is, you don't want to do "it."
At some point of zinging by this man on my way to my office, I saw him start to get up and approach the circulation desk. I was actually in the middle of eating my raisins, which I really needed before I passed out from hunger, so I wasn't about to go out there and listen to his rambling. I heard the girl behind the desk talking. "No, sir, I'm sorry, we don't give refunds for copies."
Guy: But, but, these are too dark, I can't see, these copies are ruined, ruined, I need a refund!
Girl: Well, the manager is on a call right now (she knew I was eating raisins, bless her heart for letting me finish my snack), when she's done, you can speak with her.
Guy: Fine. The manager. Yes, THE MANAGER! I'll wait for her.
Of course now I don't want to finish my raisins because what's the point? I just have to go out there and listen to this garbage, so I'll face the music and enjoy my raisins later. In my experience, I tend to walk back out to the floor somewhat clueless, like I heard nothing, like I'm innocent, like I didn't hear the whole exchange, like I already don't know that the guy is full of shit. I just didn't realize how full of shit he was until we really got to talking.
Let me preface this by saying the they guy had on these ridiculous Coke-bottle glasses, plaid shirt and kinda looked like an African American frog.
Frog Face: These copies are too dark. I can't read them at all.
Me: I'm sorry. All of them are too dark? [He had like 100 pages!]
Frog Face: Yes.
Me: Oh, well, again, I'm sorry, but you should have asked for help. [We don't have the automatic super-speed copier that makes all of your copies at once, you have to do it manually and it takes forever. You would notice after a few copies if they were too dark and say something. I smelled an "I want free copies" rat.]
Frog Face: Well, I want a refund.
Me: Actually, we don't give refunds for copies. I can offer you 25 free copies the next time you're in, but we don't have the money to issue that kind of refund in the branch.
Frog Face: You don't have money?
Me: Not in the branch.
Frog Face: What about you?
Me: [What the hell? Are you going to rob me? I have a dollar, a bottle opener, and a Discovercard] Uhh, no, and I don't give refunds for the library out of my personal income. My recommendation to you sir is that if you make one bad copy that you can't read, you should stop and ask the staff for help rather than making 99 more bad copies.
Frog Face: Well, what am I supposed to do with these copies?
Me: Let me see them. [This is ridiculous. There is no way for me to refund him. I can't give him the money, the damned change is in the copier, I can't get it out, what does he want, a free movie rental? Oh, wait.] You know, yes, they are a little dark, but you can still read them.
Frog Face: Can't you just give me $10 on my printer card?
Me: No, because those are separate inventories.
Frog Face: Oh. Fine. I guess I can read these. [Takes copies and totters off].
I love how he went from being unable to read them to them being fine after I wasn't able to refund them because I refused to budge. You picked the wrong librarian buddy. I could see if you screwed up 10 copies, but 100? C'mon. The other thing is that our stupid, old, clunky copier still defaults to medium setting after each copy is made, so this idiot purposely had to make them darker, but not too dark so he couldn't read them, so he could complain. He probably figured I looked like an idiot and a pushover because I'm young. Oh wait, that was the other lady that told me she was glad to see the branch had a new assistant. Oh, hi, no, ma'am, I'm the new branch manager. Cue mouth agape.
Anyway, three hours goes by since copy explosion. Three hours in which I eat lunch, do more weeding, talk to a parent about some little shitrats bullying his kids in the branch, hear about another shooting with AK47s in the neighborhood, wish that I was home, etc.
Around 6, I noticed a shadow cross over my desk and stand there, so, I look up. It's Frog Face. He never left! He was just standing there staring at me; because, that's not creepy. That's a perfectly reasonable way to get the librarian's attention: just stand there and stare at her boobs. I do it all of the time when I visit a library out of town. Rather than continue to be oogled, I asked if he needed help with anything.
Frog Face: Do you have books on DVD?
Me: [This could mean several things, so I use my whack reference skills to narrow this down] Do you want books that were made into movies?
Frog Face: No. I didn't say that. I want books on DVD. You know, books on D [pause] V [pause} D [pause}. [Wow, those pauses really helped clarify].
Frog Face: So, you don't want audiobooks [a lot of people confuse DVD/CD and given this guy's technology track record with the copier, I figured I would double check].
Frog Face: No, no, books on DVD.
Me: Do you want books about DVD players?
Frog Face: Yes, that's what I want.
Me: [Genius reference librarian of the year! Honestly though, couldn't he have said, do you have books about dvd players? CLARITY people.] You probably would be best off with Consumer Reports. The information changes so much, you might want to check out their issue on DVD players, they also have an issue with BluRay, are you interested in that?
Frog Face: Oh, yeah, show me everything you have.
Me: [Hands over the stack, sits him down in a chair, and he stays until close, taking his 'unreadable, too dark copies' with him].
At some point of zinging by this man on my way to my office, I saw him start to get up and approach the circulation desk. I was actually in the middle of eating my raisins, which I really needed before I passed out from hunger, so I wasn't about to go out there and listen to his rambling. I heard the girl behind the desk talking. "No, sir, I'm sorry, we don't give refunds for copies."
Guy: But, but, these are too dark, I can't see, these copies are ruined, ruined, I need a refund!
Girl: Well, the manager is on a call right now (she knew I was eating raisins, bless her heart for letting me finish my snack), when she's done, you can speak with her.
Guy: Fine. The manager. Yes, THE MANAGER! I'll wait for her.
Of course now I don't want to finish my raisins because what's the point? I just have to go out there and listen to this garbage, so I'll face the music and enjoy my raisins later. In my experience, I tend to walk back out to the floor somewhat clueless, like I heard nothing, like I'm innocent, like I didn't hear the whole exchange, like I already don't know that the guy is full of shit. I just didn't realize how full of shit he was until we really got to talking.
Let me preface this by saying the they guy had on these ridiculous Coke-bottle glasses, plaid shirt and kinda looked like an African American frog.
Frog Face: These copies are too dark. I can't read them at all.
Me: I'm sorry. All of them are too dark? [He had like 100 pages!]
Frog Face: Yes.
Me: Oh, well, again, I'm sorry, but you should have asked for help. [We don't have the automatic super-speed copier that makes all of your copies at once, you have to do it manually and it takes forever. You would notice after a few copies if they were too dark and say something. I smelled an "I want free copies" rat.]
Frog Face: Well, I want a refund.
Me: Actually, we don't give refunds for copies. I can offer you 25 free copies the next time you're in, but we don't have the money to issue that kind of refund in the branch.
Frog Face: You don't have money?
Me: Not in the branch.
Frog Face: What about you?
Me: [What the hell? Are you going to rob me? I have a dollar, a bottle opener, and a Discovercard] Uhh, no, and I don't give refunds for the library out of my personal income. My recommendation to you sir is that if you make one bad copy that you can't read, you should stop and ask the staff for help rather than making 99 more bad copies.
Frog Face: Well, what am I supposed to do with these copies?
Me: Let me see them. [This is ridiculous. There is no way for me to refund him. I can't give him the money, the damned change is in the copier, I can't get it out, what does he want, a free movie rental? Oh, wait.] You know, yes, they are a little dark, but you can still read them.
Frog Face: Can't you just give me $10 on my printer card?
Me: No, because those are separate inventories.
Frog Face: Oh. Fine. I guess I can read these. [Takes copies and totters off].
I love how he went from being unable to read them to them being fine after I wasn't able to refund them because I refused to budge. You picked the wrong librarian buddy. I could see if you screwed up 10 copies, but 100? C'mon. The other thing is that our stupid, old, clunky copier still defaults to medium setting after each copy is made, so this idiot purposely had to make them darker, but not too dark so he couldn't read them, so he could complain. He probably figured I looked like an idiot and a pushover because I'm young. Oh wait, that was the other lady that told me she was glad to see the branch had a new assistant. Oh, hi, no, ma'am, I'm the new branch manager. Cue mouth agape.
Anyway, three hours goes by since copy explosion. Three hours in which I eat lunch, do more weeding, talk to a parent about some little shitrats bullying his kids in the branch, hear about another shooting with AK47s in the neighborhood, wish that I was home, etc.
Around 6, I noticed a shadow cross over my desk and stand there, so, I look up. It's Frog Face. He never left! He was just standing there staring at me; because, that's not creepy. That's a perfectly reasonable way to get the librarian's attention: just stand there and stare at her boobs. I do it all of the time when I visit a library out of town. Rather than continue to be oogled, I asked if he needed help with anything.
Frog Face: Do you have books on DVD?
Me: [This could mean several things, so I use my whack reference skills to narrow this down] Do you want books that were made into movies?
Frog Face: No. I didn't say that. I want books on DVD. You know, books on D [pause] V [pause} D [pause}. [Wow, those pauses really helped clarify].
Frog Face: So, you don't want audiobooks [a lot of people confuse DVD/CD and given this guy's technology track record with the copier, I figured I would double check].
Frog Face: No, no, books on DVD.
Me: Do you want books about DVD players?
Frog Face: Yes, that's what I want.
Me: [Genius reference librarian of the year! Honestly though, couldn't he have said, do you have books about dvd players? CLARITY people.] You probably would be best off with Consumer Reports. The information changes so much, you might want to check out their issue on DVD players, they also have an issue with BluRay, are you interested in that?
Frog Face: Oh, yeah, show me everything you have.
Me: [Hands over the stack, sits him down in a chair, and he stays until close, taking his 'unreadable, too dark copies' with him].
19 July 2010
Abraham Lincoln & The Declaration of Independence
Moron number one of the day would be the guy that practically pushed me over while I was outside locking the book drop to get inside to a computer at 9:30ish. He proceeded to talk on the phone the entire time that he was fucking around on Myspace. Sorry dude, but if you're like 50 and that's the highlight of your morning, you are fucking beyond help.
Moron number two comes in nicely dressed, complete with cap and sunglasses. He is smiling and holding something in his hand. My snazzy reference librarian senses tell me that he wants me to appraise whatever this item is in his hand because of the way he's holding it and looking at it. The item is also wrapped in a plastic baggie to protect it from the morning's drizzles. Joy. I hate these kinds of questions because 10 times out of 10, the person has crap.
So, I put on my "like I give a shit" face and let him give me his spiel. For your enjoyment, I will transcribe this interaction for you.
Moron #2: Oh man, look what I have here. [Holds up object in plastic bag.] I need you to take a look at something.
Me: Ok.
M#2: [Takes the 'something' out of the plastic bag and I see that it's some sort of faux-parchment paper and can no longer keep the "like I give a shit" grin on my face because well, I don't.] Look at this! LOOK WHO SIGNED THIS! [He points to "signature" of Abraham Lincoln.]
Me: Well, I doubt that's authentic. [Seriously, I went to bed at 2:30 in the morning, I'm cutting the bullshit out and getting right to the point, I don't have time to dance around this issue, we're cutting to the chase here], there are a lot of mass-produced documents that are made to look old. That looks like it was done with a laser printer--see how the writing is very even and smooth? However, I recommended contacting an antique dealer or maybe even the art museum if you really think it's real because I'm not qualified to evalute those sorts of things. But, honestly, I've seen a lot of these things in magazines and stuff like that, I just don't want you to waste your time.
M#2: [He is totally crestfallen, which, people who are dumb enough to believe that shit is real, usually are because they see their lavish lifestyle with booty girls, Cristal and Sean Combs go out the window.] Oh, even if it's signed by Abraham Lincoln? This is like the Declaration of Independence.
Me: Well, the signature can also be forged, or someone could have made a copy of it and just put it on there. Usually the whole document is mass produced. Let me get you some phone numbers of people that are more qualified to evaluate documents [in my head, I'm thinking 'total shit'] like yours.
M#2: Yeah, yeah, yeah, do that. I got all day free and I'm gonna go find out more. I mean, if you aren't qualified, I could be missing out on some cash here. I mean, look at the condition of this! This is real valuable right here.
I just feel bad for the next person that he hits up to investigate his parchment...
So, now more people...
Moron number two comes in nicely dressed, complete with cap and sunglasses. He is smiling and holding something in his hand. My snazzy reference librarian senses tell me that he wants me to appraise whatever this item is in his hand because of the way he's holding it and looking at it. The item is also wrapped in a plastic baggie to protect it from the morning's drizzles. Joy. I hate these kinds of questions because 10 times out of 10, the person has crap.
So, I put on my "like I give a shit" face and let him give me his spiel. For your enjoyment, I will transcribe this interaction for you.
Moron #2: Oh man, look what I have here. [Holds up object in plastic bag.] I need you to take a look at something.
Me: Ok.
M#2: [Takes the 'something' out of the plastic bag and I see that it's some sort of faux-parchment paper and can no longer keep the "like I give a shit" grin on my face because well, I don't.] Look at this! LOOK WHO SIGNED THIS! [He points to "signature" of Abraham Lincoln.]
Me: Well, I doubt that's authentic. [Seriously, I went to bed at 2:30 in the morning, I'm cutting the bullshit out and getting right to the point, I don't have time to dance around this issue, we're cutting to the chase here], there are a lot of mass-produced documents that are made to look old. That looks like it was done with a laser printer--see how the writing is very even and smooth? However, I recommended contacting an antique dealer or maybe even the art museum if you really think it's real because I'm not qualified to evalute those sorts of things. But, honestly, I've seen a lot of these things in magazines and stuff like that, I just don't want you to waste your time.
M#2: [He is totally crestfallen, which, people who are dumb enough to believe that shit is real, usually are because they see their lavish lifestyle with booty girls, Cristal and Sean Combs go out the window.] Oh, even if it's signed by Abraham Lincoln? This is like the Declaration of Independence.
Me: Well, the signature can also be forged, or someone could have made a copy of it and just put it on there. Usually the whole document is mass produced. Let me get you some phone numbers of people that are more qualified to evaluate documents [in my head, I'm thinking 'total shit'] like yours.
M#2: Yeah, yeah, yeah, do that. I got all day free and I'm gonna go find out more. I mean, if you aren't qualified, I could be missing out on some cash here. I mean, look at the condition of this! This is real valuable right here.
I just feel bad for the next person that he hits up to investigate his parchment...
So, now more people...
17 July 2010
A Day in the Life of Library Manager
9:30-9:50 Realize that there is gang graffiti on the computers in the lab. No custodians are in on Saturdays. So, I spend ten minutes with good ol' elbow grease and realize that the shit isn't coming off. Then, I find some extra-strength 'removes all including your skin' stuff. Hey, it removes the finish off the computers too! Bonus: what does "trap" mean?
9:51-9:53 Put toxic stuff back in custodial closet and decide to wash my hands before my skin peels off. Realize I wasted 20 minutes cleaning gang graffiti from various places and that I need to go to payroll.
10:00 Work on payroll stuff. Pretty standard, pretty boring.
11:05 Boy runs into branch with water balloon. There goes productivity. Good thing I had an hour to be productive. Ask kid what is wrong with picture. Kid has to stop and think. The world is doomed.
11:14 Idiot decides to print out porn. I've had it out with this idiot about viewing "offensive" images in the library. Security guard hands me print-outs of "offensive" images and I shred porn freak's hopes and dreams, tell him not to come back to any branch for the rest of the day. Also tell him that he's being charged for the copies. He leaves, looks ashamed. Good. You should be. Fucking pervert.
11:27 Another boy runs into branch. Proclaims that it is hot outside and that he needs water. Proceedes to run to drinking fountain. Runs out of branch with wet head.
11:52 Trying to finish payroll stuff. Little whiney girls asks me how she can watch tv. I suggest she read. She whines that she wants to watch tv. Did I ever mention that I am not a children's librarian? I never was a children's librarian? I am not amused by kids. I don't think they're cute. They annoy me, especially when they want to watch tv in the library. Go. Read. A. Book. I'm. Doing. Payroll. JESUSHCHRIST.
11:54 Because the kid won't shut the hell up, I get up to try to figure out what she wants. I look at her website and I have no clue what she's talking about. I tell her to click around. In the meantime, another kid starts tugging at my pantleg. Really? Is that necessary? What was so important? She HAD to show me her avatar. Did I mention I'm not a children's librarian? I'm a manager. Who has to do payroll. Not a children's person. Manager. Payroll. Money.
12:41 Guy walks into branch with his shirt totally unbuttoned, wearing swimtrunks, an Asian rice hat, a back pack, and asked us if he wanted cheesecake. How would I know. What the hell?!
1:00 Lunch. Thank you, makers of Lean Pockets.
2:00-3:00 Shift and weed fiction. This was a ruse to hide from irritating children. I still heard them and I had tell them to stop hitting each other, screaming, throwing things, touching each other, etc., etc. So, clearly, that didn't work so well. But, I did get the fiction shifted. LIBRARIAN POWER!
3:15ish Weed and re-sticker books. The excitement.
4:43 I told a boy to put away his juice bottle so it woulnd't spill and make a sticky mess. I hate being sticky. I'm always sticky. I don't want to be sticky at work. I suggest putting it in his pockets. He tells me he can't. I ask why? "Because there are cheeseburgers in there."
4:51 Thug looking boy is listening to and singing along with Justin Bieber. I don't even know what to say to that. Justien Bieber is like a cockroach that has genetically mutated so that bug spray can't kill it.
5:00ish The cheeseburger boy and group get bored. They do something wrong, I'm not sure, the guard tells them to head on out for the day. So, what's the normal response? Run out of the library, screaming, swearing, and then throw apples at the building. Something tells me it wasn't cheeseburgers in that little shit's pockets...
Did I ever mention that I am not a children's librarian? I never was a children's librarian? Yeah.
I still say we can blame this on Justin Bieber.
9:51-9:53 Put toxic stuff back in custodial closet and decide to wash my hands before my skin peels off. Realize I wasted 20 minutes cleaning gang graffiti from various places and that I need to go to payroll.
10:00 Work on payroll stuff. Pretty standard, pretty boring.
11:05 Boy runs into branch with water balloon. There goes productivity. Good thing I had an hour to be productive. Ask kid what is wrong with picture. Kid has to stop and think. The world is doomed.
11:14 Idiot decides to print out porn. I've had it out with this idiot about viewing "offensive" images in the library. Security guard hands me print-outs of "offensive" images and I shred porn freak's hopes and dreams, tell him not to come back to any branch for the rest of the day. Also tell him that he's being charged for the copies. He leaves, looks ashamed. Good. You should be. Fucking pervert.
11:27 Another boy runs into branch. Proclaims that it is hot outside and that he needs water. Proceedes to run to drinking fountain. Runs out of branch with wet head.
11:52 Trying to finish payroll stuff. Little whiney girls asks me how she can watch tv. I suggest she read. She whines that she wants to watch tv. Did I ever mention that I am not a children's librarian? I never was a children's librarian? I am not amused by kids. I don't think they're cute. They annoy me, especially when they want to watch tv in the library. Go. Read. A. Book. I'm. Doing. Payroll. JESUSHCHRIST.
11:54 Because the kid won't shut the hell up, I get up to try to figure out what she wants. I look at her website and I have no clue what she's talking about. I tell her to click around. In the meantime, another kid starts tugging at my pantleg. Really? Is that necessary? What was so important? She HAD to show me her avatar. Did I mention I'm not a children's librarian? I'm a manager. Who has to do payroll. Not a children's person. Manager. Payroll. Money.
12:41 Guy walks into branch with his shirt totally unbuttoned, wearing swimtrunks, an Asian rice hat, a back pack, and asked us if he wanted cheesecake. How would I know. What the hell?!
1:00 Lunch. Thank you, makers of Lean Pockets.
2:00-3:00 Shift and weed fiction. This was a ruse to hide from irritating children. I still heard them and I had tell them to stop hitting each other, screaming, throwing things, touching each other, etc., etc. So, clearly, that didn't work so well. But, I did get the fiction shifted. LIBRARIAN POWER!
3:15ish Weed and re-sticker books. The excitement.
4:43 I told a boy to put away his juice bottle so it woulnd't spill and make a sticky mess. I hate being sticky. I'm always sticky. I don't want to be sticky at work. I suggest putting it in his pockets. He tells me he can't. I ask why? "Because there are cheeseburgers in there."
4:51 Thug looking boy is listening to and singing along with Justin Bieber. I don't even know what to say to that. Justien Bieber is like a cockroach that has genetically mutated so that bug spray can't kill it.
5:00ish The cheeseburger boy and group get bored. They do something wrong, I'm not sure, the guard tells them to head on out for the day. So, what's the normal response? Run out of the library, screaming, swearing, and then throw apples at the building. Something tells me it wasn't cheeseburgers in that little shit's pockets...Did I ever mention that I am not a children's librarian? I never was a children's librarian? Yeah.
I still say we can blame this on Justin Bieber.
24 June 2010
Dressed to Impress
The library had quite the assortment of fashionistas today. I mean, was a third Sex and the City being filmed? Was SJP/Carrie Bradshaw being stowed away in the meeting room piled up on pillows, Botox, and martinis?
Our first contestant down the catwalk, was--well, MEEEEEEEE-OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW-- because girlfriend was looking HOT!
Ooooo, a hot mess!
Eat your heart out, Mr. Blackwell.
Is he dead? I kinda hope so, since, really, I don't feel like being sued. But, if you aren't dead, I'm a librarian, so after the student loan payment goes through, I'll give you my last five dollars, old man. If you really want blood from a turnip, I'll cut you a deal, I'll knit you a scarf for your old man neck so it doesn't get cold. Even? Good. MOVING ON.
So, hot mess girlfriend thought she had IT going ON. She strolled in the library wearing a hot pink halter top with it ALL hanging out. She even had hot pants on. She moved too fast for me to get to check out her footwear. Then again, given what was going on the chest region, who had time to check out the footwear.
Like Usher says:
Honey got them boobies like WOW WOW WOW.
Well, when you're 50 and you don't wear a bra, the WOW WOW WOW noise comes from your knees hitting the boobies. No amount of halter/support/whateveryouwanttocall it was going to help her. She wasn't in long. She must have sensed that we weren't on to her boobie/knee music jamboree.
The second individual strolled in looking like he wandered off the set of the Hangover 2. He had on a tux, with a cobalt blue vest, complete with bow tie. As he greeted everyone in the branch (I'm still not sure what this was about because at first I thought he was a politician, then I realized he was probably just nuts), I noticed a few teef up front missing. See, Hangover Part 2. He wasn't in the library for very long either, he needed to get his "papers" and then left. Whatever that meant. I'm not sure who walks into a library wearing a tux, says hi to everyone, then announces loudly that he needs "papers" and then leaves, but I don't care because it's funny.
The third dominatrix to stroll down our catwalk was the loveliest of them all. She insisted: "Sista, you give me two crisp dollar bills" through her mouth of no teeth while she jangled her change.
Now, let me add the disclaimer in here before the American Dental Association and every other hippie dippy nonsensical lovechild comes after me to tell me that I hate people with no teeth. Or that I hate poor people. Or that I hate: (FILL IN THE BLANK).
Here's what I hate: I hate people that are persistent jerks and rude. I have perfectly sweet and lovely patrons with the worst teeth on this planet, or, in some cases, no teeth. But, perfectly sweet and lovely patrons don't make good blog stories. So, before you get your panties in a camel toe or ruin those fancy WalMart tighty whities, think about that or just stop reading, ok?
Now that I have stepped off my soapbox and back on to the runway, Miss Crackhead America 2010 DEMANDED that this SISTA (I'm white, can I be a SISTA?) give her two crisp bills. To humor her, I looked in the change bin and till to see what we had. We didn't have the bills and the till was low on change.
Do you know what Miss Crackhead America 2010 had the nerve to do?
Roll her eyes at me and tell me I'm a fucking bitch.
Yes, I got a master's degree for this.
I'm actually telling myself that it's just the full moon. Because, I already drank a fifth of vodka this week. I'd like to not pickle my liver by the time I'm 50.
Our first contestant down the catwalk, was--well, MEEEEEEEE-OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW-- because girlfriend was looking HOT! Ooooo, a hot mess!
Eat your heart out, Mr. Blackwell.
Is he dead? I kinda hope so, since, really, I don't feel like being sued. But, if you aren't dead, I'm a librarian, so after the student loan payment goes through, I'll give you my last five dollars, old man. If you really want blood from a turnip, I'll cut you a deal, I'll knit you a scarf for your old man neck so it doesn't get cold. Even? Good. MOVING ON.
So, hot mess girlfriend thought she had IT going ON. She strolled in the library wearing a hot pink halter top with it ALL hanging out. She even had hot pants on. She moved too fast for me to get to check out her footwear. Then again, given what was going on the chest region, who had time to check out the footwear.
Like Usher says:Honey got them boobies like WOW WOW WOW.
Well, when you're 50 and you don't wear a bra, the WOW WOW WOW noise comes from your knees hitting the boobies. No amount of halter/support/whateveryouwanttocall it was going to help her. She wasn't in long. She must have sensed that we weren't on to her boobie/knee music jamboree.
The second individual strolled in looking like he wandered off the set of the Hangover 2. He had on a tux, with a cobalt blue vest, complete with bow tie. As he greeted everyone in the branch (I'm still not sure what this was about because at first I thought he was a politician, then I realized he was probably just nuts), I noticed a few teef up front missing. See, Hangover Part 2. He wasn't in the library for very long either, he needed to get his "papers" and then left. Whatever that meant. I'm not sure who walks into a library wearing a tux, says hi to everyone, then announces loudly that he needs "papers" and then leaves, but I don't care because it's funny.The third dominatrix to stroll down our catwalk was the loveliest of them all. She insisted: "Sista, you give me two crisp dollar bills" through her mouth of no teeth while she jangled her change.
Now, let me add the disclaimer in here before the American Dental Association and every other hippie dippy nonsensical lovechild comes after me to tell me that I hate people with no teeth. Or that I hate poor people. Or that I hate: (FILL IN THE BLANK).
Here's what I hate: I hate people that are persistent jerks and rude. I have perfectly sweet and lovely patrons with the worst teeth on this planet, or, in some cases, no teeth. But, perfectly sweet and lovely patrons don't make good blog stories. So, before you get your panties in a camel toe or ruin those fancy WalMart tighty whities, think about that or just stop reading, ok?
Now that I have stepped off my soapbox and back on to the runway, Miss Crackhead America 2010 DEMANDED that this SISTA (I'm white, can I be a SISTA?) give her two crisp bills. To humor her, I looked in the change bin and till to see what we had. We didn't have the bills and the till was low on change.
Do you know what Miss Crackhead America 2010 had the nerve to do?
Roll her eyes at me and tell me I'm a fucking bitch.
Yes, I got a master's degree for this.
I'm actually telling myself that it's just the full moon. Because, I already drank a fifth of vodka this week. I'd like to not pickle my liver by the time I'm 50.
22 June 2010
A Day in the LIFE OF HELL: or, the Pope gets less phone calls than me
8:33 Roll on out the door. God, it's humid. Like, so humid the slugs are still out from last night. There is one STICKING ON the door. Little bastard.
9:20 Stuck in traffic. Why? Apparently, today is a good day to unleash three vanloads of society's dregs in the form of community service monkeys. This is enough to completely stop traffic while these jackasses pick up pieces of paper from the highway. Thanks for stopping this productive member of society from getting to work on time.
9:33 Roll on in to work. Try to get into the building. Have 30 seconds to put in security code. Keypad isn't allowing my numbers to be put in. No beeping noises.
9:33.30 Aaaaaaaaaaaand, the alarm goes off. Lights are flashings. Alarm is blaring. Sirens are whirring. Hrm, now I know what those community service paper pickers feel like, except, you know, without the life of crime part.
9:40 Scramble with multiple phone calls to mulitple people. Hold hope that I might get to talk to a hot cop and get a free donut.
9:46 Alarm is off. No hot cops. No free donuts. Goddammit.
10:07 Miss America strolls in late. She comes up with some insane story that her husband's ex was stalking her and tried to run her over with her car. Ummmmmm. I don't care. You're late. You're in write-up territory. Great. One more fucking thing I need to do.
10:22 Woman approaches the desk, all huffy because computers are down for an upgrade. Yes, because I personally picked this time for an upgrade to make your life difficult. She wants to know why HUD doesn't have specific regulations for sexual harrassment of senior citizens. I DON'T KNOW! I didn't write the regulations. So, I went on to HUD's website like a good reference librarian monkey for her and got her HUD guidelines and printed them for her and she made THE FACE. I'm assuming the face was because this didn't have the exact piece of information she wanted in the 8 page brochure. I'm also assuming that the face was a result of my not being able to find seniors and sexual harrassment all rolled into one and because I just didn't look like I was sympathizing with her plight because I had two phone calls and another person waiting to ask me a question. I'm busy. I'm not mean. I'm busy. I worked 12 hours yesterday and almost had a nervous breakdown. I'm tired and bitchy and don't fucking CARE and if if was up to me, I'd be drinking vodka for breakfast, so take your fucking PAMPHLET and get the fuck out of my face.
10:49 My nice, great staff person approaches me to tell me I have a phone call. When don't I have a phone call? I think the Pope gets less phone calls. I need a publicist. Nonetheless, another call comes in, so I run to another desk to grab this call and find that this is a lady who needs to do community service for godonlyknowswhatshedid and wants to do it here. The really funny thing is that she goes into this long story about how she's been trying to get in touch with me and that she needs to do 20 hours by the end of the month. Luckily, I have been trained in dealing with epic loads of bullshit for the past 5 years so I didn't laugh in her face. Sure, I'll take someone that needs to do community service and let you into a library and have free reign with kids and money and materials and everything. Suuuuuuuure. I nicely turned her down, telling her I had too many things going on. She asked about July. I wasn't about to tell her I have a two week vacation coming up and that I'd rather burn in hell than let her loose in a library without my supervision, so I told her to just try another system. She said she did and they also said no. Lady, get the hint.
Stay tuned for more adventures. I've been here 1.5 hours and I already want a drink.
9:20 Stuck in traffic. Why? Apparently, today is a good day to unleash three vanloads of society's dregs in the form of community service monkeys. This is enough to completely stop traffic while these jackasses pick up pieces of paper from the highway. Thanks for stopping this productive member of society from getting to work on time.
9:33 Roll on in to work. Try to get into the building. Have 30 seconds to put in security code. Keypad isn't allowing my numbers to be put in. No beeping noises.
9:33.30 Aaaaaaaaaaaand, the alarm goes off. Lights are flashings. Alarm is blaring. Sirens are whirring. Hrm, now I know what those community service paper pickers feel like, except, you know, without the life of crime part.
9:40 Scramble with multiple phone calls to mulitple people. Hold hope that I might get to talk to a hot cop and get a free donut.
9:46 Alarm is off. No hot cops. No free donuts. Goddammit.
10:07 Miss America strolls in late. She comes up with some insane story that her husband's ex was stalking her and tried to run her over with her car. Ummmmmm. I don't care. You're late. You're in write-up territory. Great. One more fucking thing I need to do.
10:22 Woman approaches the desk, all huffy because computers are down for an upgrade. Yes, because I personally picked this time for an upgrade to make your life difficult. She wants to know why HUD doesn't have specific regulations for sexual harrassment of senior citizens. I DON'T KNOW! I didn't write the regulations. So, I went on to HUD's website like a good reference librarian monkey for her and got her HUD guidelines and printed them for her and she made THE FACE. I'm assuming the face was because this didn't have the exact piece of information she wanted in the 8 page brochure. I'm also assuming that the face was a result of my not being able to find seniors and sexual harrassment all rolled into one and because I just didn't look like I was sympathizing with her plight because I had two phone calls and another person waiting to ask me a question. I'm busy. I'm not mean. I'm busy. I worked 12 hours yesterday and almost had a nervous breakdown. I'm tired and bitchy and don't fucking CARE and if if was up to me, I'd be drinking vodka for breakfast, so take your fucking PAMPHLET and get the fuck out of my face.
10:49 My nice, great staff person approaches me to tell me I have a phone call. When don't I have a phone call? I think the Pope gets less phone calls. I need a publicist. Nonetheless, another call comes in, so I run to another desk to grab this call and find that this is a lady who needs to do community service for godonlyknowswhatshedid and wants to do it here. The really funny thing is that she goes into this long story about how she's been trying to get in touch with me and that she needs to do 20 hours by the end of the month. Luckily, I have been trained in dealing with epic loads of bullshit for the past 5 years so I didn't laugh in her face. Sure, I'll take someone that needs to do community service and let you into a library and have free reign with kids and money and materials and everything. Suuuuuuuure. I nicely turned her down, telling her I had too many things going on. She asked about July. I wasn't about to tell her I have a two week vacation coming up and that I'd rather burn in hell than let her loose in a library without my supervision, so I told her to just try another system. She said she did and they also said no. Lady, get the hint.
Stay tuned for more adventures. I've been here 1.5 hours and I already want a drink.
18 June 2010
Library Management 101
Here are reasons to call your manager on a day off:
-the building caught on fire
-someone died
-the mayor showed up for a visit and things went well
-the director showed up for a visit and praised the staff
-a drug bust went down in the men's bathroom
-an employee stood up in the middle of story time and decide that 10 pages into Lola goes to the library, it was time to quit the library.
Here are reasons NOT to call your manager on a day off:
-to report what was served for lunch during feed a kid day
-to report how many kids showed up for a program
-to ask why we are out of tape
-to wonder what happened to that one guy that used to work here 10 years ago
-to ask where we keep the calculators. YOU ARE IN THE LIBRARY. I'M RUNNING AROUND DOING ERRANDS. I'M DRIVING. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVIN' MIND?!?!?!??!?!
And now, now, now, my phone rings because some dumbfuck forgets to show up for work. You were supposed to be at work at 1 and now it's 4 and you wonder why I drink, Barb. How do you forget to show up for work? Are you kidding me?
Who's Barb?
Barb, Barb Lahey. If you haven't watched the Trailer Park Boys, I highly recommend it. I'm a little bit Jim Lahey, a little bit Julian, a little bit Bubbles.
I'd give you more information, but I have to go scream at someone now. But, someone not showing up for work, well, yeah, that's a reason to call.
Now, if I could predict lottery numbers like I predict this bullshit, I'd be sleeping on a pile of money and Louis Vuitton. Well, not him, because he's dead, but his bags.
-the building caught on fire
-someone died
-the mayor showed up for a visit and things went well
-the director showed up for a visit and praised the staff
-a drug bust went down in the men's bathroom
-an employee stood up in the middle of story time and decide that 10 pages into Lola goes to the library, it was time to quit the library.
Here are reasons NOT to call your manager on a day off:
-to report what was served for lunch during feed a kid day
-to report how many kids showed up for a program
-to ask why we are out of tape
-to wonder what happened to that one guy that used to work here 10 years ago
-to ask where we keep the calculators. YOU ARE IN THE LIBRARY. I'M RUNNING AROUND DOING ERRANDS. I'M DRIVING. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVIN' MIND?!?!?!??!?!
And now, now, now, my phone rings because some dumbfuck forgets to show up for work. You were supposed to be at work at 1 and now it's 4 and you wonder why I drink, Barb. How do you forget to show up for work? Are you kidding me?
Who's Barb?
Barb, Barb Lahey. If you haven't watched the Trailer Park Boys, I highly recommend it. I'm a little bit Jim Lahey, a little bit Julian, a little bit Bubbles.
I'd give you more information, but I have to go scream at someone now. But, someone not showing up for work, well, yeah, that's a reason to call.
Now, if I could predict lottery numbers like I predict this bullshit, I'd be sleeping on a pile of money and Louis Vuitton. Well, not him, because he's dead, but his bags.
16 June 2010
Cookies, cookies, cookies, & some lieberry news sprinkled in
Every time there is a library program, the de rigueur is to serve shitty cookies; well, at least in my library it is.
"Free cookies and punch."
"Cookies will be served."
"Punch and cookies will be provided after the program." (So, you have to stay to get the cookies. Tricky, tricky.)
Then, there is the ever elusive, "Light refreshments will be served." Oh, bullshit. That's just code for "We'd really like to be creative, but we don't have money, so you're going to get those stupid shitty cookies that they sell at WalMart in giant sleeves for $2.50 in either chocolate or vanilla and you're going to eat it and like it because everyone else is and you'll just cave to peer pressure, you fucking loser."
Wouldn't it behoove libraries to have less programming shoved down our patrons throats and instead, more QUALITY programming? And on that note, instead of serving 10 shitty cookies to each patron, what about a nice turkey sandwich?
"You wanna sandwich buddy? Mmmmm, we'll even give you mustard." Maybe we can work to get the Condiment Library Lady a lesser sentence if she can provide the library with 10,000 hours of community service. She'd be happy: she can spend those hours flinging mayo and mustard and ketchup. Oooooo, you know, she could even do library security. She looks rough. If patrons get out of hand, we could keep those giant jars of food service grade mayo around and goop 'em. If patrons are good, then patrons would have stuff to put on their sandwiches. And if the kids get out of line and piss on the building because there are no more shitty cookies, you ain't gonna mess with this bitch.
"Free cookies and punch."
"Cookies will be served."
"Punch and cookies will be provided after the program." (So, you have to stay to get the cookies. Tricky, tricky.)
Then, there is the ever elusive, "Light refreshments will be served." Oh, bullshit. That's just code for "We'd really like to be creative, but we don't have money, so you're going to get those stupid shitty cookies that they sell at WalMart in giant sleeves for $2.50 in either chocolate or vanilla and you're going to eat it and like it because everyone else is and you'll just cave to peer pressure, you fucking loser."
Wouldn't it behoove libraries to have less programming shoved down our patrons throats and instead, more QUALITY programming? And on that note, instead of serving 10 shitty cookies to each patron, what about a nice turkey sandwich?
"You wanna sandwich buddy? Mmmmm, we'll even give you mustard." Maybe we can work to get the Condiment Library Lady a lesser sentence if she can provide the library with 10,000 hours of community service. She'd be happy: she can spend those hours flinging mayo and mustard and ketchup. Oooooo, you know, she could even do library security. She looks rough. If patrons get out of hand, we could keep those giant jars of food service grade mayo around and goop 'em. If patrons are good, then patrons would have stuff to put on their sandwiches. And if the kids get out of line and piss on the building because there are no more shitty cookies, you ain't gonna mess with this bitch.
15 June 2010
Piss: the Final Frontier
In the past two weeks, there have been four separate incidents of piss.
Should I consider this an upgrade?
Before, I had to deal with a chair shitter that robbed 17 year olds of money that they earned from their part-time mall job money.
The first piss incident was on my first day at my new branch. I walked in, noticed a wet floor sign, asked what was wrong, and had an employee casually tell me: "OH, a little girl peed there on Saturday."
Great. So, piss was baking into the floor all weekend. Mmmmm, mmmm, remind me to buy stock in Febreeze now.
The second incident was a day later when Mom of the Year was too busy on MySpace (really, people still use MySpace? Face Book is on the downward spiral and you're still on MySpace? Why don't you go buy some acid washed jeans, get some aqua colored plastic frames and watch the Karate Kid. Oh, wait...) to notice that little toddler (gender undetermined) needed to take a piss. So, the kid pissed on the nice, fabric-covered, padded chair. Absorbent.
The third incident is foggy, but involved piss and possibly some shit, because, whooooohoooooo, what's a story without feces!?!? Mom was young and busy with four other kids and failed to really pay attention to the ticking time bomb that was in the little boy's diaper. Apparently, it had been some time since the diaper had been changed, since, when they came into the library, the smell was pretty ripe. I scrunched my nose in yuckiness and sprayed air freshener.
About two hours later, I noticed the group still in the library. They looked like they were about to leave. Of course, how could they leave without a gift for their favorite librarian? There was a little droplet or 20 in the (thankfully plastic) chair and something brown.
The finale is that today, when a kid was just acting up and being bad and stupid and irritating and GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE LIBRARY YOU LITTLE CROTCH DROPPING, he got mad because we told him his behavior was unacceptable and he had to leave. We did not call him a crotch dropping. Administration frowns upon that. The kid was so mad that he had to leave that he decided to piss all over the sidewalk and windows.
I hope you got some relief from taking that piss, kid, because it's going to be a long, hot, summer out there without air and computers. Your ass isn't coming back in until fall. Why? Because I hate you and I can do that to you. Do it again and it's going to be a really long fall without any computers. Your entertainment is going to be counting your piss droplets in the community pool. Good luck with that, you little asshole.
Should I consider this an upgrade?
Before, I had to deal with a chair shitter that robbed 17 year olds of money that they earned from their part-time mall job money.
The first piss incident was on my first day at my new branch. I walked in, noticed a wet floor sign, asked what was wrong, and had an employee casually tell me: "OH, a little girl peed there on Saturday."
Great. So, piss was baking into the floor all weekend. Mmmmm, mmmm, remind me to buy stock in Febreeze now.
The second incident was a day later when Mom of the Year was too busy on MySpace (really, people still use MySpace? Face Book is on the downward spiral and you're still on MySpace? Why don't you go buy some acid washed jeans, get some aqua colored plastic frames and watch the Karate Kid. Oh, wait...) to notice that little toddler (gender undetermined) needed to take a piss. So, the kid pissed on the nice, fabric-covered, padded chair. Absorbent.
The third incident is foggy, but involved piss and possibly some shit, because, whooooohoooooo, what's a story without feces!?!? Mom was young and busy with four other kids and failed to really pay attention to the ticking time bomb that was in the little boy's diaper. Apparently, it had been some time since the diaper had been changed, since, when they came into the library, the smell was pretty ripe. I scrunched my nose in yuckiness and sprayed air freshener.
About two hours later, I noticed the group still in the library. They looked like they were about to leave. Of course, how could they leave without a gift for their favorite librarian? There was a little droplet or 20 in the (thankfully plastic) chair and something brown.
The finale is that today, when a kid was just acting up and being bad and stupid and irritating and GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE LIBRARY YOU LITTLE CROTCH DROPPING, he got mad because we told him his behavior was unacceptable and he had to leave. We did not call him a crotch dropping. Administration frowns upon that. The kid was so mad that he had to leave that he decided to piss all over the sidewalk and windows.
I hope you got some relief from taking that piss, kid, because it's going to be a long, hot, summer out there without air and computers. Your ass isn't coming back in until fall. Why? Because I hate you and I can do that to you. Do it again and it's going to be a really long fall without any computers. Your entertainment is going to be counting your piss droplets in the community pool. Good luck with that, you little asshole.
25 May 2010
Your Going Away Gift is a New ID Badge
My irritation reigns supreme right now.
I spent an hour and fifteen minutes in some shitty traffic because some fuckwad decided they couldn't drive in the sun. Apparently, it was too bright for them and they crashed into the car ahead of them. Then, another fuckwad decided that the middle of the damned highway was a great spot for their car to die. You know, there are these little parts of the highway that are JUST wide enough for a car that's dying to squeeze into. You can wheel your dying car over there and let it plopplopfizzfizzdiedieDIE without it interrupting the flow of traffic. What a genius invention, eh? I heard that they are called "shoulders."
(My God, really, you can't find the copier? You mean, the big greyish-colored machine that says copier over it. That one? Because, there's only one. That's our copier. Yes, it makes copies. Yes, it costs money. No, I will not make your copies for you.)
Needless to say, I was late for my meeting. I don't like being late. It makes me feel disorganized and makes me look like a loser walking into a room where everyone is already settled. It makes me feel like I'm bothering everyone. But, on top of sitting in traffic, I also couldn't find the location of the meeting. I went there once before, but another person was driving and we were talking and it was raining and it was cold and I wasn't really awake, so that was like the double trifecta of me not paying attention.
When I got to the meeting, at the location of "Friendly Place," I wasn't feeling very friendly. In fact, I was feeling pretty much homicidal. Luckily, the lady at the desk was friendly and smiled and asked if she could help me. I told her why I was there and she (if I had a nickel for everytime a kid needed a coloring sheet, I'd be able to retire. If kids spent half the time reading as they did coloring pictures of fucking SpongeBob, we'd have a generation of fucture rocket scientists and people that could cure cancer, instead, we're going to have a generation of people who think that Bob the Starfish is the smartest thing since sliced bread) gave me the look of pity, which is the same look I give to patrons. We service schmucks know it well.
"Oh, ummmmm," she starts sheepishly, "the meeting doesn't start until noon."
I look at my watch. 10:41. GODDAMMMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT! I look defeated, forlorn, stick a fork in this potato, I'm done.
"You're welcome to sit down and relax," she piped up.
"Oh, well, I really need to get back to my branch. I really have to get to work."
So, at this point I'm hotter than hell and thirsty and have been in the car for nearly two hours now and just don't want to be trapped in my own little space anymore. I also have to piss like a racehorse, but working in a library has made me have the remarkable ability to supress my body functions in disturbing ways that you don't want to know about.
I also heard a rumor that there is to be some sort of going away shindig for me. I'm not expecting much. Ok, who am I kidding, I'm not expecting anything. I doubt any of my jackass employees would do shit for me; ungrateful, overpaid, spoiled brats that they are. Doing something for someone else would require them to STOP TIHNKING ABOUT THEMSELVES for an hour.
I do get a new badge from security today. Apparently, this piece of information warranted a call from Mr. Big Security Guy. So, I can't go drive around town and get lost all over again looking for this meeting place because I have to wait for them.
And that's it. That's my going away present. A new id badge.
I feel like the 50th place contestant in the Miss Universe Contest.
I spent an hour and fifteen minutes in some shitty traffic because some fuckwad decided they couldn't drive in the sun. Apparently, it was too bright for them and they crashed into the car ahead of them. Then, another fuckwad decided that the middle of the damned highway was a great spot for their car to die. You know, there are these little parts of the highway that are JUST wide enough for a car that's dying to squeeze into. You can wheel your dying car over there and let it plopplopfizzfizzdiedieDIE without it interrupting the flow of traffic. What a genius invention, eh? I heard that they are called "shoulders."
(My God, really, you can't find the copier? You mean, the big greyish-colored machine that says copier over it. That one? Because, there's only one. That's our copier. Yes, it makes copies. Yes, it costs money. No, I will not make your copies for you.)
Needless to say, I was late for my meeting. I don't like being late. It makes me feel disorganized and makes me look like a loser walking into a room where everyone is already settled. It makes me feel like I'm bothering everyone. But, on top of sitting in traffic, I also couldn't find the location of the meeting. I went there once before, but another person was driving and we were talking and it was raining and it was cold and I wasn't really awake, so that was like the double trifecta of me not paying attention.
When I got to the meeting, at the location of "Friendly Place," I wasn't feeling very friendly. In fact, I was feeling pretty much homicidal. Luckily, the lady at the desk was friendly and smiled and asked if she could help me. I told her why I was there and she (if I had a nickel for everytime a kid needed a coloring sheet, I'd be able to retire. If kids spent half the time reading as they did coloring pictures of fucking SpongeBob, we'd have a generation of fucture rocket scientists and people that could cure cancer, instead, we're going to have a generation of people who think that Bob the Starfish is the smartest thing since sliced bread) gave me the look of pity, which is the same look I give to patrons. We service schmucks know it well.
"Oh, ummmmm," she starts sheepishly, "the meeting doesn't start until noon."
I look at my watch. 10:41. GODDAMMMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT! I look defeated, forlorn, stick a fork in this potato, I'm done.
"You're welcome to sit down and relax," she piped up.
"Oh, well, I really need to get back to my branch. I really have to get to work."
So, at this point I'm hotter than hell and thirsty and have been in the car for nearly two hours now and just don't want to be trapped in my own little space anymore. I also have to piss like a racehorse, but working in a library has made me have the remarkable ability to supress my body functions in disturbing ways that you don't want to know about.
I also heard a rumor that there is to be some sort of going away shindig for me. I'm not expecting much. Ok, who am I kidding, I'm not expecting anything. I doubt any of my jackass employees would do shit for me; ungrateful, overpaid, spoiled brats that they are. Doing something for someone else would require them to STOP TIHNKING ABOUT THEMSELVES for an hour.
I do get a new badge from security today. Apparently, this piece of information warranted a call from Mr. Big Security Guy. So, I can't go drive around town and get lost all over again looking for this meeting place because I have to wait for them.
And that's it. That's my going away present. A new id badge.
I feel like the 50th place contestant in the Miss Universe Contest.
22 May 2010
Flowers
I'm really not some nature nut, even though I've posted a few pictures of the great outdoors lately. I don't camp or hike or mountain climb or try to train squirrels and I'm terrified of bees. But, I love flowers.One of my favorite patrons brought me a huge bouquet of irises and left them on my desk. She is so awesome! She said it was because I seemed so stressed lately and because she just loves the library.
I love normal people.
I also love this:
I tell you what I see when I look out there. I see the undeveloped resources of Minnesota, Northern Wisconsin, and Michigan. I see a syndicated development consortium exploiting over a billion and a half dollars in forest products. I see a paper mill and if the strategic metals are there, a mining operation. A greenbelt between the condos on the lake and a waste management facility focusing on the newest rage in toxic waste, medical refuse. Infected bandages, body parts, IV tubing, contaminated glassware, entrails,syringes, fluids, blood, low grade radioactive waste all safely contained sunken in the lake and sealed for centuries. Now I ask you what do you see?
I see trees.
19 May 2010
Nature AND innovation
I actually had a real lunch break today. It was going along so great. I was eating my sandwich and reading. I heard birds chirping. I was under a shade tree, the sunlight was flickering. It was like the best lunch break ever.
I was so hesitant to go back inside, and for good reason if you've been paying attention at all to any of the previous shitstorms that occur here. When I was walking back inside the building, a woman started yelling at me. It was windy outside and I couldn't hear because Ia big truck was driving by. I kinda ignored her because I don't like yelling. If it was that important, you would have walked your ass around the courtyard and told me personally. Again, I don't do shouting.
We have these planters outside.
Of course, since we haven't gotten around to planting anything yet (and our volunteers haven't either), they look like shit. I guess it's pretty representative about how I feel about a lot of things now. Some kids decided that they were going to knock it over and throw dirt everywhere. So, I spent 5 minutes picking up dirt. I told you I should have stayed in my car. I'm just glad a bug didn't touch me, otherwise, I would have reflung the damned dirt everywhere and made an even bigger mess. (Interruption, interruption, interruption, man bitching about his copies being off-center and how the copier is broken. You know what? You're broken).
Anyway, I finished picking up the dirt, and the woman started yelling again. I got closer to her and she was yelling because some kids were throwing rocks at cars and she wanted me to find out who they were. I asked if they went into the library. No. I asked if they were boys or girls. Boys. Ok, well, there's a start. I asked what ages they were. She had no idea. I asked her what they were wearing. She told me clothes. Wow, with a star witness like you, murderers should be hiring you to be a witness for the prosecution. I'll get right on that case ma'am. All that she could tell me was that they threw rocks and THEN STOPPED TO OVERTURN THE PLANTER.
Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait. They stopped to overturn the planter, which, granted, probably only took 15-20 at max, but you couldn't tell me ANYTHING about the kids? And you stood there and watched me pick up the dirt and didn't say anything even though they were throwing rocks before and after they tipped over the planter?
I looked closer to see if the woman was blind. No. I recalled my converstation with her to see if maybe she showed signs of mental retardation. No. It didn't seem like she was a crack. So, who in their right mind would expect the librarian (clearly coming back from her lunch, holding her purse and giganto tub o'fastfooddietpopcup) to 1) go chasing after the kids 2) expect anything from her description 3) or think that a sensible solution would arise to the situation?
So, as I was standing outside pondering the stupidity of some people, I saw some pretty irises. (Oh, god, here's another interruption. Someone bitching about the Census. Someone else whining about the schedule. Don't you love that I just keep on typing? Your concerns are so trivial that I just don't want to hear it, you overglorified turdmonsters.) I decided to take a picture of the irises. I usually see purple irises. These are an interesting color that aren't quite pink, not quite peach, but quite lovely.
So, I took a picture of them because they made me happy and god only know my insane days need some happiness. Ok, I digress... Anyway, I finally made my way back in and saw a coupon sitting in the lobby. 
Then, it hit me. No, not the rocks the kids were throwing. I hit me that I had another great "LIBRARY INNOVATION." I gather the person that left this is concerned for their health and left the tobaccy coupon behind so that they wouldn't fall into the devil's temptation once again. Damned devil. This person probably figured that they could help some other kind soul get mouth cancer, or tooth loss, or gum disease. So, once again, got down to some serious thinkin'. I think all of this sun is good for my brain. It must be the vitamin D. I'm on a brainroll! I just hope this doesn't mean I have a gigantic tumor that's giving me these ideas, because, that would suck. My GREAT LIBRARY INNOVATION is...........drumroll please.............
If libraries partnered with big tobacco and got a fee for passing out cigarette or chewing tobacco coupons, our budget problems would be solved. We could even blow off those bullshit $99 down credit companies. Then, once we got people hooked, we could host health clinics to try to get people to quit. Of course, this would be sponsored by BIG CORPORATE INSURANCE COMPANY, who would...what? what? what? GIVE THE LIBRARY A CUT!
See, it's genius! The only thing is that we better move fast before this whole public healthcare debacle chips into our profits.
I was so hesitant to go back inside, and for good reason if you've been paying attention at all to any of the previous shitstorms that occur here. When I was walking back inside the building, a woman started yelling at me. It was windy outside and I couldn't hear because Ia big truck was driving by. I kinda ignored her because I don't like yelling. If it was that important, you would have walked your ass around the courtyard and told me personally. Again, I don't do shouting.
We have these planters outside.
Of course, since we haven't gotten around to planting anything yet (and our volunteers haven't either), they look like shit. I guess it's pretty representative about how I feel about a lot of things now. Some kids decided that they were going to knock it over and throw dirt everywhere. So, I spent 5 minutes picking up dirt. I told you I should have stayed in my car. I'm just glad a bug didn't touch me, otherwise, I would have reflung the damned dirt everywhere and made an even bigger mess. (Interruption, interruption, interruption, man bitching about his copies being off-center and how the copier is broken. You know what? You're broken). Anyway, I finished picking up the dirt, and the woman started yelling again. I got closer to her and she was yelling because some kids were throwing rocks at cars and she wanted me to find out who they were. I asked if they went into the library. No. I asked if they were boys or girls. Boys. Ok, well, there's a start. I asked what ages they were. She had no idea. I asked her what they were wearing. She told me clothes. Wow, with a star witness like you, murderers should be hiring you to be a witness for the prosecution. I'll get right on that case ma'am. All that she could tell me was that they threw rocks and THEN STOPPED TO OVERTURN THE PLANTER.
Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait. They stopped to overturn the planter, which, granted, probably only took 15-20 at max, but you couldn't tell me ANYTHING about the kids? And you stood there and watched me pick up the dirt and didn't say anything even though they were throwing rocks before and after they tipped over the planter?
I looked closer to see if the woman was blind. No. I recalled my converstation with her to see if maybe she showed signs of mental retardation. No. It didn't seem like she was a crack. So, who in their right mind would expect the librarian (clearly coming back from her lunch, holding her purse and giganto tub o'fastfooddietpopcup) to 1) go chasing after the kids 2) expect anything from her description 3) or think that a sensible solution would arise to the situation?
So, as I was standing outside pondering the stupidity of some people, I saw some pretty irises. (Oh, god, here's another interruption. Someone bitching about the Census. Someone else whining about the schedule. Don't you love that I just keep on typing? Your concerns are so trivial that I just don't want to hear it, you overglorified turdmonsters.) I decided to take a picture of the irises. I usually see purple irises. These are an interesting color that aren't quite pink, not quite peach, but quite lovely.
So, I took a picture of them because they made me happy and god only know my insane days need some happiness. Ok, I digress... Anyway, I finally made my way back in and saw a coupon sitting in the lobby. 
Then, it hit me. No, not the rocks the kids were throwing. I hit me that I had another great "LIBRARY INNOVATION." I gather the person that left this is concerned for their health and left the tobaccy coupon behind so that they wouldn't fall into the devil's temptation once again. Damned devil. This person probably figured that they could help some other kind soul get mouth cancer, or tooth loss, or gum disease. So, once again, got down to some serious thinkin'. I think all of this sun is good for my brain. It must be the vitamin D. I'm on a brainroll! I just hope this doesn't mean I have a gigantic tumor that's giving me these ideas, because, that would suck. My GREAT LIBRARY INNOVATION is...........drumroll please.............If libraries partnered with big tobacco and got a fee for passing out cigarette or chewing tobacco coupons, our budget problems would be solved. We could even blow off those bullshit $99 down credit companies. Then, once we got people hooked, we could host health clinics to try to get people to quit. Of course, this would be sponsored by BIG CORPORATE INSURANCE COMPANY, who would...what? what? what? GIVE THE LIBRARY A CUT!
See, it's genius! The only thing is that we better move fast before this whole public healthcare debacle chips into our profits.
18 May 2010
Bad Credit? Lots of Bullshit?
I ended up working 11 hours yesterday. This is the joy of management. This is why, on a Friday, when you have an appointment to see a nuerologist for head pains that your employees snicker that you're just cutting out early. They never recognize you coming in early to do shit or staying late to play catch up after computers were down all day.
Yesterday was like the dumping day for all sorts of stupid flyers at the library. I think it's the spring weather that gets people thinking of half-cocked theories. People decide to create all of these lame events in the spring and put up sad looking semi-inflated baloons and flyers with improper spelling. Because I was in a rotten mood and therefore in a haste to throw those things away, I didn't photograph them, but I did catch one of my favorites, that I'm sure you've all seen at a corner of an intersection. Nothing says legitimate company like a hand-written sign!
At many times in my life in Library Land, I've been asked for various services that libraries just don't provide, such as booking travel tickets, student loan advice, typing services, infant care, etc.
Then I got to thinking. And if you had any sense, you'd stop reading now, because when I get to thinking, that can be dangerous. I know you want to know what my bright brain is thinking of and instead of saying something clever (because I got interrupted by the chair shitter patron who just went into the bathroom and did dirtygrosssickthings), I'm just going to tell you.
My library is in the hood. People generally have bad credit. If we put these signs outside and leased a little bit of square footage of the library (like, say the meeting rooms on Friday afternoons) to these companies or people or whoever, then we could get a cut. Why not? I mean, we're already an institution that circulates as many DVDs as movies, so why not give people a car loan while they're waiting in line to get their movies? We could also lease part of the parking lot or the back yard area (where kids can't play anyway since someone would have to go back there and pick up the shell casings after the gang kids shoot up the building with .22s after hours) and put up some some hoopdies so people can drive away the same day! We're also right on the bus line, so the local bus company and these car loan "companies" (or shady freaks, depends on your side of the coin) can compete.
I'm such a genius. But, unfortunately, I have to go tell the chair shitter to stop throwing up all over our restroom, to stop drinking in the library, and to...what? I don't know. I need more coffee.
The winner is the library. The losers? Well, who likes a loser?
Yesterday was like the dumping day for all sorts of stupid flyers at the library. I think it's the spring weather that gets people thinking of half-cocked theories. People decide to create all of these lame events in the spring and put up sad looking semi-inflated baloons and flyers with improper spelling. Because I was in a rotten mood and therefore in a haste to throw those things away, I didn't photograph them, but I did catch one of my favorites, that I'm sure you've all seen at a corner of an intersection. Nothing says legitimate company like a hand-written sign!
At many times in my life in Library Land, I've been asked for various services that libraries just don't provide, such as booking travel tickets, student loan advice, typing services, infant care, etc.
Then I got to thinking. And if you had any sense, you'd stop reading now, because when I get to thinking, that can be dangerous. I know you want to know what my bright brain is thinking of and instead of saying something clever (because I got interrupted by the chair shitter patron who just went into the bathroom and did dirtygrosssickthings), I'm just going to tell you.
My library is in the hood. People generally have bad credit. If we put these signs outside and leased a little bit of square footage of the library (like, say the meeting rooms on Friday afternoons) to these companies or people or whoever, then we could get a cut. Why not? I mean, we're already an institution that circulates as many DVDs as movies, so why not give people a car loan while they're waiting in line to get their movies? We could also lease part of the parking lot or the back yard area (where kids can't play anyway since someone would have to go back there and pick up the shell casings after the gang kids shoot up the building with .22s after hours) and put up some some hoopdies so people can drive away the same day! We're also right on the bus line, so the local bus company and these car loan "companies" (or shady freaks, depends on your side of the coin) can compete.
I'm such a genius. But, unfortunately, I have to go tell the chair shitter to stop throwing up all over our restroom, to stop drinking in the library, and to...what? I don't know. I need more coffee.
The winner is the library. The losers? Well, who likes a loser?
15 May 2010
Are You Making Enough Money?
I love flyers that people dump in the lobby of the library. I especially love it when the person decides that I'm special enough to get one hand delivered. I was cleaning out my mailbox today. I clearly saved this gem for good reason. I mean, it has everything: crazy guy, money being thrown around, and "the information I requested." I'm a librarian, I love information!The best part about this flyer is that it is full of valuable tidbits. Now, the photo isn't that great because I had to snap it quickly in the staff room, lest someone wonder why in the name of sanity I was taking pictures of a flyer. But, the information here is really valuable, like that copy of the Constituion Readers' Digest used to put in its magazines each summer. It's something you can't get anywhere else.
All of them are good, but specifically, I love that:-this information could change your life--just look how happy the guy on the cover looks. He's climbing over his piles of money. He's simply footloose and fancy free. He's ready to wine and dine the ladies. That right there is a man changed for good. That man right there is gonna get himself some fine ass tonight all thanks to that INVALUABLE information.
-pennies for nothing! Well, I'm pissed. I've overpaid everything from my college degrees to my cars to my friggin' Starbucks lattes. I wish I was as smart as the guy on the cover. Sigh, a girl can dream, can't she?
-call me critcial, but isn't newspaper revenue declining around the country?
I would love to show you the rest, but that might disclose my identity, so you'll have to live in curious amazement at the treats I get each day.
I have another one of these lovely items for you coming soon, but you've had three blog posts today from me (and I did get that book order done and those two schedules), so this antibrarian needs to pack it up and go home.
No more shitty books for you!
Let me set the scene for you: a woman walks in (why do I always feel like I'm starting a really bad joke about a rabbi or a priest or a lawyer?) and has about 4 library cards. The clerk already checked the cards and told her what fines were on what cards. I happened to be behind the desk and the woman asked me to check the cards. I printed out the fine slips and attached them to the cards.
The woman made THE FACE. The face is something similar to eating raw lemons, shit, a shot of Rum 151, a toilet bowl freshner cake and rotten eggs.
Since I have a modicum of perception, I asked if there was a problem.
Moneybags: Yeah, there's a problem. I have $40 in fines. What do I do if I want to check out?
Me: Well, since we allowed you to pay a certain amount per checkout since December and you stopped doing that, you are going to need to pay $28, which is the amount of fines you accumulated since December.
Moneybags: [is outraged, of course, why fess up? Just act outraged and yell and maybe someone will act like they care] TWEN-TY EIGHT DOL-LARS?!?!?! TWEN-TY EIGHT DOL-LARS?
Me: [emotionless, because, I just don't care. I've heard it so many times, you have to be kidding me] We told you not to get any more fines in December, you got $28 in fines, so that's what you have to pay.
Moneybags: TO CHECK OUT A BOOK!?!?!?!?!?!?
Me: Yes.
Moneybags: Why?
Me: Why? Because, for example, in May, you racked up $15 in fines. If you pay a dolalr or two or even three each time you use the library and then rack up $15 in fines, you aren't going to be able to check out much longer because you'll owe too much.
Moneybags: Well, chilllllllllllllllle, please, I ain't checkin' out nonna these shitty books anyway.
As if calling the books in the library shitty is an insult to me. You failed to realize that while you said that, you had DVDs in your hand. You also failed to realize that the items on your card were all for 'shitty' books, so, clearly, at some point, you needed said 'shitty books.'
The beautiful thing is that after I wrote the previous part, I went to my desk, sent an email, saw the line backing up, went back to the circ desk, and she was checking out books. At first she didn't want to get in my line, but then she changed her mind. Of course, I was there to great her, smiled, and said, "Oh, it looks like you decided to get some books after all. Will you be paying the $28 or will you be using your son's card?" Of course she used her son's card, which also had fines on it, but not fines like hers. Either way, I got her. Stupid patrons.
The woman made THE FACE. The face is something similar to eating raw lemons, shit, a shot of Rum 151, a toilet bowl freshner cake and rotten eggs.
Since I have a modicum of perception, I asked if there was a problem.
Moneybags: Yeah, there's a problem. I have $40 in fines. What do I do if I want to check out?
Me: Well, since we allowed you to pay a certain amount per checkout since December and you stopped doing that, you are going to need to pay $28, which is the amount of fines you accumulated since December.
Moneybags: [is outraged, of course, why fess up? Just act outraged and yell and maybe someone will act like they care] TWEN-TY EIGHT DOL-LARS?!?!?! TWEN-TY EIGHT DOL-LARS?
Me: [emotionless, because, I just don't care. I've heard it so many times, you have to be kidding me] We told you not to get any more fines in December, you got $28 in fines, so that's what you have to pay.
Moneybags: TO CHECK OUT A BOOK!?!?!?!?!?!?
Me: Yes.
Moneybags: Why?
Me: Why? Because, for example, in May, you racked up $15 in fines. If you pay a dolalr or two or even three each time you use the library and then rack up $15 in fines, you aren't going to be able to check out much longer because you'll owe too much.
Moneybags: Well, chilllllllllllllllle, please, I ain't checkin' out nonna these shitty books anyway.
As if calling the books in the library shitty is an insult to me. You failed to realize that while you said that, you had DVDs in your hand. You also failed to realize that the items on your card were all for 'shitty' books, so, clearly, at some point, you needed said 'shitty books.'
The beautiful thing is that after I wrote the previous part, I went to my desk, sent an email, saw the line backing up, went back to the circ desk, and she was checking out books. At first she didn't want to get in my line, but then she changed her mind. Of course, I was there to great her, smiled, and said, "Oh, it looks like you decided to get some books after all. Will you be paying the $28 or will you be using your son's card?" Of course she used her son's card, which also had fines on it, but not fines like hers. Either way, I got her. Stupid patrons.
A Day in the Life of Madame Manager: Saturday Morning Edition
I knew that the ripped up Justin Bieber magazine on my desk should have been a harbinger of the shittiness of this Saturday.
9:15 Roll on into the branch. Surprisingly, there is no one waiting outside. I hope that today might be productive: that I can finish my book order without having to take it home, clean out my desk, and finish branch schedules for managers that can't seem to do them the correct way, even though they're been branch managers for 30 years.
9:23 5 people materialize. I can only imagine that they're anxiously waiting outside to grab a book to read when the doors open.
9:27 6 more people materialize. Great. Let the race for computer time begin. Of course, Coughing Guy is out there, coughing, looking sleezy, wearing a Florida Gators hoodie when it's 70 degrees outside. I guess crack makes you cold.
9:40 A computer goes down. Of course it does. Computers only break on Saturdays because there's no one here to fix them. I can probably give up my dreams of productivity now.
10-10:30 Constantly tell kids to turn down their music. I'm starting to feel like I should be wearing a pleated skirt and a chain on my glasses.
10:33 I'm going to blame this on Justin Bieber.
11:04 The man that comes in here and swears profusely on his cell phone decides today's the day he needs help, so of course, he's as nice as pie to me. I wish I had some pie by the way. Maybe some cherry or key lime. Pie would be great. But, I don't have pie, I just have needy morons. Hope of productivity are completely dashed and I decide I'm going to blog my irritating day.
11:06 Trudge up from the desk to go to the copier. Make one damned copy and then the toner runs out. The toner can never run out when I'm wearing black. It has to run out when I'm wearing pale pink. Take out the near-empty toner cartridge so that no one can futz with the copier.
11:10 Root around in the staff room for toner. So help me if I have to take out the toner and shake it to get the most out of it, because, surely, I will be covered in soot and my shirt will be ruined.
11:12 Find the toner, come back out, see an old man standing at the copier (despite toner and box sitting on top of it), feeding it dimes, and pressing buttons. Because I'm a bitch, I look at him and ask if those copies are working out for him. He looks at me stupidily and I tell him to please take a seat, its out of toner, which is why the cartridge is sitting on the copier and the copier is off. Nevermind the fact that your damned dimes keep falling through the machine...
11:16 Fix the toner, restart the copier, and amazingly, don't get any stupid toner on me.
11:21 Bullshit fine story. This guy has $275 in fines and wants me to waive them so he can get DVDs. He said that his card was lost. Then he was in prison. Then his card was stolen. Then he missplaced it and someone "might have" checked out materials on it. What's your story? I know mine: I'm not forgiving any fines because you're lying to me.
11:33 Someone came up to me, was honest about her $125 in fines, paid $30 to get them down, and didn't give me a bullshit sob story. Amazing. In fact, I was so glad she told the truth that I knocked $5 off her fines. See, I'm not a heartless bitch when people don't try to play me.
12:13 Some guy has been sitting in the same spot for 45 minutes, staring at people using the computers. He's not waiting for them. I'm not sure if he's a creeper, retarded, or just wants to shit in a chair. Or, maybe he's mad because our issue of Tiger Beat with Justin Bieber on the cover has been destroyed.
14 May 2010
CALL 911, I'm having a heart attack!
Now that I've almost recovered from the week and have some time to think without running from building to building, I can tell you all about Monday's funfunFUN! This Monday was pretty bad, because it was a payroll Monday and I rolled in from a long car trip on Sunday night, so I was really tired and really irriated about payroll AND had a stupid migraine brewing, so I was a hot mess of pissedofflibrarianism.
Before 2 p.m., I dealt with payroll, the 911 lady, the idiot that ripped off a chunk of concrete and threw it at the building, and then had to have an hour long family counseling session with a boy who vandalized the building Monday morning, the police, his two grown cousins, and his grandmother. That piece was pretty sad, so I'm not going get into it, but the 911 call is fun for the whole family. Read it at Sunday dinner for good laughs all around! Here ya go...
Within 5 minutes of walking into the building (thank GOD I was done with the difficult part of payroll), this woman starts yelling about how she loves Michael Jackson. Well, duh, who doesn't, but this is a library, not a Michael Jackson revival. Shut the fuck up.
I move my eyes to the entrance with a furtive glance of seething at the cause of the noise. The clerk sees me glaring and tells her to keep her voice down, lest I have to get up. Sometimes, I feel like the steretypical 1950s father with the library and its staff. "Don't make your father/manager get up, if you do, he's going to be mad." If I have to get up from my desk and walk all the way down the long damned hallway, you betcha someone is going to get ripped a new one. Also, as a side note, I am NOT one of those "YOU ARE IN THE LIBRARY, HERE IS YOUR LIST OF RULES, DON'T TALK OR I WILL BEAT YOU WITH THE AACR2" librarians. Just sayin'.
Bigmouth lasts about 5 minutes before she has a revelation that Janet Jackson IS really Michael Jackson's sister. Stop the presses. Whoah. Really. Thanks for letting a whole library full of people know that. We would have NEVER MADE THAT CONNECTION WITHOUT YOU! I got up to tell her to please keep her voice down and she grabbed my arm and insisted that I went to high school with her. Don't think so. I went to high school in a different town. Not even close. Apparently, this was her shtick, because she told every third person in the library that she went to high school with them. People were getting annoyed, myself included, but that doesn't really count because I'm always annoyed.
Apparently, that revelation about the Jackson family wasn't enough to satisfy Bigmouth for the day. She signed up for a computer (we have this nifty little machine that assigns you to a computer when you put your library card number in, thus pretty much absolving staff from being screamed at by patrons who think we are playing favoritism with the computer sign-up lists) and missed her turn. The lady that was paying attention was up next, got on the computer she was assigned to, and started working on her resume. I know, saints be praised, a non-creeper, 50 yeard old fucker that didn't want to look at porn at 10 a.m. with all females employees in the building.
In about ten minutes, Bigmouth saw the lady using the computer Bigmouth decided was hers and started screaming (because that's the best way to communicate, isn't it?) at the woman "YOU GOTTA BOUNCE! BOUNCE! OFF MY COMPUTER! IT'S MINE!"
Well, fuck, the rest of the staff looked terrified and I got up to deal with it. The perks of management are never ending. I told Bigmouth that she needs to keep her comments to herself, that she missed her turn, that the lady on computer 2 is assigned to it, and that Bigmouth needs to re-sign up. Bigmouth looked stunned. Apparently, because we were both white, meant that I had to kick the black lady off the computer. I don't care if you're a purple alien--the kind from Mars, not Mexico, although, I'm fine with those aliens too--as long as you're polite and quiet and aren't a total fucking disruptive jackass, I'm not going to favor some stark raving assface just because we have the same skin color. Uh huh.
Since I put Bigmouth in her place, she decided she didn't want a computer anymore, she wanted to color. The children's librarian gave her some coloring pages and crayons. All was quiet until she grabbed the security guard and told him she needed an ambulance because she was having a heart attack.
The guard came up to me. I'm not a doctor, I'm not evaluating shit, so I just called 911. I've called 911 so many times that it doesn't even faze me anymore. Someone could have an arm cracked in half or lost an eyeball on a ballpoint pen or had their lower intestine fall out in the men's restroom, and I would be that eerily calm voice calling in to 911. Those eerily calm voices you hear on the 911 tapes on the 6 o'clock news are either homicidal maniacs or librarians. No normal person could be calm on those recordings except these two groups.
911 Dispatch: What is your emergency?
Me: I'm at [address] and I have a woman in the library that says she feels like she's having a heart attack. She says her chest is burning. She is a caucasian female, 41 years old. [I told you I was good.]
911 D: Is she awake?
Me: [looks over] Yes, she's talking to the security guard.
911 D: Is she upright?
Me: Yes, she's looking through her purse.
911 D: Ok. [Pauses, because you know he's thinking WTF?!] Is she turning blue or look like she's struggling to breath?
Me: No, she's still looking through her purse.
911: No signs of distress, ok. [Asks a bunch of health questions, like if she took aspirin or other meds that I had no clue because I'm not this loonatic's keeper and nor do I care, at this point, I just want her out of the damned library because she's wasting my time with her irriating need for attention in any form]. Ok, we'll dispatch an ambulance.
I told Bigmouth that I called EMS and then she wanted me to sit down and chat with her and organize her purse. Sure, because if I was having a heart attack, I'd want the librarian to organize my purse. I guess if I had pot or meth in there, I might ask her to go flush it, but she wanted me to find her health care card. I told her I had to go wait for EMS and that I didn't have time to look through her belongings. She grinned at me stupidily. I went outside to flag the ambulance into the parking lot, which arrived within 5 minutes, I told the paramedics where nutso was sitting.
As if the rest of her craziness wasn't funny enough, it's about to get much better.
Paramedic 1: [asking generic questions].
Paramedic 2: We're going to take your pulse, check your breathing.
Bigmouth: I broke my foot.
Me: [looks incredulous]
P1: I thought you said you were having a heart attack?
Me: [interrupting, because there is no way you are going to say you broke your foot in the library to try to sue us when you walked in of your own accord, when you were walking around all morning shaking people and insisting you went to high school with them, and when there was no crash or accident] That's what she told the guard and that's what he told me.
Bigmouth: No, it's my foot. Well, I have asthma.
P1: What happened to your foot?
Bigmouth: A dresser fell on it. [Pause.] Then a fan fell on it. [Pause.] Then a computer fell on it.
P2: [turning to me] How did she get into the building?
Me: She walked in.
Bigmouth: [smiling] But it didn't hurt then, I think I re-broke it in here.
P2: So, [turning to Bigmouth], you have no chest pains right now?
Bigmouth: I feel fine. Except my foot. It's broken. I need a cast. Wheel me out of here. Do you have a wheelchair.
Me: [you're going to need a wheelchair when I get done with you, you've wasted 45 minuets of my time already] No. It's a library. We don't rent out wheelchairs.
P1: Ok, well, can you walk out? [Made no indication whatsoever that they were going to put this attention whore on a stretcher, and good for him!]
Bigmouth: I'm going to need help. [P1 and Guard go to each side of her and walk as she hobbles].
Bigmouth: [Sees a flyer annoucing a libray event] Oh, yeah, hey, get me one of those .
P2: [give me the look and waits until Bigmouth is further ahead] She's nutso.
Me: You got it darlin'. She's been in here all morning, yelling, almost started a fight with a patron, then she was coloring. She just wants attention.
[We laugh]
Bigmouth: OH, HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! [Sees some guy walking down the hall] Didn't we go to LocalHigh together?
Guy: Uhhhh, ummmm, sure. Yeah.
Bigmouth: Class of 87! Class of 87! [At this point, she forgets that her foot is "broken" and stops mid-hallway to talk to her "classmate. The paramedics, myself, and security guard just kinda stand there, clogging up traffic coming into the branch. Apparently, seeing an old faux-classmate of yours is just the trick to fixing a broken bone. Who knew! Conversation ends and she tells us:] MY FOOT! MY FOOT! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my FOOT!
P2: You were just standing there talking to that guy and moving around, I don't think your foot can hurt that much.
Bigmouth: It does. It comes and goes. What hospital are you taking me to? I went to Southside Hospital last week and they were mean to me. [Maybe because you're a collassal pain in the ass and just want attention so you make up stupid shit and were wasting their time too?]
P1: That's out of or way, we aren't taking you there.
Bigmouth: Well, don't take me to Central Hospital either. [Like you have options, like this is a choice. I know exactly where they're taking you, LooneyTunes].
P2: We aren't going there.
Me: I need this for my records, where are you taking her?
P2: We're taking her to SuperResearch Hospital. [Code for: mental ward.]
Me: Oh. Thanks and uh, good luck with that.
P2: Yeah.
Bigmouth: BYE BYE EVERYONE!
Thus concludes lesson #863 on "What they don't teach you in library school."
Before 2 p.m., I dealt with payroll, the 911 lady, the idiot that ripped off a chunk of concrete and threw it at the building, and then had to have an hour long family counseling session with a boy who vandalized the building Monday morning, the police, his two grown cousins, and his grandmother. That piece was pretty sad, so I'm not going get into it, but the 911 call is fun for the whole family. Read it at Sunday dinner for good laughs all around! Here ya go...
Within 5 minutes of walking into the building (thank GOD I was done with the difficult part of payroll), this woman starts yelling about how she loves Michael Jackson. Well, duh, who doesn't, but this is a library, not a Michael Jackson revival. Shut the fuck up.
I move my eyes to the entrance with a furtive glance of seething at the cause of the noise. The clerk sees me glaring and tells her to keep her voice down, lest I have to get up. Sometimes, I feel like the steretypical 1950s father with the library and its staff. "Don't make your father/manager get up, if you do, he's going to be mad." If I have to get up from my desk and walk all the way down the long damned hallway, you betcha someone is going to get ripped a new one. Also, as a side note, I am NOT one of those "YOU ARE IN THE LIBRARY, HERE IS YOUR LIST OF RULES, DON'T TALK OR I WILL BEAT YOU WITH THE AACR2" librarians. Just sayin'.
Bigmouth lasts about 5 minutes before she has a revelation that Janet Jackson IS really Michael Jackson's sister. Stop the presses. Whoah. Really. Thanks for letting a whole library full of people know that. We would have NEVER MADE THAT CONNECTION WITHOUT YOU! I got up to tell her to please keep her voice down and she grabbed my arm and insisted that I went to high school with her. Don't think so. I went to high school in a different town. Not even close. Apparently, this was her shtick, because she told every third person in the library that she went to high school with them. People were getting annoyed, myself included, but that doesn't really count because I'm always annoyed.
Apparently, that revelation about the Jackson family wasn't enough to satisfy Bigmouth for the day. She signed up for a computer (we have this nifty little machine that assigns you to a computer when you put your library card number in, thus pretty much absolving staff from being screamed at by patrons who think we are playing favoritism with the computer sign-up lists) and missed her turn. The lady that was paying attention was up next, got on the computer she was assigned to, and started working on her resume. I know, saints be praised, a non-creeper, 50 yeard old fucker that didn't want to look at porn at 10 a.m. with all females employees in the building.
In about ten minutes, Bigmouth saw the lady using the computer Bigmouth decided was hers and started screaming (because that's the best way to communicate, isn't it?) at the woman "YOU GOTTA BOUNCE! BOUNCE! OFF MY COMPUTER! IT'S MINE!"
Well, fuck, the rest of the staff looked terrified and I got up to deal with it. The perks of management are never ending. I told Bigmouth that she needs to keep her comments to herself, that she missed her turn, that the lady on computer 2 is assigned to it, and that Bigmouth needs to re-sign up. Bigmouth looked stunned. Apparently, because we were both white, meant that I had to kick the black lady off the computer. I don't care if you're a purple alien--the kind from Mars, not Mexico, although, I'm fine with those aliens too--as long as you're polite and quiet and aren't a total fucking disruptive jackass, I'm not going to favor some stark raving assface just because we have the same skin color. Uh huh.
Since I put Bigmouth in her place, she decided she didn't want a computer anymore, she wanted to color. The children's librarian gave her some coloring pages and crayons. All was quiet until she grabbed the security guard and told him she needed an ambulance because she was having a heart attack.
The guard came up to me. I'm not a doctor, I'm not evaluating shit, so I just called 911. I've called 911 so many times that it doesn't even faze me anymore. Someone could have an arm cracked in half or lost an eyeball on a ballpoint pen or had their lower intestine fall out in the men's restroom, and I would be that eerily calm voice calling in to 911. Those eerily calm voices you hear on the 911 tapes on the 6 o'clock news are either homicidal maniacs or librarians. No normal person could be calm on those recordings except these two groups.
911 Dispatch: What is your emergency?
Me: I'm at [address] and I have a woman in the library that says she feels like she's having a heart attack. She says her chest is burning. She is a caucasian female, 41 years old. [I told you I was good.]
911 D: Is she awake?
Me: [looks over] Yes, she's talking to the security guard.
911 D: Is she upright?
Me: Yes, she's looking through her purse.
911 D: Ok. [Pauses, because you know he's thinking WTF?!] Is she turning blue or look like she's struggling to breath?
Me: No, she's still looking through her purse.
911: No signs of distress, ok. [Asks a bunch of health questions, like if she took aspirin or other meds that I had no clue because I'm not this loonatic's keeper and nor do I care, at this point, I just want her out of the damned library because she's wasting my time with her irriating need for attention in any form]. Ok, we'll dispatch an ambulance.
I told Bigmouth that I called EMS and then she wanted me to sit down and chat with her and organize her purse. Sure, because if I was having a heart attack, I'd want the librarian to organize my purse. I guess if I had pot or meth in there, I might ask her to go flush it, but she wanted me to find her health care card. I told her I had to go wait for EMS and that I didn't have time to look through her belongings. She grinned at me stupidily. I went outside to flag the ambulance into the parking lot, which arrived within 5 minutes, I told the paramedics where nutso was sitting.
As if the rest of her craziness wasn't funny enough, it's about to get much better.
Paramedic 1: [asking generic questions].
Paramedic 2: We're going to take your pulse, check your breathing.
Bigmouth: I broke my foot.
Me: [looks incredulous]
P1: I thought you said you were having a heart attack?
Me: [interrupting, because there is no way you are going to say you broke your foot in the library to try to sue us when you walked in of your own accord, when you were walking around all morning shaking people and insisting you went to high school with them, and when there was no crash or accident] That's what she told the guard and that's what he told me.
Bigmouth: No, it's my foot. Well, I have asthma.
P1: What happened to your foot?
Bigmouth: A dresser fell on it. [Pause.] Then a fan fell on it. [Pause.] Then a computer fell on it.
P2: [turning to me] How did she get into the building?
Me: She walked in.
Bigmouth: [smiling] But it didn't hurt then, I think I re-broke it in here.
P2: So, [turning to Bigmouth], you have no chest pains right now?
Bigmouth: I feel fine. Except my foot. It's broken. I need a cast. Wheel me out of here. Do you have a wheelchair.
Me: [you're going to need a wheelchair when I get done with you, you've wasted 45 minuets of my time already] No. It's a library. We don't rent out wheelchairs.
P1: Ok, well, can you walk out? [Made no indication whatsoever that they were going to put this attention whore on a stretcher, and good for him!]
Bigmouth: I'm going to need help. [P1 and Guard go to each side of her and walk as she hobbles].
Bigmouth: [Sees a flyer annoucing a libray event] Oh, yeah, hey, get me one of those .
P2: [give me the look and waits until Bigmouth is further ahead] She's nutso.
Me: You got it darlin'. She's been in here all morning, yelling, almost started a fight with a patron, then she was coloring. She just wants attention.
[We laugh]
Bigmouth: OH, HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! [Sees some guy walking down the hall] Didn't we go to LocalHigh together?
Guy: Uhhhh, ummmm, sure. Yeah.
Bigmouth: Class of 87! Class of 87! [At this point, she forgets that her foot is "broken" and stops mid-hallway to talk to her "classmate. The paramedics, myself, and security guard just kinda stand there, clogging up traffic coming into the branch. Apparently, seeing an old faux-classmate of yours is just the trick to fixing a broken bone. Who knew! Conversation ends and she tells us:] MY FOOT! MY FOOT! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my FOOT!
P2: You were just standing there talking to that guy and moving around, I don't think your foot can hurt that much.
Bigmouth: It does. It comes and goes. What hospital are you taking me to? I went to Southside Hospital last week and they were mean to me. [Maybe because you're a collassal pain in the ass and just want attention so you make up stupid shit and were wasting their time too?]
P1: That's out of or way, we aren't taking you there.
Bigmouth: Well, don't take me to Central Hospital either. [Like you have options, like this is a choice. I know exactly where they're taking you, LooneyTunes].
P2: We aren't going there.
Me: I need this for my records, where are you taking her?
P2: We're taking her to SuperResearch Hospital. [Code for: mental ward.]
Me: Oh. Thanks and uh, good luck with that.
P2: Yeah.
Bigmouth: BYE BYE EVERYONE!
Thus concludes lesson #863 on "What they don't teach you in library school."
06 May 2010
You better listen to me!
Mumbling Guy on Phone: Can you look up a movie for me?
Me: Sure, what's the name of it?
MGOP: Mublemumblemumblesizeme.
Me: It seems like we have a bad connection [meaning you couldn't put down the hash pipe a half an hour before calling us so you would at least sound mildly not-high], did you say you wanted me to see if we had Super Size me?
MGOP: No, I want mumblemumblemumblemumblesizeme.
Me: Just so I know I have the right movie, you want the documentary with the guy who eats McDonald's for 30 days?
MGOP: No, I want [I shit you not] "Shush her for sizing me."
Me: [Sounding somewhat incredulous] You want a movie called "Shush her for sizing me?"
MGOP: Mumblemumblemumble my friend mumblemumblemumblemumble. Mumblemumblemumble, mumble mumble, lieberry, mumble, mumble. Mumble.
Me: [This motherfucker is ASKING ME FOR PORN!] I don't think that's the type of movie that libraries carry.
MGOP: You better listen to me! [Ok, so now you can speak clearly? It's such an outrage that the library doesn't have porn that it suddenly causes you to sober up and be outraged? I bet you ate Cheetos with maple syrup for breakfast too and called it haute cuisine] I want "Shush her for sizing me." The other guy mumblemumble [here we go again] coulnd't find it. I want it.
Me: We don't have it.
MGOP: Are you listening to me?
Me: Yes, you want the movie "Shush her for sizing me" [at this point, staff is starting to look at me funny as well as are other patrons and I have to wonder if this guy is getting off on asking me to repeat the name of this.] and no library carries it.
MGOP: Mumble. Mumblemumble. Mumble, mumble, mumblemumblemumble, where do I mumblemumble get mumblemumble it?
Me: Perhaps an adult video store?
MGOP: Mumblemumblethanksmumblemumblebye.
Me: Sure, what's the name of it?
MGOP: Mublemumblemumblesizeme.
Me: It seems like we have a bad connection [meaning you couldn't put down the hash pipe a half an hour before calling us so you would at least sound mildly not-high], did you say you wanted me to see if we had Super Size me?
MGOP: No, I want mumblemumblemumblemumblesizeme.
Me: Just so I know I have the right movie, you want the documentary with the guy who eats McDonald's for 30 days?
MGOP: No, I want [I shit you not] "Shush her for sizing me."
Me: [Sounding somewhat incredulous] You want a movie called "Shush her for sizing me?"
MGOP: Mumblemumblemumble my friend mumblemumblemumblemumble. Mumblemumblemumble, mumble mumble, lieberry, mumble, mumble. Mumble.
Me: [This motherfucker is ASKING ME FOR PORN!] I don't think that's the type of movie that libraries carry.
MGOP: You better listen to me! [Ok, so now you can speak clearly? It's such an outrage that the library doesn't have porn that it suddenly causes you to sober up and be outraged? I bet you ate Cheetos with maple syrup for breakfast too and called it haute cuisine] I want "Shush her for sizing me." The other guy mumblemumble [here we go again] coulnd't find it. I want it.
Me: We don't have it.
MGOP: Are you listening to me?
Me: Yes, you want the movie "Shush her for sizing me" [at this point, staff is starting to look at me funny as well as are other patrons and I have to wonder if this guy is getting off on asking me to repeat the name of this.] and no library carries it.
MGOP: Mumble. Mumblemumble. Mumble, mumble, mumblemumblemumble, where do I mumblemumble get mumblemumble it?
Me: Perhaps an adult video store?
MGOP: Mumblemumblethanksmumblemumblebye.
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