Nonfiction Book Reviews

We’ve been dealing with a rash of thefts lately at the library.  I’ve discussed people stealing from our library before, but this is not your normal theft.  The person (or people) involved are not stealing books, CD’s, DVD’s, or other standard library material.  Instead, they are stealing toilet paper.

Yes, that roll of thin white paper that every toilet paper company in existence tries to convince you is nothing short of little pillows of goodness; a slice of heaven come to earth (and apparently taking up residence in your bathroom.  You’d think if heaven was going to come to earth, it would come in form of chocolate or something equally amazing, but instead, it’s just rolls of thin paper.  Me thinks that there is a bit of embellishment happening in the advertising world, but of course we all know that can’t possibly be what’s happening.)

Apparently, our janitorial staff has noticed a sudden and drastic increase in our toilet paper usage in our public bathrooms - so drastic that even the tubes in the middle of the rolls are gone.  Oh, and yes, you read that right: Bathrooms.  So either our thief has a partner in crime, or s/he is sneaking into the other bathroom when no one is looking.

Now mind you, our toilet paper dispensers all have the standard little locks on them to keep people from doing exactly this.  But give a 7-year-old a pocketknife and about 10 seconds, and they’ll have that lock picked and the roll out of the holder.  Not exactly a Mission Impossible level of difficulty here.

So what are we doing to combat the theft?  Just what you might expect from a library: We’ve put a security strip inside of each roll.  The thin metal strips that normally help keep our books and DVD’s from being stolen are now doing double duty and are keeping our toilet paper rolls from walking out the front door.  We are under strict instructions that if we find a patron trying to steal a roll, we are to notify a manager and they are to call the police immediately.

All I have to say is: Really?  TP?  Couldn’t you find something better to steal?  If you’re going to go to jail for stealing something, make it worth your while!  At least pick up a DVD or two.  I just can’t fathom having petty theft on my record because of toilet paper.

Is the economy really that bad?

Havs

I am not feeling well (I have strep throat and a sinus infection, lucky me) so I’m going to make today’s post short (no need for cheering, Peanut Gallery).

But yesterday, I saw a crazy true story on the MSNBC website that I just had to post about: A lady who gave birth to a baby in a library.  Yes, you heard that right - a lady got on the city bus to go to the library, but somewhere along the way, she went into labor, and by time she walked through the front doors of the library, was in full-on labor.  She gave birth in the foyer of the library, and was taken shortly afterwards to the local hospital.

She gave birth to a baby girl, which of course, makes me wonder: What is she going to call her new little bundle of joy?  C’mon - there’s no way she could avoid naming her something to do with libraries and books, right?

So I’m opening up the comment section for ideas of what you guys think she should have named her new little baby girl.  The most creative answer gets all of the accolades and honor that comes with such an amazing contribution.  In other words, sorry, nothing that cool.  Except you knowing, deep down inside, that you’re just so awesome.

Hava

PS Check out my new poll in the right sidebar. —> Be sure to vote early and often.  Cheating is encouraged!

This morning at work, I had a patron walk up to the front counter and ask, “Can I use a computer?”

Which happens a million and one times a day, and wouldn’t be at all memorable, except he kept swaying on his feet as if he was onboard a boat, and his words were slurred together.  Then it hit me - the smell, that is.  He smelled as if he took a bath in a vat of alcohol.

He was completely and utterly drunk.  At 9:40 in the morning.  His blood-shot eyes had a hard time focusing on my face and the smell was overpowering.

I don’t know if we just live in too small of a town or what, but I have to say that this is not a common experience at our library.  I can only remember helping a couple of drunk patrons in my year and a half at the library, and they weren’t as bad off as this.  The stench of alcohol made it difficult to breathe.

Years of customer service experience kicked into gear, and I was able to pretend as if the guy wasn’t completed soused.  “Do you have a card, sir?” I asked him.

Still swaying on his feet, he mumbled, “No, but I’d like to get one right now!”

As I pulled the application out of the drawer and handed it to him, I thought, “What are the chances he’ll remember he did this tomorrow?”  The image flashed through my mind of him pulling his library card out of his wallet later and saying, “Where the &@#$) did this come from?” lol.  At least library cards are free, right?

He took the application and laid it on the counter.  He studied it for a second, decided that couldn’t be right, and flipped it upside down.  Studied that for a couple of moments, decided nah, that wasn’t right either, and flipped it right side up again.

While he was trying to decipher the English language, I was searching the database to see if he already had a card with us.  That is standard procedure when someone is signing up for a new card, because many times people will forget that they had a card before (or try to sneak it by us) and sign up for a new card when an old card has large fines on it.

Before he could finally decide how to spell his name, I had found his name in the database.

“Sir, have you ever lived on Main Ave?”

“Well, yeah.”  He pauses and looks at me with bleary eyes.  “I think so.  A long time ago.  Maybe…” his voice trails off.

“Bad news, sir,” and I handed his drivers license back to him.  “You’ve already got a card with us, and it has $35 in fines on it.  From 2000.  You don’t have to pay for that, but you also can’t use the internet or check out books.”

“Oh.”  His face fell as he stuffed his drivers license back in his wallet.  “Can I look around?”

“Not a problem,” I assured him.  “You don’t need a card to look around, you only need a card to take books out the front door.”  Which was all true, normally.  He shambled off into the nonfiction section.

I stepped away from the counter and took my first clean breath of air of the last five minutes.  Ahh…much better.

Right then, my boss Brenda happened to come up to the front desk.

“Brenda!” I grabbed her and explained what just happened, and then said, “I’m kinda worried about him - what if he goes off and pees on the books?  Or throws up?  Or passes out?  Do we do something when they’re that drunk?”

Side note: I worked at a plush resort for a year and a half as a front desk clerk.  There was a bar in the lobby directly across from the front desk, and I smelled guests (as we called them on the resort) that stunk like alcohol quite often.  But as far as I knew, I had never smelled alcohol like this before.  It was emanating off him in waves.  That, combined with the swaying, the red eyes, the slurred speech, and the complete inability to tell which way was up on a form, told me that this guy had to be coming off one heck of a bender.

On one hand, I really wanted to keep him at the library as long as possible, in order to let him sober up before he went back out into the world (and possibly got behind the wheel of a car, God forbid.)  It was also a cold and windy day outside - not the kind of weather you’d want to hang out in.  So I felt bad thinking that we needed to get this patron back out the door.

But on the other hand, if he went walking up the stairs, lost his balance because he was plastered, fell backwards, took out the innocent patron walking up the stairs behind him, and they land in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, both of them dead from broken necks, I would feel pretty darn guilty about that too.  Our library is good at putting up with a lot of things, but possibly endangering other people’s lives is obviously a big problem.

Plus, he was docile at the front counter, but you never know what a drunk will do.  What if he got angry about something and started hitting other people, or ripping books to shreds?

This was one of those “Neither choice is a good choice” situations.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have to make the decision.  Brenda went to Sally, the director of the library, who called me in and asked me what happened once again.  I told her the story as they peered up to the second floor, where the patron was sitting at a desk, apparently reading a book.  I kinda doubted he had the ability to actually read anything, but I guess he wanted to act like he was, in order to appear “normal” or at least prolong the chance of him not getting kicked out.

It didn’t work.

Sally grabbed Christie, our maintenance supervisor, and they went upstairs and talked to the guy.  Sally told me about it afterwards - apparently, he didn’t give any sort of fuss at all when Sally said, “Sir, I need to ask you to leave.”  He just stood up and walked down the stairs and out the front door.

As he was leaving, Christie told him, “Sir, we’d love to have you come back when you haven’t been drinking.”

He said sadly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” and then left, walking down the street.  We watched him until he went out of sight.

The whole thing bothered me.  I always want to save everyone - I am one of those people who actually tear up when I see a homeless person on the street; I’m pathetic that way, I know - and it really bothered me that we kicked him back out into the cold.  After all, isn’t a library supposed to welcome everyone?

On the other hand, there were definite risks if he stayed.  If he peed all over the floor, I wouldn’t want to clean it up.  Same if he threw up or defacated on himself.  Not to mention the risk of him hurting himself or others, knowingly or unknowingly.

I guess it just made me sad.  How did he end up like this?  What would cause a man to be blindingly drunk at 9:40 in the morning?  Did he have any family who cared about him?

I just hope he went somewhere warm and dry to sober up.  And I really do hope he comes back.

Your thoughts?  Do you think we should have let him stay?  Do you think we did the right thing by sending him back out into the streets?  Do you think we should have called the police (which is what my husband thought we should have done when I told him the story)?  Leave your thoughts below.

Hava
Who wants to save the world but can’t and it makes her sad…

Note: I talked about a strange patron before in my post entitled Pick Up Lines.  If you missed it, make sure to read that before continuing with this post…

So the creepy patron showed up again at the library tonight.  After being gone for weeks, bam!, there he was, haunting the upstairs, and the poor pages.  I never laid eyes on him, but I sure heard all about it.

Becky, one of our pages, was upstairs putting books away when she was asked by a patron to help find something.  She left her cart there, and walked off with the patron.  As she came down the stairs, who was coming up, but the creepy dude.  Keeping her cool, Becky finished helping the patron, then came over to the front desk immediately.  Leaning over the counter, she whispered to me, “The creepy dude is upstairs!  He’s back again!”

“You mean the one who stalked me before?” I whispered back.

“Yeah.  He’s back.”

Oh crap.  I wasn’t feeling well tonight (still not, actually) and I really didn’t want to mess that guy again.  He had caused enough trouble the last time he showed up.  Doesn’t he know to only be a pain in the rear when I’m feeling mentally up for it?  Can’t people start scheduling stuff around me?  Heck, doesn’t the whole universe revolve around me?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Anyway, I wasn’t going to take any chances this time - I had been chewed out enough last time he came into the library, thankyouverymuch.  I picked up the phone and quickly called Sally, the director of the library, and told her what was happening.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’ll go upstairs with Becky right now.  Tell her I’m coming,” and hung up the phone.

Becky filled me in afterwards on what happened.  Apparently, as soon as she went back upstairs, she saw the creepy patron standing next to her cart, waiting for her to come back so he could talk to her.  Well, that’s what we’re guessing anyway - she wasn’t stupid enough to actually do that.  (Yay for smart pages!)  As soon as she saw where he was, she pivoted on her heel, headed back down the stairs, got another cart of stuff to put away, and went back up with that.  She left her old cart alone, and figured he could guard it all he wanted - she wasn’t going to touch it with a ten-foot pole when he was in the vicinity.

In the meanwhile, there goes Sally, charging up the stairs.  You have to imagine Sally in order to realize how almost funny this whole situation is.  Sally is a tiny woman - both in height and size.  Diminutive is about the best word I can come up for her.  But even though she’s in a small body, there’s no lack of courage in her, and she was bound and determined to make sure us staff were okay.  So off she went to guard us.  Before going up the stairs she held up her emergency pager and said to me, “I have this on me.”

That was her way of reminding me that if she held two buttons down on that pager for just a few seconds, an alarm would sound at the front desk, and that’s the signal for us front desk people to charge to the rescue (or at least call 911.  C’mon, how much courage do you think I have?)

Sally sat down at a table next to the elevator, and proceeded to watch the guy’s every move.  If he made even so much as a twitch in the wrong direction, she was going to intercept him.  To do what, I don’t know - I can’t exactly imagine Sally tackling him.  She’s old, and she’s tiny, and she’s…Well, I just can’t see her tackling people.  Maybe I have a lack of imagination, who knows.  That would be a first for me…

But luckily for all of us, he eventually left without doing anything.  I don’t know if he realized that we were watching him, and that took all the fun out of it, or if he just decided to head out for the night.  But I can say that I was pretty proud of Sally tonight.  She was willing to protect us from this guy, and for a gal who barely comes to my shoulder, that was a pretty big task to take on.

I still haven’t told you guys about the crazy Russian dude who wanted me to have an affair with him, nor the patron who comes in regularly, causes all sorts of problems, and (it turns out) is on the sex offenders list in our state.   Apparently, there is no end to the strange patron stories I have to tell.  Isn’t that just so exciting?

That’s what I thought.  ‘Til tomorrow,

Havs

I ran across another Today.com blog entitled The Librarian.  Delighted, I clicked on it.  How fun that there was another Today blogger who was a librarian!

She related the following story on her site - I’m pasting the most hilarious part below, but follow the link if you want to read the whole thing:

Two years later, she’s still coming in and still asking questions about her future, like we’re some kind of Magic 8 Ball come to life. I mean, I know the sign above the desk says INFORMATION, but that’s not really what it means. Her questions now are more specific, like “Do you think I’ll win $70 million from the lawsuit against my job?” She says she’s suing her boss because he’s mean to her. Or “Do you think I’ll marry a tall Italian man who drives a BMW?”

And while she used to just frown when you said you didn’t know or shrugged, now she gets ANGRY and huffs at you. Oh, yeah and she really hates me because I won’t answer her questions. She asked me not long ago if I liked working at the Library and I told her I did. She wrote me a sweet little note that said I DON’T LIKE YOU WORKING HERE.

Lovely.

I almost snorted my water up my nose when I read this (a hazard of browsing the internet and drinking at the same time). A patron who honestly seemed to think that the reference desk should not only be able to tell her where the atlases are at, but also peer into the future, and tell her what her fate is going to be?  Oh c’mon peoples, you just can’t make this kind of thing up!

I started to think about how, exactly, this was supposed to work. This is what I came up with: What if, after the librarian finishes school, master’s degree proudly in hand, she’s suddenly imbued with a magical ability to read palms and foretell the future?  Switch the tassel from one side of the cap to the other, and BAM! Here comes all of the psychic abilities.

I tell you what, I’m feeling significantly ripped off by the reference desk at my library, because never once has any of them told me what numbers to use when buying a ticket for Powerball, nor accurately foretold even so much as the weather. Hey, they are the “Information” desk - shouldn’t they be able to tell me anything and everything I want to know?

For any of you who are down on your luck, and need a bit of extra cash to make it through, be sure to stop by your local library before hitting your gas station, so you can have your lucky numbers in hand. Give yourself plenty of time though - when word of this spreads, the lines are going to be insane.  Forget the lines at Disneyland - this is so much better than a three minute ride through “It’s a Small World.”  We’re talking months of camping out here.  Black Friday times, like, a million.

Just remember, Almighty Reference Ladies, I was the first to know about this magical power, so you have to help me first.

Hava
Who is off to go plan how she’ll spend her millions of dollars…

Well, it’s Martin Luther King Jr Day here in the US, which means that every federal agency is closed (post offices, courthouses, banks, and yes, you guessed it, libraries).  Normally I’m all for vacations - who wouldn’t appreciate a day to just relax and do what you want, not to mention the three-day weekend! - but since I’ve started at the library, I’ve gained a new outlook on these holidays.

It’s especially hard for the holidays that aren’t as celebrated, like MLK Day or Veteran’s Day.  Since all of the “normal” stores and businesses are still open, people tend to think that the library will be too.  When they come and see that we’re closed, they get grumpy (and tell us all about it the next day.  ‘Cause we’re just that special).

Then you’ve got the check-in situation - talk about insanity!  Our return bins outside are not connected in some super-cool way to our library through chutes or something (I’m imagining Batman caves right now for some reason) so what you see is what you get.

Once they are filled up, the only way to get those books inside is with a cart, where the library employee manually dumps books from the bin into the cart, pulls the cart inside, and does the check-in, only to go back outside and repeat the process until it’s empty. As breath-taking and exciting as that sounds, I promise that there are greater thrills in this world than doing outside check-in (like, say, a root canal.  Or watching paint dry).

Well, the problem comes with the fact that although the outside bins are big enough to last from Saturday evening until Monday morning without overflowing, much longer than that and there simply isn’t room to put any more books in.

You’d think that in this case, the patron would drive to the front of the library, walk inside, and return the books in the foyer (which is open 24 hours a day) but nooooo - instead they simply pile the books on top of the return bins outside, and then drive away.  (People who do this are several bricks shy of a load, and I don’t think they ought to have a drivers license, but as of yet, this isn’t on the questionaire to get your license.  I’m fairly sure the ALA is lobbying for it now, though).

Yes you heard me right, on top of the bins (sorry, I just can’t get over this).  Where, ya know, anybody could walk by, steal them, and nobody’d be the wiser.  Then guess who’s on the hook for the stolen books?  The patron stupid enough to leave the books out in the open in the first place.  As you can guess, they don’t take responsibility for this easily (’cause, after all, they did return the books! ::beat head against wall::) and it ends up being a yucky mess.

Have I mentioned yet that I don’t like holidays?

Then there’s the mail.  You can’t forget the mail!  All of the mail that we’d normally get over the course of two days is crammed into one day (which means twice the newspapers to catalog and put out) and then there’s all of the other mail we get in scads…Of course, we don’t have any time to work on putting the mail away because we’ve got busloads of patrons coming in to use the computers that nobody could use the day before. (Don’t get between a patron and their ability to check their email every day.  It isn’t a pretty sight).

Then the poor pages are going crazy because the carts are overflowing with books to be put back on the shelves (literally - books end up stacked on the floor because there is no more room in the inn cart - sorry, wrong holiday) so they’re expected to work a super human feat and get twice as many books put away than they’d normally have to.  They get this crazed look in their eyes when you ask them to search for a missing book on the shelf, and you find yourself mumbling that it’s no problem, you’d rather just look for it yourself, and scurry away before they show you what pages can do when armed with carts full of books.  (Believe me, you don’t want to know).

Because of this and more, my little tidbit of advice to the world is this: Don’t come into the library the day after a holiday if you can help it.  Your librarian will thank you.  Schedule your run either the day before the holiday or several days afterwards, in order to give the library time to settle back into its routine.  You’ll get better service and have more selection for books if you come on a normal day, not to mention a lot shorter lines and more pleasant librarians. Speaking of…

Pearls Before Swine rocks.

Every day after a holiday, we run around the library like insane people, occasionally stopping to ask each other, “Was it really worth it?”

The answer is always a resounding: No!

But since I get it off whether or not I think it’s worth it, I’m going to kick back and enjoy the day.  After all, I need to save up all of my energy for tomorrow.

Hava

A couple of weeks ago, I had yet another great experience where I had a strange patron try to hit on me.  I’ve actually only begun to scratch the surface when it comes to these “strange-guy-in-the-library-wants-to-go-on-a-date-with-me” stories.  Aren’t you excited?  I’m thinking of writing a book, “The Day a Weird Patron Hit on Me.  And That Day.  Oh, and Don’t Forget This Day Too.”  It will be a New York Times bestseller, I’m sure.

This particular instance all started when I was on my break out in the stacks, looking for something to read.  As I walked towards the paperback section, I saw a guy ahead of me in tan coveralls (the type that 97% of all farmers in the area wear) walking towards me, but naturally, I didn’t think a thing about it.  When I walked down the aisle and started looking the books over, I felt a presence to my right.

I looked up, and there was the tan overalls guy, standing at the end of the row, blocking the pathway to get back out, and staring right at me.  I instantly felt a little claustrophobic.

“Hi,” he said.

Oh boy.  All of my internal antennas were going haywire.  He was quite a bit older than me (he had a ragged beard with gray streaks in it, so I knew he wasn’t anywhere close to my age) and the tan coveralls told me that he was probably straight off the farm.  I could feel the pressure of his stare on me, and I tried studiously to give him the cold shoulder without being flat-out rude.

“Hi,” I said in a monotone voice, careful not to look at him again.  I was worried that he might interpret me looking at him as a sign of interest, so I kept my eyes straight ahead.  I continued to study the shelves, pretending that nothing could be more engrossing than staring at the spines of books, but inside trying to formulate a plan.  As the minutes ticked by, the guy’s breathing got deeper, and he inched minutely closer.

I have heard that when you are scared and under stress, you tend to miss obvious things that you’d otherwise pick up on.  This experience is testament to that fact.  Afterwards, I realized that I could have gone around the back end of the aisle to get out, but since that was the opposite direction from the main library (and safety), naturally my brain didn’t think of it.  All I knew was that he was in my way of getting out, and was moving closer every minute I hesitated.

I was in panic mode and started conjuring up wild ideas.  I fingered my cell phone in my pocket and thought about calling the front desk to tell them that there was a strange patron up in the stacks who was getting closer to me by the minute, who was staring incessantly at me, and who was blocking my path to get out of this aisle, so can you please come help me? but I figured I could be dead by time I got through to someone.

What about the police?  But then I realized if I called them, they’d take even longer to get to me, and I could be long dead by that point.  I grabbed a book off the shelf and pretended to study the back of it, but instead was wondering how much damage a paperback book could inflict on someone.  What if I pelted him with a bunch of them?

Right then, he finally spoke.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a library on a cold night like this?” he said, his heavy drawl making it difficult to understand him.

I wanted to laugh.  What am I, in a bar?  What kind of a cheesy pick-up line is that, anyway?!

“I work here, and I’m on break,” I said, still pretending to study the shelves.  Still didn’t look up either.

“Oh!” he said.  I could tell he was surprised, and a little taken back by this.  It didn’t deter him from staring however.  As he stared, I mentally reviewed the situation.  I realized that he wasn’t a farmer in off the fields, he was probably homeless.  He had talked strangely, as if he was either mentally slow or had an extremely thick accent, and I was pretty sure that it was the first option.  That meant the danger level just skyrocketed.  A farmer is usually harmless, whereas a mentally slow homeless man could be potentially very dangerous.  My heart rate kicked it up a notch and I felt sweat trickling down my side.

I mentally marked a spot and decided that if he moved in past that spot, I was going to scream bloody murder and hope for the best.  That was my only real option anyway.  Pelting someone with paperback books wasn’t exactly going to do much, and perhaps screaming would scare him off.  There was a larger guy on staff who was working at the reference desk, and I imagined him charging up the stairs to my rescue as I screamed and threw books.

Finally, finally though, the guy wandered off.  Didn’t say anything else - just left and wandered to a different part of the library.  I grabbed a book off the shelf and went and sat down to finish my break.  I was shaky inside, but I just chalked all of it up to my imagination.  After all, the guy hadn’t actually done anything.  He didn’t try to grab me, he didn’t say any lewd comments, he didn’t expose himself to me, and he certainly didn’t try to kill me.  I went back to work, convinced that I had made a mountain out of a molehill.

I laughed with Tiffy, my coworker, as I described the scene to her, and then again with Gennifer.  The patron had left, and I figured that we had seen the end of that.

Except he came back again, and started wandering out in the stacks.  Worried, I pulled the page aside (a page is the person who goes out into the stacks with books and reshelves them) and told her to be careful with this patron.

“Oh yeah, he came yesterday evening and watched me and Chauncy [the other page] work for quite a while.  He just stood and stared at us as we put books away.  He’s creepy.”

The story got around, and pretty soon, the second in command at the library came over to me and gave me a tongue lashing.  It was several hours after the incident, and she was only now hearing about it?  Whoops.  Apparently, if weird guys stalk you while out in the stacks, the boss wants to hear about it right away, not two hours later, and certainly not secondhand.  Who knew?

Well, I do now - in fact, I know it quite well by now, because the director of the library gave it to me again the next morning, and my immediate boss gave it to me the day after that.  The next time a strange guy starts breathing heavy and staring at me, I will definitely know to get to the nearest supervisor and tell her all about it, believe me.  I have done some pretty dumb things while employed at the library, but this is the only time that I have ever been lectured about something three separate times by three separate bosses.  This made me realize how much they care about my safety, which is touching.

I could probably do without the lectures, but I s’pose when I stop deserving them is when they’ll stop giving them.

Oh, and the guy came back one more time, but has since disappeared.  We’re thinking he’s moved on to another town.  But if he does comes back, you can be sure I’ll scream nice and loud.

Havs

Before I get into what will surely be a cosmic-bending, mind-opening new post (as they all are, right?) I wanted to tell those of you who read my “Only Women Will Understand This Post” post that I now have an update on what I think the relationship is.  Be sure to check out the comment section and scroll all the way down to my comment, where I lay out my newest theory.

For the rest of you who actually have a life, here’s the cosmic-bending, mind-opening post as promised:

Umm………

What, you actually expected something like that?  You do realize what blog you’re on, right?

And in other news, I have to tell you guys about one of the strangest patrons our library has ever been graced with.  We have self-centered patrons, rude and mean patrons, and of course, just-this-side-of-the-loony-bin patrons.  This patron is of the loony-bin persuasion.

She started out normal enough.  She came in every day to use the computer, which we have quite a few patrons who do that.  Over time, she started telling us about how controlling and horrible her boyfriend was.  Sympathetic, we all listened to her complaints and naturally took her side.

Then one day, she came in with a little stuffed cow (think Beanie Baby - check out the picture I took this morning with my camera to see this little guy in all his glory) and told us that her boyfriend told her that she couldn’t keep all of her stuffed animals anymore - that she had to give some away.  She thought that she could give us one, and we’d take “good care of it.”  With as straight of faces as we could manage, we promised to take good care of the cow.  We took it and put it on a counter, where it sits to this day.

She named the cow (of course!) and told us that we had to make sure to pet Herman the Cow and feed it often.  At this point, I started to get more than a little weirded out by her.  She does realize that it is just a small stuffed animal, right?

Then one day she said that it was Herman’s birthday a couple of days later, so she was going to help celebrate it by bringing us all donuts.  Bribed into playing along (we’re an easy bribe, what can I say?) we agreed to help celebrate his birthday.  (Question of the Day: How does she know when he came off the assembly line?  Or does she instead count the day she bought him as his birthday?  Inquiring minds want to know.)

She made us promise to feed Herman a donut if she brought them in for us, and we all solemnly swore we’d do so.  I missed the day of the celebration, so I’m not sure what all happened there (perhaps one of my coworkers wouldn’t mind leaving info in the comment section about it…?)

As time went by, she got stranger and stranger  (I know you don’t think it’s possible, but she did).  When she came in, she’d talk to Herman as she was signing up for the computer.

“Are they treating you okay here?  Are you getting enough carrots?” in a baby talk tone of voice usually reserved for infants.  Then she’d interrogate us on how we were treating him.  I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

Not convinced that we were doing a good enough job of keeping Herman company, she brought in a stuffed cat on a rug so they could sit together and not be lonely.  Dutifully, we took the cat and placed it right next to Herman, where it has sat ever since.  (As you can see in the picture above, Kiki the Cat is nicely keeping Herman company.  Good Kiki.)

She has told me several times that her boyfriend won’t allow her to keep all of her stuffed animals, and can’t stand the way she treats them.  Although this boyfriend certainly sounds like a loser in some aspects, I can’t help but agree with him wholeheartedly on the whole stuffie business.  She is in her 40’s, I would guess, but treats these stuffed animals better than some people treat their children.

If you can see in the lower right-hand corner of the picture, there is a yellow note taped to the counter.  That is the instructions she gave us on how to take care of Herman the Cow (namely, he likes carrots and celery.)  It also has Kiki’s name on it, plus Herman’s birthday, so we can be sure to never forget that important piece of information.  Lucky us.

Because I’m not very good at keeping a straight face when she starts her baby talk with Herman, I try my best not to ever be the one to wait on her at the counter.  I don’t want to hurt the lady’s feelings, so if I do get stuck helping her, I umm and ahh my way through it until she leaves and I can go into the back and laugh.

Crazy is as crazy does.  Or something like that.

Hava

Lately, I have written a few posts where I have expressed my displeasure with the patrons I’ve been helping.

Okay, okay, so I’ve spent all of my time whining and complaining vociferously about the insane patrons coming through the front door.  I’ll admit that I’ve been less than joyous to read lately.  But I don’t want people to think that I hate my job, because truly, I really do love it.

So here’s my list of the huge positives that come with working at the library (and they really are huge, because if they didn’t balance out all of the negatives, the library would be Hell on Earth to work at, and I’d have quit a long time ago.  Don’t let all of my venting fool you - 90% of the time, I love being at work.  Okay, 85%.  But no less than that, pinky swear.)

The Top Six Reasons I Love Working at the Library
…Yes, that’s an odd strange number, but that’s all I could come up with.  Work with me here, peoples!

* Discussing books with patrons while checking out their items to them.  One of my signature moves is mentioning Nicholas Sparks’ autobiography when checking his regular fiction books out to patrons.  The vast majority of Sparks fans have no idea that he’s written an autobiography, so I tell them that if they ever do read it, they’ll understand why all of Sparks’ books are depressing.  Believe me, if you had lived Sparks’ life, you’d write depressing books too.

* Helping the same patrons every day, who come in to use the internet or check out books.  The “regulars” become like friends to me, and I enjoy chatting with them and hearing the latest updates on their lives.

* All of the cute kids who come up to the counter with their parents.  Oh, have we got some darling children at our library!  I love talking with them and seeing their faces light up with smiles.  I am totally not biased, I promise - it just so happens that some of the cutest kids in America use my library.  What can I say?

* The best coworkers in the world.  They are what keeps me sane.  When I run into a patron who I’d just love to strangle, I can go into the back and let off steam.  I get along great with everyone at the circulation desk and reference desk (plus the pages, who just plain rock,) and can easily say that they are the reason I’ve thrived as I have at the library.

* Speaking of people who rock, there is of course my immediate supervisor, Martha, who is a fantastic boss - one of the best I’ve ever had.  Whenever she’s not there, the day just doesn’t seem to go as smoothly.

* BOOKS!!  How could I ever leave this one off the list?  I am the biggest fan of books that you’ll ever meet.  Although I review just nonfiction on here, I also read quite a bit of fiction too (I read The Little House on the Prairie series a couple of months ago, and am now working my through the Anne of Green Gables series) and I just can’t fathom living a life without books.  A life without books is not worth living.  I know that sounds oh so dramatic and over the top, but to me, that really is true.

I hope that makes up for all the whining and complaining I’ve done on here lately. For any would-be librarians out there who are debating whether or not to actually follow this career path, just know that some days my job rocks, and some days my job sucks.  I think you’ll find that at most jobs, though.  The trick is to find a job that rocks more than it sucks.

Hava
Who thinks she may have come up with a new slogan for a bumper sticker…

Note: This is a follow-up post to “And the Worst Patron Ever Award Goes to…” so be sure to read that if you haven’t already.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, which really isn’t surprising considering last night.  I just wasn’t in the mood to go to work and deal with more patrons, but honestly, you can’t call in ‘grumpy’ and not go to work, ya know what I mean?  So I went to work anyway, but was not my normal cheerful self when I got there.

The director of the library asked me, first thing in the morning, how I was doing and I spilled my guts.  I don’t normally tell her everything that’s happening with me - when a boss is asking you how you’re doing, they don’t actually want to know, FYI.  They’re just being polite. So I don’t normally give them a rundown of my day, or an update on school or what have you - I just say “Great!” and go on my merry way.

But this time, it had to do with work, so I told her a summary of what happened (minus a certain finger action, in case you were wondering).  And she told me that I shouldn’t have stayed on the phone.  Apparently, if a patron is insane like that, and doesn’t actually want to resolve the problem but is instead just using me as a verbal punching bag, I don’t have to put up with it.  I should have just told her firmly but calmly that she needs to speak to a manager or the director of the library, and to please call back tomorrow in order to do that, goodbye, and hang up.

I was most excited to hear that.  I had actually thought about saying something like that when I was on the phone with The Worst Patron Ever last night, but I thought, “She’s already mad - what if I do that and then she tells my boss on me, and I get in trouble for doing that?”  So I decided to stay on the phone until she decided to hang up.

Then when I told the director that the patron had swore at me, she genuflected and said, “Oh no!  You definitely should have hung up on her then.  You absolutely do not ever need to deal with a patron who swears at you.  Just say, ‘I cannot talk to you when you are talking like this - call back when you are calmer’ and hang up.  Be polite, but be firm.  Do not put up with that.”

Oh. 

Well, better late then never, right?  I guess I’ll know for the next time a patron decides to go a little insane on me.

By time my shift ended at noon, I was in a better mood.  I am blessed that my natural personality is to be happy and upbeat.  I just had to work my way through the anger and frustration first, so I could get on with life.  I am doing much better now, thank heavens.

And since I am happier, I thought it would be fun to post a YouTube video that my father sent along to me, about the spirit of Christmas, and of giving.  Although it’s a little late now, I promise, this video is still definitely worth watching. Thanks Dad!

Enjoy!

Some days, I go through a shift at the library that couldn’t be more boring if it tried.  No one really happy, no one really mad, no one screws up - as smooth-sailing as they come.

Tonight was not one of those nights.  I had another post all written up and ready to go, but I’ll post that one later.  For now, I need to vent - I just finished my shift and I need to let a little steam off.

I’ll start off with the easiest one first: A couple who came in to print off a Last Will & Testament.  The gentleman running the mouse got it in his head that the printer only printed off exactly what he was looking at on the screen at that moment.  So he went through this 7 page document and printed it off in what he thought were sections.  Instead, he got 70 pages of duplicates spitting out of the printer.

By time we figured out what was happening, most of them had already printed, but I ran over and canceled the last two print jobs still pending.  The couple were most apologetic, and gave us every last penny they had between them (which totaled to $7.10, several dollars short of what they should have paid.)  Because they were so nice, I was nice in return and didn’t put the remaining prints on their account to be paid later, but instead sent them through the shredder and called it good.

In case anyone was wondering, honey really does catch more flies than vinegar.  As someone who has worked in the customer service world for 12 years now, I can enthusiastically attest to that fact.

Then we had the patron who called in to renew his items, and while I had him on the phone, I told him that there was a note on his account, saying that there was a picture of his daughter in our lost and found drawer, and that we tried to call him but his phone number was long-distance, so we couldn’t get through.

He was so excited, he could hardly stand it.  “I have been looking all over for that picture!  My daughter made me a bookmark for Christmas, and I just love it.  I’m so glad you have it.  Thank you so much!  You just made my day.”  Fifteen minutes later, he showed up at the front desk, ready to claim his bookmark.

I went to the back and looked through the lost and found.  Not there.  I searched through again.  Not anywhere.  I went through another box, hoping I’d find it in there.  Nope, nothing.  My heart sank to my toes.  What was I going to tell this guy?  He had been so excited before, and now, I had to tell him that we threw his picture away.

We regularly clear out lost and found, and throw away old items that haven’t been claimed, but whoever did it last was mistaken in not deleting the note off of the account.  If only I hadn’t told him it was here in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

Glumly, I went out and gave him the bad news.  I felt absolutely horrid.  His face was so sad as he left.  When I told my coworker the story, she said, “Maybe he was so excited about having the picture back because he doesn’t have custody of his daughter, and so he carries it around with him all the time so he can always have her picture with him.”  I looked at her, more depressed than ever.

“Not helping?” she asked.

“Not really,” I answered drily.

As sad/unfortunate as those two incidents are, they don’t even hold a candle to the true grand finale of the night, when I had a patron chew me out for 20 minutes on the phone.  I was so upset at one point that I–

[NOTE: Mom/Dad - please feel free to skip to the next paragraph at any point.  Like right now would be good.  No really, move along, move along.] flipped the patron the bird.  She was on the phone, so she couldn’t see me, and I had my back turned to the rest of the library so no other patrons could see me, so don’t worry, I didn’t offend anyone’s sensibilities when I did it.  I have to say, I don’t ever recall, in my 28 years, ever flipping someone the bird.  I just don’t do that.  But this was quite possibly one of the worst patrons I’ve ever encountered (and yes, that does include the Pompous Old Bag).

It all started when a little girl came up to the front desk with books to check out.  When I scanned her card, an $8 fine came up on her account for a book that had been lost but not paid for.  I told her she couldn’t check out with that fine on her account, and that she either had to pay for the book or find it before she could check out again.  She had a rather funny look on her face as I told her this, but she didn’t say a word in protest, and left quietly to go home.

About 20 minutes later, I get The Patron From Hell.  You may think I am exaggerating, but truly, I’m not.  She calls and tells me that she paid for a book in October that had been lost, but that our system doesn’t show the item as being paid, which she thinks is “ridiculous.”

I apologized, told her to bring the receipt in with her paying the fine, and we would take it off.

“Why do you have to have my receipt?” she snarled.

“We can’t simply accept everyone’s word that they paid a fine.  We need proof, so we need the receipt,” I replied calmly.  And I really was calm at this point.  Although she had been rude, I get that often enough, and that isn’t enough to set me off.

Usually, the patron would say at this point, “Okay, I have the receipt, I’ll bring it in, good-bye,” and hang up.  Unfortunately, this woman was neither sane nor balanced, and she still had more to say.  A whole lot more.

“That’s ridiculous!  I have the receipt, but I don’t see why I should have to bring it in!  This is a money-making scam that the library is running!  I am not going to pay eight **** dollars to the library for the **** of it!  You guys are just trying to take all the money you can!”

I told her, voice still somewhat level, that we would gladly take the $8 off her account, if she just brought the receipt into the library, and that we wouldn’t require any more payments from her.  Of course, this didn’t satisfy her.

***Here, I am chopping out at least 15 minutes of insane ranting and raving - ohhh how I wish I were exaggerating!!!!!!! - for brevity’s sake.  Just believe me when I say that this lady needs to take an anger management class, preferably before someone else kills her.  Like, say…me.

Okay, back to the conversation.  By this point, I am pretty much into sarcasm mode, because I have told the woman 14 times - literally - to just bring in the receipt, and we’d take the money off the account.

“I just don’t understand how this could happen!  How could you guys make this mistake??!!!”

Exasperated, I said, “Ma’am, you are going to have mistakes everywhere you go.  Wal-Mart, Target - everyone makes mistakes.  We are all human, and it is much too easy to make this particular mistake.  If you don’t ever want any mistakes to happen, then you’d better constrain yourself to dealing with just robots.”

Yes, I actually said that, and I would have said more, involving my own set of swear words, if a part of me didn’t realize that I could get fired for saying the thoughts running through my head.  I honestly cannot remember the last time I was this mad at someone.  I was shaking.  At one point, I told her that there was nothing else I could tell her or do for her.  Period.

I then said (again!!) to simply bring the receipt in, we’d take the money off, that this would be the end of it.  She didn’t seem to believe me, because she went off (again) about how “ridiculous” this situation was.  (If I hear the word “ridiculous” again tonight, I may scream.)

After yet more insane comments made, the lady finally hung up on me.  At one point, she told me that after she cleared this up, she was never going to come to the library again, as a kind of threat or something against me.  Considering the not-so-nice things I was thinking at the time, I can’t really say that I was all that bummed about the idea of never dealing with this patron again.  In fact, if she moved to Canada tomorrow, I think I’d throw a party.

After she hung up on me, I slammed the phone into the cradle, announced “I’m going on break!!!” and stalked off.  I grabbed my iPod, headphones, and book, and left to go find an empty chair in a dark corner.  Ann from Reference grabbed my arm as I went by and said, “Do you need some chocolate?”  I could have kissed her.  She led me into her office and gave me some candy.  Thank you Ann.  I owe you.

After 15 minutes of listening to calm music and reading my Anne of Green Gables book, I was much calmer, and ready to take on the patron world again.  I was even able to laugh about it with my coworkers.  But I have to say: If I had that happen every day I was working at the library, I’d have my resignation handed in by the end of the week.  Patrons like that really take something out of you.

So I guess I’ll finish my post with a plea to all of you: Be nice to your local librarian.  She needs kind patrons to help balance out the true jerks of the world.

Hava
Who has vented and is ready to go to bed now…

Before I get started into my rant and rave of the day, I just wanted to mention that I got tagged by the Rocket Scientist to write a list of 6 things that others might find interesting and/or don’t already know about a library.  It will take me a while to come up some thing better than, “Well, uh, a library has, uh, books!” so make sure to watch for that later on in the week.

Okay, back to my rant.  At our library, we have patron whom we’ve nicknamed the Pompous Old Bag (POB for short).  I know it sounds rude and mean, but stick with me here.  I think you’ll agree with my assessment.

First off, I think most libraries are afflicted with these creatures, since they seem to congregate around institutions that depend on donations, because they can’t tell the POB’s which cliff to jump off when they become too much to handle.

Our POB comes in the shape of an older woman (I would guess early 70’s, maybe even older than that) who has got money, and isn’t afraid to rub that in people’s faces.  She is constantly badgering the poor reference desk with requests for obscure books that only God could locate, and likes to (in the midst of the badgering) to “casually” bring up the fact that she donates $1,000 a year to the library.

Now do you see why we cannot simply escort her to the nearest cliff?  Pompous Old Bags always donate large amounts of money to the beholden institutions.  That’s what makes the institutions beholden.

And don’t even get me started on the time she went crazy over the DVD’s.  She harangued the poor new girl for a good half hour about how our library’s DVD’s are in horrible shape, and why can’t she fix them, and it doesn’t do any good to apologize - she wants results!  Doesn’t anyone know she’s donated $1,000 to the library?  She deserves DVD’s in better shape!  And so on.  And so forth.  Extrapolate that into 30 minutes worth, and you’ll have an idea of how beloved this patron truly is.

(Question of the hour: If you have so much money, why do you even rent movies for free from the library?  Why not buy the movies and thus be assured of them being scratch-free?  Inquiring minds want to know.)

Well, recently we did a remodel of our library and put in a new reading room.  It’s quite cool - the magazines line the wall, the newspapers are in their tidy holders, there are overstuffed chairs galore, a cheery fireplace (gas) that gives off heat, and beautiful tall windows that overlook the city park.  All in all a great addition to our library.

Well, the POB would hear none of it.  She stood in line for 20 minutes one day, outlining the horrors that were going to befall our library, now that we had this reading room.

“My daughter’s library recently added a reading room, and she said that all of the homeless now go in there and sleep!  She said she can’t even go into the library, for fear of her safety!  If you had asked me, you never would have put this in.  But even though I donate $1,000 to the library every year, no one even bothered asking me,” she huffed.

Customer service skills firmly in place, I simply nodded and listened until she ran out of steam, and left of her own volition.  You can’t argue with a POB, so you just have to let them have their (horribly long) say and they’ll eventually wind down.

Well, that was months ago, and I had forgotten the whole incident (short-term memory loss really isn’t a bad thing if you work with the general public) until the other night, when I heard the most delicious story from the reference department.

Who but our dear POB was in the new reading room, settled in with her book.  When I heard that, I couldn’t help but laugh.  Hard.  If I were a better person…

But I’m not.  And so I just have to chuckle every time I think about it.  And for those of you who are interested if our homeless population has gotten out of control, the answer is no.  That really hasn’t changed - we’ve always had homeless in our library, but they don’t usually cause problems, and this reading room hasn’t attracted any more than the normal.  All of the POB’s dire predictions failed to come to pass.

So I guess the library won this one.  Library: 1, POB: 0.  Not bad, eh?

And in other news, I have finally found a retirement program I can afford.  Now all I need to do is convince the hubby to buy a winning lottery ticket and then be so kind as to kick the bucket directly afterwards.  Or, I suppose $10 million dollars is enough to split between two people.  Do you think a cool $5 million would be enough money that I can turn into a Pompous Old Bag myself?

Dreams - they’re what keep a person young.

Hava

I just can’t wait to see what searches find my blog now.

Anyway, I just had to take a minute and ask a question that has plagued me almost since I started working at the library:

What on this green earth are people doing to their library books?  We get books back that I would swear have been slathered with maple syrup, rolled around in dirt, and then set out to dry for three days, before being returned to the library.  The books are not so messed up that we have to throw them away (and make the patrons pay for a new copy!) but we do have to clean them before we can put them back on the shelf, because honestly, who in their right mind would pick up a book off the shelf in that kind of shape?

I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t paid to.  And the rule is, as long as we can clean the book and get it back into reasonable shape, we don’t charge the patron for it.  There are times, though, when I want to send the books back to the patron and tell them not to bother turning them back in until they’re clean.  Cleaning books has got to be one of my absolute least favorite jobs in the whole world (and thus, something I only do when backed into a corner and given no other choice.  Bringing books in from outside in the middle of a blizzard is preferable to cleaning dirty books.  No, truly.  You just don’t even want to think about where these books have been.)

While I’m on this rant (Cuing the infamous: But wait, there’s more!) I have to tell you guys the yellow book story.  Once upon a time, a paperback book went out into the world, with nice white pages, until one day, I found this book in the return bin, looking quite a bit more yellow than it should have been.  Questioning the source of the yellowness, I picked the book up and smelled it.

Yup, someone had peed on the book.  Granted, it was now dry, but there is no way to get rid of that smell.  I promptly went and scrubbed my hands, rubbed them with anti-bacterial, and then wrote up a slip to have the patron charged.

Why oh why would you even return a book in that condition?  My gosh, if I had somehow peed on a book (let’s not even contemplate why I would be doing such a thing!) I would go to the library and lie my butt off.  Yes, you’re supposed to always tell the truth, blah blah blah, but in this case, you couldn’t torture me into telling the truth.  My story would be thus: My dog chewed the book up, there aren’t enough remains to even bother bringing in, so hey, can I pay for it?

I’m not a very good liar, but there are cases when I simply have no other choice.  This would be one of them.

So dear readers, do tell: If you had somehow accidentally peed on a library book, what would you do?  Let it dry, turn it in, and hope no one notices?  Turn it in through the book drop, pay the fine through the mail, and never return to the library again?  Bring it into the library and confess what happened, and pay the fine?  Or lie your butt off about what happened (ie, my story above) and pay for the book?  I guess there is another option: Go in and claim the book was like that when you checked it out.  I know this happens at my library all the time, although of course I can’t prove it.

So, I want to hear your ideas.  If you want to answer anonymously, feel free.  I won’t tell.

Havs

PS My poll in the right sidebar is feeling awfully neglected. —-> Be a doll and vote real quick, will ya?  My curiosity needs to be appeased!

So the tie-dye dude came in today (for those of you who missed me being called the mother of a 28-year-old woman, please, by all means, check out my post on the topic.  And no, I still haven’t forgiven him for that.)  I was doing check-in, so I didn’t help him out, but I did see him as he came in and almost had the breath knocked out of me when I caught sight of his outfit:

There was no tie-dye to be found anywhere.

I know, shocking huh?  He almost looked…normal.  If I didn’t know he usually dressed in tie-dye from head to toe, I might have thought he was just another patron coming into the library.

My coworker Tiffy was the one to help him, and after they were done, he turned to walk away and said over his shoulder as he went, “I know you can’t see any tie-dye on me, but don’t worry, it’s there.

“Underneath.”  With that, he saunters off to the computers.

*head thump*

Do patrons honestly think we care about their underwear?  Seriously?  I’m just glad that it was Tiffy who helped him and not me, because I might have screamed, “TMI! TMI!” and covered my ears - not exactly an action smiled upon by the Powers That Be.

So it is official - the patrons of my library are completely nuts.  As if there was ever any doubt.

In a completely and utterly unrelated topic, I just had to post a link to the most awesome article you’ll read this year.  Truly.  Written by none other than Dave Barry (as you guys already know, I’m a fan of ol’ Dave) it’s a look back at the year that we just suffered through enjoyed (I’m trying to think positive here).  It’s rather long, but if you have some time, kick back, relax, and by all means, do NOT grab a cup of coffee.  You’ll spew it all over your screen when you start laughing.

Dave Barry’s Year in Review for 2008.  All I can say is: God bless Dave Barry.  He can even make Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac hilarious.

Havs

About six weeks back or so, I had a patron come up to the front counter and ask me, “So, where is your daughter at tonight?”

“I’m sorry?” I said, flummoxed.  I have no children.

“The girl over at reference.  She’s your daughter, isn’t she?  Short dark brown hair…” he prompted me.

“Ann?” I said.  “Big smile, beautiful, petite?”

“Yeah, that’s her!  You guys look alike.  Aren’t you mother and daughter?”

I stared at him, bug-eyed.  Ann was all of 26.5 years old.  I’m 27.  That would have required me to get pregnant while still in the womb, and then give birth while only 6 months old myself.  Believe me, if that was my life story, I would be doing something a whole lot more wild and interesting than working at the local public library; something like living through numerous science lab experiments to see how it all happened.  Heck, I would at least be gracing the front pages of The Star (along with the obligatory stories of Elvis being spotted at the local supermarket, of course).

I must break from the story for a moment to give you some insight into this patron.  We call him The Tie-Dye Man, and we weren’t exactly being creative when we came up with the name.  He wears tie-dye clothing Every. Single. Day.  I’m not talking your standard tie-dye shirt - he also wears tie-dye pants, tie-dye socks, and to top it all off, he even paints his fingernails different colors - one finger will be blue, another purple, another green, and so on.

He is…eye-catching.  The wild clashing colors ensure that you would notice him 200 yards off.  He’s one of our more memorable patrons at the library, to put it nicely.

Trying to be gracious, I finally swallowed my shock, put on my best customer service face, and told him, “Ann is pretty close to my age, so no, she’s not my daughter, although she is very pretty, so I take it as a compliment that you think I look like her.” I smile evenly and turn to put something away.

So what does he do?  He then has the gall to ask me out!!!!  After insulting me and thinking that I’m old enough to be a 26.5 year old’s mother, he wants to go on a date with me?!

He is a crazy man.  That’s all there is to it.  The tie-dye clothing is just an outer symptom of an inner insanity (big shock there).

I laughed it off and said something about my husband probably not taking that too well, and walked away.  Inwardly, I was torn between laughing and crying.  Am I really aging that badly?  I haven’t even hit 30 yet, and this crazy guy is causing to me have a midlife crisis.

So of course the next day, I had to tell Ann all about the incident.  We’ve taken to calling each other mother and daughter, and it’s become a nice inside joke between us.

Well tonight, my “daughter” told me that she had a run-in with the patron herself.  Yesterday, he was walking towards her, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye.  “No eye contact!” she told herself.  “Just keep walking.” Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“Excuse, I have a question,” said The Tie-Dye Man.

“Yes, how can I help you?” Ann asked in her most professional, I-am-a-librarian-on-librarian-business-only-don’t-you-dare-ask-me-out voice.

“Are you over 21?” he asked.  Feeling nice that day, she actually answered him instead of telling him she won’t discuss personal matters with him (a nice way of saying “buzz off.”)

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“Oh, well, I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me after work tonight for some drinks.”

When Ann told me this, I burst into laughter.  “First he asks out the ‘mother’ then he asks out the ‘daughter’!  What is he thinking?!”

Ann kindly told him that her boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate that, and turned the offer down.

This caused me to wonder: Do patrons know how much we laugh at them behind their backs?  Not all the time and not at all of them, but certainly the crazy ones.  And for the size of town that I live in, you wouldn’t think there’d be that many crazy people around, but alas, there are certainly more than enough some days.

Speaking of the crazy people, I shall have to tell you about the lady who talks to stuffed animals and makes us talk to them too.  Another post for another day…

Hava