the librarian

A few years ago I opened the library on a sunny Phoenix morning and let a group of approximately 25 patrons in, then wheeled the hours sign out to the curb.  On my way back in, off to the side of the building there was a parked shopping cart.  Not unusual, the library is a frequent stop for the homeless and we’re accustomed to their “mobile homes” appearing in the parking lot, behind the dumpsters and occasionally in the magazine area (until we chase then out).  What was unusual about this shopping cart was the guy crumpled up in it, like a discarded paper doll.  A naked discarded paper doll.  Oddly enough, none of the patrons waiting outside for us to open seemed to regard this as a problem.

So, I approached cautiously, expecting him to wake up and start drunkenly cursing me or flailing about (like normal), but he wasn’t moving.  Drunk or dead?  I stopped about 10 yards away and debated, is this a situation for the boss to handle?  Do I get paid enough to discover dead bodies?  Is this covered in my job description?  This, I decided, was a job for Drama Bear.

Drama Bear was at the desk, fighting illiteracy as usual.  He was not happy about a possible dead guy in a shopping cart on library property.  He was even less happy about the dead guy being naked, we did have toddlertime scheduled that morning.  So we went outside, stared at the shopping cart and possible dead guy and discussed our options.  Yelling was the first option.  So we yelled, from 10 yards away.

“Excuse me? Sir?”  Just because he’s possibly dead and naked in a shopping cart doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve respect.  “Hey!” We got a little louder.  Patrons stopped on their way in.  One guy offered to go get a stick to poke him with, Drama Bear declined this option.  We edged closer and noticed that he wasn’t entirely naked, he was wearing itty bitty dirty white shorts.  Terry cloth hotpants, if you will.

Drama Bear decided to bite the bullet and call Crimestop.  It’s always a last resort unless a weapon has been drawn because of the copious paperwork involved.  He trudged inside and the guy with the stick and I waited, making small talk while we watched the shopping cart.  Suddenly, movement!  He was not a dead or naked guy in a shopping cart.  He was merely a passed out, hotpants wearing guy in a shopping cart.

So, I’m in the wilds of North Carolina and have nothing to read except shit I’ve already read and my husband’s books, which I’m avoiding like the plague.  I’m not really down with metaphysics or the history of religion.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad somebody cares, it’s just not me.  My collection of books is on it’s way, being shipped media rate by the good ole US Postal Service.  So, I tore through all the magazines I packed for the trip, finished Animal Vegetable Miracle by Kingsolver and now I have nothing to read.  Me, who at one point was tripping over books and lives for the printed word.  Nothing but a few ragtag tomes that managed to slip into my husband’s boxes that I’ve read repeatedly and don’t want to pick up again.   How far I’ve fallen.  So, like ya do when you don’t or can’t read, I’m wasting my time on the internet.  This blog post doesn’t really have a point.  It’s just my way of putting off reading Franny and Zooey (mine) or the Social World of Ancient Israel (his). Any suggestions?

So, this one is for all the peeps who don’t seem understand that public libraries are NON-PROFIT institutions and believe it or not, we’re not rolling in dough charging people 20 cents a day per late item.  I love it when assholes stroll into the building and bitch at me because the library doesn’t have some random book that went out of print in 1971.  Yeah, somehow they managed to find 7 cds and 10 dvds and they used our internet for an hour, but god forbid the library doesn’t own every book every published.  Isn’t that our purpose?  What ARE they paying taxes for?  Surely the 1.80 in property taxes that goes to the library out their pocket every year should be enough to cover each and every item they could desire? 

It all started about 2 years ago, when a short squatty little Hispanic lady started hitting on our Children’s librarian.  We’ll call him Drama Bear (a nickname he knows about and refers to himself as) and we’ll call her Angry Deaf Lady (ADL for short) because, well… she is angry and deaf and I have a tendency to break people down into the two most apparent adjectives that describe them.  If I wasn’t me, I would probably refer to me as Silly and Snarky Lady.  Or Drunk and Disorderly Lady.  Or Hyped up on Caffeine and Talking Really Fast Lady.  Depends on the time of day.

Anyway, ADL started making the library her morning pit-stop before work and seriously coming on to Drama Bear, who was REALLY not feeling it.  She wrote him little notes and asked him kinda random questions, like “do you think I’ll ever get married” and “do you think i’ll ever find a better job?”  And he’d respond with a vague “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find happiness.”  Well, Drama Bear took to running to his office whenever she got out of her car and the rest of us were left to play 20 questions.

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.

This afternoon there was a flurry of activity taking place in the library.  An older gentleman complained at the Ref desk of chest pains and shortness of breath, leading our LIC (Librarian in Charge) to call 911.  Two screaming fire engines and an ambulance showed up, just as toddlertime was letting out and the library was flooded with staggering, screaming 1 & 2 year olds.  There was a total of 11 firefighters in all and they clustered around the old man and began checking his vitals.  Those of us at the Ref desk were front and center for it all, but what really bothered me was that we were BUSY.  People kept storming the desk, demanding their holds or bitching about the computer wait, all while this man was likely having a heart attack 5 feet away.  He was on a stretcher, hooked up to an IV and surrounded by burly dudes barking into walkies talkies, but did anyone care?  No.  And the most galling part was that the circ attendents (all female, mostly single or divorced)  were all but draped over the counter trying to attract the attention of the rescue crew.  One of them came up to us afterward, not to ask about the man’s condition, but to lament the fact that the firemen/paramedics were short and ugly.

So, I promised my best friend that if I actually tried the blog thing, I’d name the first one after her: Trash Biscuits.  Don’t ask, but from here out, the BFF will be known as Trash Biscuits.  On a side note, here’s a little about Trash Biscuits.  She’s an emergency management planner in St. Louis and she likes wrestling with her pitbulls and drinking whiskey.

I’ll take this opportunity to tell you a little about me and why I’m blogging here.  I’m a perpetual student, currently in grad school after 7 years as an undergrad finishing a BA and a BS.  I went the path of most English students, pumping out maudlin poetry for the school literary journal until graduation, never to write again.  I’m currently swealtering in the desert, working in a large branch of an urban library system, which puts me in contact with assorted crazies (both staff and patrons).  In about a week I’m moving to a hundred year old farmhouse in the middle of Nowhere, NC, where I hope to pick up my writing again and plant root vegetables.  I also plan to read.  A lot.  I’m crafty, I like glitter and fingerpaints and staple-gunning things.  I know old school skills like sewing by hand and I like to cook and paint and make artsy stuff.  I currently own 4 bottles of Modge-Podge and enough hemp and beads to keep every hippie in town in ankle bracelets for all time.

So, this blog will be from the point of view of an unemployed, highly educated, super crafty, sometimes motivated, occasionally drunk librarian.  There will be talk of media (mostly books and magazines but sometimes other stuff), crazy library shananagans (we’re not as boring as you think, ok…some of us are) and other random stuff, like Trash Biscuits’ upcoming redneck wedding and my husband’s (we’ll call him the Wizard) crazy adventures.  So yeah, that’s about it.  Read on, if you’d like.