Yesterday afternoon we had a semi-normal looking old dude that needed help with the computers. Upon leaving the library, he set off the 3M Security gates. In his hands, he had a stack of CDs. I heard a staff person say "Sir, you'll need to check those out if you want to take them out of the library." The guy stepped back and said he needed to use the bathroom, which is located on the other side of the security gates. He gave back the CDs and left.
I immediately thought that was shady.
In the evening, he came back. I was still trying to shake off my depression and my staff were trying to get me to laugh. (Thursday night is my comedy group and it was one person's last day, so they were trying extra hard). Regardless, I told the guard to watch the old dude like a hawk. Being old and having a limp and cane were not going to stop me from having him checked if the gates beeped.
Which they did.
Guard: Sir, please step back.
Limpy: Huh, what?
Guard: Please step back, I'm going to need to check your backpack (which was actually a fanny pack, as if I needed another reason to be annoyed at the guy).
Limpy: Ok, but I don't know why I'm beeping.
Guard: Please take off your coat [and then the usual procedures are followed, which I will spare you in the name of brevity, but this search does produce a concealed CD and jacket, but no case]. Ms. Me, will you please check this man's card to see if this item is checked out to him?
Me: Sir, I will need to see your card.
Limpy: [Hands me card, says nothing, because what can he say since he's BUSTED!!!!!!!]
Me: It looks like this isn't checked out. In fact there is nothing checked out on this card. [Makes horrible, bitchy face and glares at this fucker, because while gang wars and people defecating in our facilities pisses me off, STEALING FROM THE LIBRARY really raises my pissed off level exponentially].
Limpy: I don't know how that got into my pocket.
Me: Really, amazing isn't it? Like I haven't heard that garbage excuse before. So, do you want to tell me where the case is? Is it up here or did you put it in a little hiding place in the library?
Limpy: Uhhhh, huuuuuhhhhhhh, uhhhhhhhhhh, I think I saw the case over there [limps off to a corner of the library, is gone for 5 minutes, and comes back] Uhhhhh, here's the case.
Guard: Sir, these other 7 CDs were also found on your possession.
Limpy: Uhhhh, those are from another library.
Me: Clearly, they are not. Because, our name is on them and you were stealing them too. So, tell me where the cases are [I felt so badass, like, I could take out all of my sadness and anger on this fucker because it was warranted and he was being a dick about the whole thing]?
Limpy: In here. [Points to CD holder near circ desk].
Me: Fine. I want to let you know that you are barred from using this library. If you bothered to take the time to check out these materials, this would have never happened. You really don't need to steal from the library, it's hear for you to use.
So, I've made a note in your account that you were trying to steal CDs from us, and I will also let the security department know about this so that they can determine if they want to prosecute you. You are not welcome back in this branch and if you are seen, we will contact the police, is that clear, sir? [I love going on a bitchy soapbox, and at this point, I had a nice audience to humiliate this fucker].
Limpy: [Puts on his fanny pack and leaves].
22 April 2010
Revenge is sweet, you little bastard
Last week, a mouthy teenager to me to "FUCK OFF," "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE," and emphatically exclaimed "I DON'T NEED THIS FUCKING LIEEEEEBERRRRRRRRRY!" I told him that the feeling was mutual and that he can leave and stay out.
Today, he decided to come crawling back to me.
I was talking with a co-worker about the death of another co-worker. I'm pretty upset about it and I am really struggling with it. While discussing this, I noticed the security guard bringing Mr. Mouthy over to me.
I could only look at him with absolute scorn and mustered up the words to tell him: "You know what, I can't even listen to the crap apology that you're going to give me today. I'm not even in the mood to hear it because it isn't going to be sincere. Maybe I'll be in the mood to talk to you next week. For today, just get out of my face."
It felt so good and so liberating. The kid is a rotten little seed. His older brother is a gang-banger and has been banned for gang activity, spray painting shit on the building, and stealing. This kid is no different.
When the kid was leaving, he decided to tell the guard that he didn't need the fucking lieberry and blah blah blah blah blah. If you don't need it, then stay the fuck out. Believe me, I won't miss you.
Today, he decided to come crawling back to me.
I was talking with a co-worker about the death of another co-worker. I'm pretty upset about it and I am really struggling with it. While discussing this, I noticed the security guard bringing Mr. Mouthy over to me.
I could only look at him with absolute scorn and mustered up the words to tell him: "You know what, I can't even listen to the crap apology that you're going to give me today. I'm not even in the mood to hear it because it isn't going to be sincere. Maybe I'll be in the mood to talk to you next week. For today, just get out of my face."
It felt so good and so liberating. The kid is a rotten little seed. His older brother is a gang-banger and has been banned for gang activity, spray painting shit on the building, and stealing. This kid is no different.
When the kid was leaving, he decided to tell the guard that he didn't need the fucking lieberry and blah blah blah blah blah. If you don't need it, then stay the fuck out. Believe me, I won't miss you.
21 April 2010
Diagrams of the Middle Ages
I've been stuck in management quagmire (and something terribly depressing happened today that not even massive amounts of wine can fix) and therefore, haven't had the pleasure of dealing with a lot of crazy patron shit. Boooooo, that means no good stories! Oh ho ho, you are wrong, because, rest assured, I have pulled an oldie but a goodie from the vault. This still remains one of my top ten favorite reference intereactions EVER!!!!!!!! This happened within the first few months of me being a reference librarian, before I entered the wacko world of management. It is a classic.
Teenage Patron: I need diagrams of the Middle Ages.
Me: Ok. Would you like something like, say, some paintings?
TP: No, pictures. Diagrams.
Me: Wait, you mean, photographs?
TP: Yeah.
Me: Well, there aren't photographs. There are drawings and paintings and such. There wasn't really any sort of camera back then.
TP: (sounding exasperated with me) NO! NOT MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVIES. I don't want movies, just pictures.
Me: Back then, there weren't movies and there wasn't really film because it wasn't invented yet.
TP: Ohhhhhh... So, even if I don't want movies of the Middle Ages, you don't have pictures either.
Me: People really didn't start using film to about the 1800s, which is way past the Middle Ages. [Hands the kid an encyclopedia]
TP: [Thumbs through it] So, no movies, no cameras, this is what people did? [Rolls his eyes] I guess this'll work, but it's too bad there aren't pictures or a movie I can watch.
Teenage Patron: I need diagrams of the Middle Ages.
Me: Ok. Would you like something like, say, some paintings?
TP: No, pictures. Diagrams.
Me: Wait, you mean, photographs?
TP: Yeah.
Me: Well, there aren't photographs. There are drawings and paintings and such. There wasn't really any sort of camera back then.
TP: (sounding exasperated with me) NO! NOT MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVIES. I don't want movies, just pictures.
Me: Back then, there weren't movies and there wasn't really film because it wasn't invented yet.
TP: Ohhhhhh... So, even if I don't want movies of the Middle Ages, you don't have pictures either.
Me: People really didn't start using film to about the 1800s, which is way past the Middle Ages. [Hands the kid an encyclopedia]
TP: [Thumbs through it] So, no movies, no cameras, this is what people did? [Rolls his eyes] I guess this'll work, but it's too bad there aren't pictures or a movie I can watch.
17 April 2010
I Like Your Form
Old dude: I need reference.
Me: What kind of information are you looking for?
Old dude: Reference.
Me: There's a lot of information in the reference section, what do you need?
Old dude: Reference.
Me: [seriously, did someone hit you on the head before you got here?] I can show you the section, but there's different types of books there, like dictionaries and stuff about people and fixing cars.
Old dude: {muttermuttermutter} South Carolina.
Me: You need information on South Carolina?
Old dude: Yes [gives him 'Cities ranked' and as I'm doing this, Creeper sneaks in and Old Dude totters off, happy.]
Creeper: Are you from South Carolina?
Me: No
Creeper: I see you here a lot [WHY, WHY, WHY why do people say stuff like this? You see me here all the time because I WORK HERE, you moron.] I'm from New York City.
Me: Well, I do work here.
Creeper: [leaning closer to me] Oooo, that's nice. I like your form [ok, really?!?!?!? Who still says shit like that? Is that supposed to be flattering? I swear, if you did this to me at a bar, I'd laugh at you. Get. The. Hell. Away. From. Me.]
Me: Did you need help finding anything?
Creeper: Any time a lovely lady is willing to help me, I'll take it [at this point, I'd like to vomit on you right now].
Me: [like I can say anything to that] Since you don't have a specific request, I'll be at my desk [walks away].
Creeper: Ok, baby [I am not your baby, honey, suga', sweetie, darlin', love muffin, snookieookums, or any other lame ass term of endearment you want to call me]
After I went to my desk, he came up to me and TOUCHED my hand, and told me that I was beautiful. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I told him never to touch me again.
His response was to ask me 'what nationality are you?' Fuck you, that's what I am.
The best (???) part of that was that he called the branch three times later that day to ask for me. He also called numerous other times and hung up (oh, I love you, caller id). When he finally got me on the horn, he asked me out. I lit him up one side and down the other and ended the call with "This is a place of business and I work here. Unless you need to speak with me about the library, then do not call me, otherwise, I will contact the security department and they can relay the message to you. Have a nice day." Click.
Me: What kind of information are you looking for?
Old dude: Reference.
Me: There's a lot of information in the reference section, what do you need?
Old dude: Reference.
Me: [seriously, did someone hit you on the head before you got here?] I can show you the section, but there's different types of books there, like dictionaries and stuff about people and fixing cars.
Old dude: {muttermuttermutter} South Carolina.
Me: You need information on South Carolina?
Old dude: Yes [gives him 'Cities ranked' and as I'm doing this, Creeper sneaks in and Old Dude totters off, happy.]
Creeper: Are you from South Carolina?
Me: No
Creeper: I see you here a lot [WHY, WHY, WHY why do people say stuff like this? You see me here all the time because I WORK HERE, you moron.] I'm from New York City.
Me: Well, I do work here.
Creeper: [leaning closer to me] Oooo, that's nice. I like your form [ok, really?!?!?!? Who still says shit like that? Is that supposed to be flattering? I swear, if you did this to me at a bar, I'd laugh at you. Get. The. Hell. Away. From. Me.]
Me: Did you need help finding anything?
Creeper: Any time a lovely lady is willing to help me, I'll take it [at this point, I'd like to vomit on you right now].
Me: [like I can say anything to that] Since you don't have a specific request, I'll be at my desk [walks away].
Creeper: Ok, baby [I am not your baby, honey, suga', sweetie, darlin', love muffin, snookieookums, or any other lame ass term of endearment you want to call me]
After I went to my desk, he came up to me and TOUCHED my hand, and told me that I was beautiful. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I told him never to touch me again.
His response was to ask me 'what nationality are you?' Fuck you, that's what I am.
The best (???) part of that was that he called the branch three times later that day to ask for me. He also called numerous other times and hung up (oh, I love you, caller id). When he finally got me on the horn, he asked me out. I lit him up one side and down the other and ended the call with "This is a place of business and I work here. Unless you need to speak with me about the library, then do not call me, otherwise, I will contact the security department and they can relay the message to you. Have a nice day." Click.
16 April 2010
Pirate Tax Guy
We have this really irritating guy who is loud, crass, douchey and pretends that he's a tax accountant.
I say pretends because no real tax accountant sets up in libraryland at a public computer and leaves confidential documents containing SSN, addresses, birthdates, income, occupational information, and other stuff that just shouldn't be sitting around for anyone to grab when said "tax accountant" gets up to piss all over the men's floor in the restroom.
Well, despite today being April 16, Mr. Tax Guy is still going in full force. Apparently, he's so important that he doesn't even have to adhere to the IRS schedule that the rest of us poor schumcks scramble do.
Today, Mr. Tax Guy walked into the branch with sunglasses and an eye patch on. Mind you, I would normally not make fun of a non-asshat person with this get-up, but this guy is beggggggggggggggging for it.
Mr. Tax Guy: [loudly proclaiming to all in the branch] I NEED TO USE THE MEETING ROOM (I was on my way back to the staff room to get coffee, so I totally made the stupid clerk deal with it because I just don't fucking care about his needs.)
Clerk: Oh, the Census has it booked for testing.
Mr. Tax Guy: [Removing sunglasses and eyepatch, which, the last time I checked, if the doctor tells you to wear an eyepatch, isn't it for a reason? So, as I see him removing it, I start sharpening an arsenal of pencils to aim at said beady little eye.] No one is in there, I can use it.
Clerk: Ummmmmmm, let me check.
Mr. Tax Guy: Ummmmm, hmmmmmm. [At this point, I wander on out.]
Me: Oh, the Census is using the room and there is a person testing in there.
Mr. Tax Guy: Well, I need it.
Me: Sorry [Ha ha, go ahead and try to plead your case with me Long John Fuckface], but as I've told you before, library programming takes precedence over other activities.
Mr. TG: But, it's just one person in there and I have THIS TO DO! [holds out stack of papers, not realizing that man-whining is possibly the most irritating thing in the world next to child-whining]
Me: [Plasters on sickening sweet smile and then...] You're welcome to sit at one of the tables.
Mr. TG: Yeah, like I don't know that.
Me: [You buttpirate, I hope you get the papercut from hell under your thumbnail and get a staph infection that travels to your voicebox and renders you speechless] And please remember to use your cell phone in the hallway otherwise, the guard will ask you to keep it down or leave.
HA HA HA. I win, you suck. By the way, the bad blood started with him when he complained to the director's office that we were always telling him to be quiet. Of course, we had to listen to you stupid wheeling and dealing with your bullshit clients and other patrons were sick of it.
Ooooooo, his phone just rang. It's only a matter of time before I get to give him the hairy eyeball!
I say pretends because no real tax accountant sets up in libraryland at a public computer and leaves confidential documents containing SSN, addresses, birthdates, income, occupational information, and other stuff that just shouldn't be sitting around for anyone to grab when said "tax accountant" gets up to piss all over the men's floor in the restroom.
Well, despite today being April 16, Mr. Tax Guy is still going in full force. Apparently, he's so important that he doesn't even have to adhere to the IRS schedule that the rest of us poor schumcks scramble do.
Today, Mr. Tax Guy walked into the branch with sunglasses and an eye patch on. Mind you, I would normally not make fun of a non-asshat person with this get-up, but this guy is beggggggggggggggging for it.
Mr. Tax Guy: [loudly proclaiming to all in the branch] I NEED TO USE THE MEETING ROOM (I was on my way back to the staff room to get coffee, so I totally made the stupid clerk deal with it because I just don't fucking care about his needs.)
Clerk: Oh, the Census has it booked for testing.
Mr. Tax Guy: [Removing sunglasses and eyepatch, which, the last time I checked, if the doctor tells you to wear an eyepatch, isn't it for a reason? So, as I see him removing it, I start sharpening an arsenal of pencils to aim at said beady little eye.] No one is in there, I can use it.
Clerk: Ummmmmmm, let me check.
Mr. Tax Guy: Ummmmm, hmmmmmm. [At this point, I wander on out.]
Me: Oh, the Census is using the room and there is a person testing in there.
Mr. Tax Guy: Well, I need it.
Me: Sorry [Ha ha, go ahead and try to plead your case with me Long John Fuckface], but as I've told you before, library programming takes precedence over other activities.
Mr. TG: But, it's just one person in there and I have THIS TO DO! [holds out stack of papers, not realizing that man-whining is possibly the most irritating thing in the world next to child-whining]
Me: [Plasters on sickening sweet smile and then...] You're welcome to sit at one of the tables.
Mr. TG: Yeah, like I don't know that.
Me: [You buttpirate, I hope you get the papercut from hell under your thumbnail and get a staph infection that travels to your voicebox and renders you speechless] And please remember to use your cell phone in the hallway otherwise, the guard will ask you to keep it down or leave.
HA HA HA. I win, you suck. By the way, the bad blood started with him when he complained to the director's office that we were always telling him to be quiet. Of course, we had to listen to you stupid wheeling and dealing with your bullshit clients and other patrons were sick of it.
Ooooooo, his phone just rang. It's only a matter of time before I get to give him the hairy eyeball!
13 April 2010
Because throwing a chunk of concrete at the library is the answer
A security guard put out three kids (ages 17-19). One of them was a girl and just ran off her nasty, foul mouth at the guard. She is just a disgusting human being.
The other two idiots are like Dumb and Dumber. Their response was to jump on one of those library stools with the wheels on it. But, hey, guess what? Two people can't fit on that shit at the same time.
Meanwhile, the guard was telling the three morons to leave, otherwise, he was going to call the police. This set Dumb and Dumber, who are two rampant potheads who make me jealous of the good shit that they get, paranoid, but the girl kept yapping.
At this point, I entered the picture, just coming back from a meeting. I told the three fuckwads not to come back. This of course, set them off even more, but they left the building.
The guard looked after them, saw that they were gone, I had to meet with someone else (yes, meeting, meeting, meeting and a meeting about a meeting with spurts of yelling at potheads is my life, yes, I went and got a master's degree for that shit), so we let it be.
Not two minutes later, I heard a large BOOM!
At first, I thought that they were shooting at the building, but then I realized that they're too stupid and too high to shoot, but that I wouldn't have put it past the girl. Then, I saw them running. If they were shooting, they would have gone for a window (ask me how I know this, but, you are intellgent readers, I'm sure you can figure it out) and then would have ran. We walked outside and realized that one of the idiots ripped out a chunk of concrete from the sidewalk and then sailed it at the building.
Then, while we were inspecting the damage, the stupid fuckers came back to call us names. Really?!
I bet within a week they're going to try to come back into the branch. I'll remind them that the 'white bitch' will not be letting them back in any time soon. The best part is that when I called the police (two of the officers gave me their personal cell phone numbers), they pulled up, looked at the damage, knew which dumbfucks did it, and said that they'll give "'em a good scare on the streets."
I never thought I would have such a good relationship with the popo.
For now, I'm going to have another glass of wine and imagine that I'm independently wealthy and living in the south of France. And if you see typos here, please blame the excess wine and thank you.
The other two idiots are like Dumb and Dumber. Their response was to jump on one of those library stools with the wheels on it. But, hey, guess what? Two people can't fit on that shit at the same time.
Meanwhile, the guard was telling the three morons to leave, otherwise, he was going to call the police. This set Dumb and Dumber, who are two rampant potheads who make me jealous of the good shit that they get, paranoid, but the girl kept yapping.
At this point, I entered the picture, just coming back from a meeting. I told the three fuckwads not to come back. This of course, set them off even more, but they left the building.
The guard looked after them, saw that they were gone, I had to meet with someone else (yes, meeting, meeting, meeting and a meeting about a meeting with spurts of yelling at potheads is my life, yes, I went and got a master's degree for that shit), so we let it be.
Not two minutes later, I heard a large BOOM!
At first, I thought that they were shooting at the building, but then I realized that they're too stupid and too high to shoot, but that I wouldn't have put it past the girl. Then, I saw them running. If they were shooting, they would have gone for a window (ask me how I know this, but, you are intellgent readers, I'm sure you can figure it out) and then would have ran. We walked outside and realized that one of the idiots ripped out a chunk of concrete from the sidewalk and then sailed it at the building.
Then, while we were inspecting the damage, the stupid fuckers came back to call us names. Really?!
I bet within a week they're going to try to come back into the branch. I'll remind them that the 'white bitch' will not be letting them back in any time soon. The best part is that when I called the police (two of the officers gave me their personal cell phone numbers), they pulled up, looked at the damage, knew which dumbfucks did it, and said that they'll give "'em a good scare on the streets."
I never thought I would have such a good relationship with the popo.
For now, I'm going to have another glass of wine and imagine that I'm independently wealthy and living in the south of France. And if you see typos here, please blame the excess wine and thank you.
12 April 2010
Because throwing things at me is the answer to everything
I'm not sure when the practice of common decencey and respect flew out the window, but I see it everyday in many shapes and forms.
Let's take Lemon Ricotta Lady and her jerkish ways as an example to illustrate the above point.
We had a typical Monday morning: busy, lots of people checking out, needing things, and wanting tax forms. In essence, it's nothing out of the norm.
I happened to be on the phone with a patron that I knew was in the hospital and she had some fines on her card. We were trying to find a good time to meet to discuss this and she wanted to come in later, but I wouldn't be in and yaddayaddayadda. You don't care about the details. If you do, I can email them to you.
So, here in strolls Lemon Ricotta Lady, who sees that I'm on the phone and hears that it's clearly a library-related call. I try to look up and make eye contact, but she isn't having any of that.
Instead of being patient and waiting, she THROWS a piece of paper at me.
THROWS.
A.
PIECE.
OF.
MOTHERFUCKINGPAPERATME!
I seethed. I seethed. I seethed.
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE THAT YOU CAN JUST THROW SHIT AT ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I let the paper fall to my desk and saw her request. It wasn't anything urgent. She always takes forever in here since she's old, which is fine. But you know what? Just because you're older than dirt that doesn't mean that you can interrupt me or THROW SHIT AT ME.
When I ended the call with my nice and kind patron, Lemon Ricotta Lady plopped down at the chair next to my desk and asked if I had the information for her. Of course I did, because I'm an awesomeasfuck reference librarian, and handed it over.
Do you know what she had the nerve to say?
"Oh, this is long. 9 pages? I don't know if I want 9 pages. Can't you just get something from Google."
Seetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseethe.
"No, actually, this is better than Google. We pay for this subscription database. Any wackjob can make a website, this is reliable information right here."
Let's take Lemon Ricotta Lady and her jerkish ways as an example to illustrate the above point.
We had a typical Monday morning: busy, lots of people checking out, needing things, and wanting tax forms. In essence, it's nothing out of the norm.
I happened to be on the phone with a patron that I knew was in the hospital and she had some fines on her card. We were trying to find a good time to meet to discuss this and she wanted to come in later, but I wouldn't be in and yaddayaddayadda. You don't care about the details. If you do, I can email them to you.
So, here in strolls Lemon Ricotta Lady, who sees that I'm on the phone and hears that it's clearly a library-related call. I try to look up and make eye contact, but she isn't having any of that.
Instead of being patient and waiting, she THROWS a piece of paper at me.
THROWS.
A.
PIECE.
OF.
MOTHERFUCKINGPAPERATME!
I seethed. I seethed. I seethed.
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE THAT YOU CAN JUST THROW SHIT AT ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I let the paper fall to my desk and saw her request. It wasn't anything urgent. She always takes forever in here since she's old, which is fine. But you know what? Just because you're older than dirt that doesn't mean that you can interrupt me or THROW SHIT AT ME.
When I ended the call with my nice and kind patron, Lemon Ricotta Lady plopped down at the chair next to my desk and asked if I had the information for her. Of course I did, because I'm an awesomeasfuck reference librarian, and handed it over.
Do you know what she had the nerve to say?
"Oh, this is long. 9 pages? I don't know if I want 9 pages. Can't you just get something from Google."
Seetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseetheseethe.
"No, actually, this is better than Google. We pay for this subscription database. Any wackjob can make a website, this is reliable information right here."
10 April 2010
Well, they sniffed me out
I just wrote a really funny post about:
-a guy who hit on me
-asked me about a Shewbread Table
-spent the rest of the afternoon glaring at me in either lust or contempt.
Blogger just ate it on me. I guess this is what I get for being a heathen. SHIT!
But I don't steal, or kill, or adulter, or covet, or that other stuff, I just like to swear and make fun of dumb people.
-a guy who hit on me
-asked me about a Shewbread Table
-spent the rest of the afternoon glaring at me in either lust or contempt.
Blogger just ate it on me. I guess this is what I get for being a heathen. SHIT!
But I don't steal, or kill, or adulter, or covet, or that other stuff, I just like to swear and make fun of dumb people.
Shitballs, they sniffed me out!
[I thought that the innernets ate this. Bless you, Blogger Drafts, BLESS YOU MY CHILD!!!!!!!!]
I'm not a religious person and that's fine. If you are a religious person, that's fine. If you float somewhere in the middle, that's fine. If you worship Satan, that's fine. If you go to temple every Friday, that's fine. If Ganesh is your thing, that's fine. You get the point. However, much like I don't try to convert YOU to my brand of non-religiousness, I would appreciate it if you didn't try to convert me to whatever or whomever you believe. And, I get mad when you don't get the hint. I get mad when you keep trying to push the issue. I get really mad.
With that, a whole swarm of some type of Bible study people walked in here. That's great that you are using the library!
What's not so great? That that all keep glaring at me.
Why are these gifts from God glaring at me? Because I had to ask one particular fellow, in his mid to late 20s, to clarify something for me. Shameful me hadn't heard of a Shewbread Table and had to ask how to spell it. It's funny, because before I had to ask for this clarification, he basically asked me out:
Him: Wha, wha, whaaaaa, what are you, do-do-doing after work?
Me: Going home and eating dinner with my husband.
First of all, if you are going to ask me out, let me point out the obvious: You need to be at LEAST five steps above my current spouse before I even think of running into the sunset with you. The follow is a list that helps you determine if you are at least five steps above the grade of my current spouse (in no particular order):
1. You need to be making at least six figures.
2. You need to have all of your teeth.
3. Hair. If you have it, it better be clean. If you don't, you better be sportin' some Yule Brenner mojo.
4. Grammar. Enough said.
5. You need to have a car, no arrests, and no warrants for your arrest.
6. You better not be part of some freaky cult that wants a full quiver, cuz that shit ain't happening.
Apparently, since I am not eating dinner at a Shewbread Table, I am out of the running for potential candidates he can date. Although, maybe not, maybe I am the ultimate challenge. I'm sure my marriage to my heathen husband has nothing to do with it in his eyes, since, if I married a 'sinner' and this Shewbread Guy can convert me, then I would be saved and his in the eyes of God.
Thankfully, work is almost over and provided that these lovely disciples of Christ don't try to abduct me in the parking lot, I can go home to my heathen ways.
But, seriously, they can stop staring at me. If I wasn't at work, I'd whisper to them: God wants you to stop glaring at me.
I'm not a religious person and that's fine. If you are a religious person, that's fine. If you float somewhere in the middle, that's fine. If you worship Satan, that's fine. If you go to temple every Friday, that's fine. If Ganesh is your thing, that's fine. You get the point. However, much like I don't try to convert YOU to my brand of non-religiousness, I would appreciate it if you didn't try to convert me to whatever or whomever you believe. And, I get mad when you don't get the hint. I get mad when you keep trying to push the issue. I get really mad.
With that, a whole swarm of some type of Bible study people walked in here. That's great that you are using the library!
What's not so great? That that all keep glaring at me.
Why are these gifts from God glaring at me? Because I had to ask one particular fellow, in his mid to late 20s, to clarify something for me. Shameful me hadn't heard of a Shewbread Table and had to ask how to spell it. It's funny, because before I had to ask for this clarification, he basically asked me out:
Him: Wha, wha, whaaaaa, what are you, do-do-doing after work?
Me: Going home and eating dinner with my husband.
First of all, if you are going to ask me out, let me point out the obvious: You need to be at LEAST five steps above my current spouse before I even think of running into the sunset with you. The follow is a list that helps you determine if you are at least five steps above the grade of my current spouse (in no particular order):
1. You need to be making at least six figures.
2. You need to have all of your teeth.
3. Hair. If you have it, it better be clean. If you don't, you better be sportin' some Yule Brenner mojo.
4. Grammar. Enough said.
5. You need to have a car, no arrests, and no warrants for your arrest.
6. You better not be part of some freaky cult that wants a full quiver, cuz that shit ain't happening.
Apparently, since I am not eating dinner at a Shewbread Table, I am out of the running for potential candidates he can date. Although, maybe not, maybe I am the ultimate challenge. I'm sure my marriage to my heathen husband has nothing to do with it in his eyes, since, if I married a 'sinner' and this Shewbread Guy can convert me, then I would be saved and his in the eyes of God.
Thankfully, work is almost over and provided that these lovely disciples of Christ don't try to abduct me in the parking lot, I can go home to my heathen ways.
But, seriously, they can stop staring at me. If I wasn't at work, I'd whisper to them: God wants you to stop glaring at me.
Well, what DID you expect?
Crabby, pissy-looking old lady: [cue cracked, frail, wispy yet bitchy voice] I have a complaint [waives DVD around]
Me: How can I help you with that?
CPLOL: [stands in front of my desk, looking like a shrew just gnawed on her left cheek] This movie. This movie. OH, THIS MOVIE!
Me: Is there something wrong with it?
CPLOL: Well, look at it, just look at it, this...this... is...is...isssssss...issssss... OBSCENE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: [Looks at movie. The tagline of said movie is "Disgusting. Offensive. Stupid." On the cover, there is a man wielding a machine gun and a dumb looking female in a bikini standing next to a chimp with a midget] I'm sorry you didn't like it, can I help you find something else?
CPLOL: No. And I'll tell you what else, CHILDRRREEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNN [drags this out in bitchy yet frail voice] can see this!
Me: Actually, they can't check it out. A person has to be 18 to check out movies. [If she would have died right there, it would have been my fault because I totally knocked the wind out of her sails, her joi de vivre gone, gone, gone, gone baby]
CPLOL: Oh, well, what if a child sees this?
Me: I mean, I guess that they could watch it with their parents, but that's up to the parent. It is rated R and again, if a person is under 18, they can't check out movies.
CPLOL: Well, I still didn't like it. And I wanted to make sure you knew that I didn't like it!
I'm so glad that you're so important in life that you wanted to take ten minutes out of my day to complain about a movie with a chimp, a midget, a moron and a bimbo on the cover that is also rated R. Why the hell did you check it out in the first place?
Oh yeah, to bitch about something. It's not even a matter of children seeing it, it's a matter of you not liking it.
Me: How can I help you with that?
CPLOL: [stands in front of my desk, looking like a shrew just gnawed on her left cheek] This movie. This movie. OH, THIS MOVIE!
Me: Is there something wrong with it?
CPLOL: Well, look at it, just look at it, this...this... is...is...isssssss...issssss... OBSCENE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: [Looks at movie. The tagline of said movie is "Disgusting. Offensive. Stupid." On the cover, there is a man wielding a machine gun and a dumb looking female in a bikini standing next to a chimp with a midget] I'm sorry you didn't like it, can I help you find something else?
CPLOL: No. And I'll tell you what else, CHILDRRREEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNN [drags this out in bitchy yet frail voice] can see this!
Me: Actually, they can't check it out. A person has to be 18 to check out movies. [If she would have died right there, it would have been my fault because I totally knocked the wind out of her sails, her joi de vivre gone, gone, gone, gone baby]
CPLOL: Oh, well, what if a child sees this?
Me: I mean, I guess that they could watch it with their parents, but that's up to the parent. It is rated R and again, if a person is under 18, they can't check out movies.
CPLOL: Well, I still didn't like it. And I wanted to make sure you knew that I didn't like it!
I'm so glad that you're so important in life that you wanted to take ten minutes out of my day to complain about a movie with a chimp, a midget, a moron and a bimbo on the cover that is also rated R. Why the hell did you check it out in the first place?
Oh yeah, to bitch about something. It's not even a matter of children seeing it, it's a matter of you not liking it.
08 April 2010
Bugs
Dear beloved patrons:
Please do your librarians a favor and PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE check your DVD cases for bugs before you return them to us.
By bugs, I mean such things as roaches (dead or alive) and maggots.
Sincerely,
Triple gloved freaked out librarians that don't want to touch your nasty bug covered shit.
Please do your librarians a favor and PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE check your DVD cases for bugs before you return them to us.
By bugs, I mean such things as roaches (dead or alive) and maggots.
Sincerely,
Triple gloved freaked out librarians that don't want to touch your nasty bug covered shit.
05 April 2010
Ha ha ha, Mr. Hat laughs at you
The good news is that I got a promotion.
The better news is that I get more money.
The best news is that I will have a totally new branch; actually, several branches, and I don't have to see 'zilla.
The funniest thing is that the bitchest person that works here is having a total emotional breakdown over it. That would be 'zilla.
You were never nice to me when I worked here. You only were nice when you thought it was going to serve your interests. No one likes you because you're such a moody nutjob. And now, I get to leave and you can sit here and fester in your own misery.
I'm going to go out in the sunshine and laugh on my lunch break.
The better news is that I get more money.
The best news is that I will have a totally new branch; actually, several branches, and I don't have to see 'zilla.
The funniest thing is that the bitchest person that works here is having a total emotional breakdown over it. That would be 'zilla.
You were never nice to me when I worked here. You only were nice when you thought it was going to serve your interests. No one likes you because you're such a moody nutjob. And now, I get to leave and you can sit here and fester in your own misery.
I'm going to go out in the sunshine and laugh on my lunch break.
Safelink Wireless can die a painful, burning death
Immediately when the library opened, this guy walks up to me and says, "I want a phone." Luckily, I don't even have to ask because I know that's code for Safelink Wireless, which I hate with a burning, searing passion because everybody and their sister thinks that the library hands out phones and that it's the library's responsibility for the upkeep and troubleshooting of these phones.
So, at 9:30 a.m., while I'm trying to get the building open, this motherfucker sits down in my little chair next to my messy little desk and proceeds to chew on his gums (note: I did not say 'chewing gum.' Indeed, I did say 'chew on his gums' as in, he was literally chewing on his toothless gums, which quite possibly is in the the running for the top ten most disgusting things you can do in a library, such as shitting in a chair and having sex in the library bathroom, because I really can't stand the sound of chewing, let alone chewing on one's flappy gums) while he digs around in his wallet for his ID. I started asking for ID because it's just easier than asking people questions and getting a blank stare in response.
When I'm done with the registration, my computer freezes up. The registration doesn't take long at all, but of course, since it's Monday morning and 10 people want 10,000 different things from me, the fucking system has to freeze up.
And then, JOY, I get to do it again for this old fucker, who got pissy with me because I had to ask him the last four of his SSN number all over again. Really? You're getting a free phone out of this, you have no teeth, you smell like garbage, what the fuck else do you have to do today?
Take your damned Obama phone registration confirmation and let me get on with the shit I have to do today.
So, at 9:30 a.m., while I'm trying to get the building open, this motherfucker sits down in my little chair next to my messy little desk and proceeds to chew on his gums (note: I did not say 'chewing gum.' Indeed, I did say 'chew on his gums' as in, he was literally chewing on his toothless gums, which quite possibly is in the the running for the top ten most disgusting things you can do in a library, such as shitting in a chair and having sex in the library bathroom, because I really can't stand the sound of chewing, let alone chewing on one's flappy gums) while he digs around in his wallet for his ID. I started asking for ID because it's just easier than asking people questions and getting a blank stare in response.
When I'm done with the registration, my computer freezes up. The registration doesn't take long at all, but of course, since it's Monday morning and 10 people want 10,000 different things from me, the fucking system has to freeze up.
And then, JOY, I get to do it again for this old fucker, who got pissy with me because I had to ask him the last four of his SSN number all over again. Really? You're getting a free phone out of this, you have no teeth, you smell like garbage, what the fuck else do you have to do today?
Take your damned Obama phone registration confirmation and let me get on with the shit I have to do today.
02 April 2010
Copier mayhem: 2 stories!
Guy On Phone: Do you guys have a copier?
Me [picked up phone on lunch break]: Yes, we do. Copies are ten cents a page.
GOP: Ok, does it make double sided copies?
Me: It does, it's a little tricky, but you can definitely make them, but those will be 20 cents a page.
GOP: Oh, will you be there to help me?
Me: Someone will be here to help you with that.
GOP: That's not what I asked. I asked if YOU would be there to help.
Me: [And you wonder why I get so bitchy] Actually, no, I won't, because I'm on my lunch break [and if you think for one hot second that I'm going to give up hot cheese fries for your ass, boy oh boy, do you have another think coming.
GOP: Oh, my heart is broken.
Me: Have a nice day.
Here's the second story. This one needs some background. This jackass has been in here all day having trouble with his "legal documents" because he "has never used a computer and needs to get this typed and presented downtown." Usually, this is code for "crackpot lawsuit," so I tend not to touch that shit with a 50 foot pole.
Crackpot: [literally, running to my desk and then shouting] MS. S, I gotta get this copied. I don't have no money and I gotta get this copied.
Me: Well, the copier is ten cents a page [fuck you if you think I'm going to give you free copies after you've been a dick all morning to every staff person in here].
Crackpot: No, I've been making copies downtown and you all shut off my computer time at 2 hours and I need copies.
Me: Well, two hours is the daily limit for all locations. If you still have your disk that you bought, I can print out a copy for you.
Crackpot: I DON'T HAVE! I WAS DOWNTOWN AND I DON'T HAVE IT. It's not saved. [Blargablargablargablgarga]
Me: Well, then, you'll need to make copies.
Crackpot: But, I don't have money.
Me: Sorry, but copies are ten cents a page.
Crackpot: Ok, I need 4 copies of this four times.
Me: Well, then, that's $1.60
Crackpot: I have two dollars, then, is that enough?
Me: [Oh, and Easter miracle, you have money!] Yes it is.
Crackpot: [Waiving dollar bills around] I NEED CHANGE!
Me: The copier takes dollars.
Crackpot: [Totters off, grunting, comes back literally like five minutes later this:] YOU'RE COPIER ISN'T WORKING! It's not taking my money. I'm trying to put five dollars in it.
Me: It takes only dollar bills and you can really only put one in there at a time.
Crackpot: UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Fine, I don't get free copies for this?
Me: Well, no.
Me [picked up phone on lunch break]: Yes, we do. Copies are ten cents a page.
GOP: Ok, does it make double sided copies?
Me: It does, it's a little tricky, but you can definitely make them, but those will be 20 cents a page.
GOP: Oh, will you be there to help me?
Me: Someone will be here to help you with that.
GOP: That's not what I asked. I asked if YOU would be there to help.
Me: [And you wonder why I get so bitchy] Actually, no, I won't, because I'm on my lunch break [and if you think for one hot second that I'm going to give up hot cheese fries for your ass, boy oh boy, do you have another think coming.
GOP: Oh, my heart is broken.
Me: Have a nice day.
Here's the second story. This one needs some background. This jackass has been in here all day having trouble with his "legal documents" because he "has never used a computer and needs to get this typed and presented downtown." Usually, this is code for "crackpot lawsuit," so I tend not to touch that shit with a 50 foot pole.
Crackpot: [literally, running to my desk and then shouting] MS. S, I gotta get this copied. I don't have no money and I gotta get this copied.
Me: Well, the copier is ten cents a page [fuck you if you think I'm going to give you free copies after you've been a dick all morning to every staff person in here].
Crackpot: No, I've been making copies downtown and you all shut off my computer time at 2 hours and I need copies.
Me: Well, two hours is the daily limit for all locations. If you still have your disk that you bought, I can print out a copy for you.
Crackpot: I DON'T HAVE! I WAS DOWNTOWN AND I DON'T HAVE IT. It's not saved. [Blargablargablargablgarga]
Me: Well, then, you'll need to make copies.
Crackpot: But, I don't have money.
Me: Sorry, but copies are ten cents a page.
Crackpot: Ok, I need 4 copies of this four times.
Me: Well, then, that's $1.60
Crackpot: I have two dollars, then, is that enough?
Me: [Oh, and Easter miracle, you have money!] Yes it is.
Crackpot: [Waiving dollar bills around] I NEED CHANGE!
Me: The copier takes dollars.
Crackpot: [Totters off, grunting, comes back literally like five minutes later this:] YOU'RE COPIER ISN'T WORKING! It's not taking my money. I'm trying to put five dollars in it.
Me: It takes only dollar bills and you can really only put one in there at a time.
Crackpot: UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Fine, I don't get free copies for this?
Me: Well, no.
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