We Haven't Done A Library Post In A While

If I had to choose one picture - and one picture only - to summarise the last week or two or three..... or five.... or maybe, the last few months at the library, this one would be it. It ias been crazy...... craaaaazy.... And if coconuts truly are the epitome of craziness, I would have to say that the library is full to the roof of crazy-as-a-coconut people. 

There are all the usual suspects, of course: shady and somewhat mentally diminutive elderly fellows, who suddenly feel obliged to say weird things your's truly, in such a tone and with such a look, that I cannot tell if they have mistaken me for someone else - someone with whom they have an intimate relationship, or if they are attempting to be sexy and pick up a cute young thing, or if there is a bit of genuine 'interest in you as a person' going on. There are the year-round, semi-indigents, who have been such regular customers, that there are times when we (the legitimate library staff) must remind them that they are guests, not branch managers.There are the poor folk whose mental state is shaky at best, who hang about all day long, for days on days, and with whom one has a motherly relationship. ("Have you taken your medication today? No? Well maybe you shouldn't drink any more of that 16 litre Coco-Cola until you've done that. You're going home to do that now?  Splendid!") 

And then, there are people who tell you stories like this:

"Hey... I got a sea story  to tell you!"

Boss and self, finding that we are cornered, assume looks of polite interest. "Oh, yes?" we say.

"Yeah! It was is a story about the Atlantic! I was in Louisiana, near the coast... "

(Self becomes distracted, trying to come up with anyway for Louisiana to be on the Atlantic Ocean.)

".... You know, the coast around New Jersey..."

(Self begins to feel unequal to the task of maintaining a politely interested expression. Self also biting tongue, so as not to correct a lunatic's geography.)

"Yeah, so I am sitting there on a beach, you know, watching the waves and the sand. Livin' the moment, you know...."

An expectant pause... Boss and self nod in complete understanding.

"And then, you know, there's this hole. Just like that. Right in front of me. A hole. And as I'm sitting there, livin' the moment, I start to notice that it's spurting water out. And then it goes all quiet again and I forget about about... and then there is water spurting out again."

"Tide coming in?" Self inquires, in an effort to speed this story along. (If Pippin, from the movie version of The Two Towers had heard me, he would have told me, "Don't talk tae it, Mahri, don't encourage it!")

"So then, this totally hot babe goes by. Dressed in high heels... Fur coat. Classy babe. And I say, 'Hey! Look at that hole! There's water shooting out! Do you have a watch? I want to time how often it happens.' And so she sits next to me, and holds out her diamond encrusted Rolex, and we time it together... and... and it is five minutes apart....."

A prolonged silence. Storyteller's face convulses. Boss and self remain polite for a few more moments. Denouement not forthcoming, boss says, "Yes?"

"And that's all I got." He turned on his heels and left without another word.

Well, the library being the library, and the sort of clientèle we serve, being what it is, we were soon up to our ears with other curious incidents, nor overly bothered at being left in suspense as to the nature of the water-spouting hole, in Louisiana... or New Jersey, as the case may be. The next couple days were spent in waking up people who had fallen asleep at the computer and drooled all over the keyboard. Or in telling the human snail with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that he cannot store the entirety of his possession in our meeting room. Or listening to stories about the increase in fairy abductions. Also, there is the fielding of inappropriate inquiries -  "do you know what I am thinking now?" with a leer. "I choose not to delve too deep into a strangers' mind", self says, cleverly extricating herself... And let us not forget the woman who had scribbled tattoos all over both arms with a Sharpie, who came charging up to unsuspecting people, placed her face uncomfortably close to their, and demanded that they sell her a cigarette. When they, fearing for their lives, back up, averring that they had no cigarettes, she answered, mysteriously, "Well, then, you're not him." Then she stalk away muttering, "Did you see that? Something's wrong.... People are getting annihilated all over the place here. She was, quite frankly, rather terrifying, and as none of the Mental Health services were available, we called the cops on her. She obligingly lunged at the officer and was taken away in handcuffs...

Indeed, so much drama occurred in the time between the cliffhanger, and the return of the storyteller, that he had quite nearly been forgotten.... He was not the forgetting type, however. A couple days later, he marched in and without preamble announced: "One word: think sand crabs" before walking back out again.... and that was the end of that story.

At present, I am rather tired of people. All people. Crazy people in particular. I feel that if I have to be around them much longer, I too will be crazy as a coconut.

At least my car still runs.

It Must Be Such A Nice, Quiet Place To Work....

Well.... Aye.... It is a library, so it can be.....

There is this general, preconceived idea about libraries, which is really quite charming. Most folk really do seem them as nice quiet places - civilised places, you know. Seats of knowledge, and repositories of history and story. And I have a confession to make: even though I have worked at a modern, public library long enough that it can safely be said I have made a career out of it, and can tell you from experience, that it is not really so pleasant as all that... Well, golly, I have managed to retain my own idealised version of what I library really is. Say the word "library" to me, and, despite years of experience, the mental image that comes up, is something rather like this:

Los Angeles Public Library Children's Reading Room
From aprettybook.com

Or this:

From beautiful-libraries.com

Or this:

Also from beautiful-libraries.com

Notice how truly warm and welcoming these places are. Lots of books. Lots of corners to pursue books in. Civilised bookish people, doing bookish things in the book place. By contrast, most libraries actually look rather like this:

www.tuckerlibraryinteriors.com

Not bad, mind you, but lacking a certain something. And library patrons are as likely to do this:

as they are to take advantage of the tables, chairs and desks provided for their comfort. Furthermore, libraries, despite their reputations as veritable bastions of decorum and culture, tend to attract... interesting clientele. The sort of clientele that insists the FBI will be raiding us at any moment; or that there is a terrorist attack going on right here, right now, because their email won't open; or who inform you gravely that they keep their garbage in the refrigerator until garbage day, so that the bears won't get into it; or who scatter booklets about, containing the enlightening information that all world leaders are really lizard aliens, complete with pictures to prove it. In short, there are a lot of lunatics wandering about - harmless, and all that, but quite insane. One becomes accustomed to it. One learns to take peculiar behaviour in one's stride - just another day at the library. 

Every now and again, however, things become particularly interesting. Take this morning, just before we opened for the day. There were a few of us, taking a quick break in the back room, as is our custom. There is a large window in the break room, framed by a pair of lovely poplars, which looks over the employee parking, and beyond that, to a city campground, which, at this time of the year, is but sparsely populated with RVs. As we sat about, drinking our coffee, lo and behold, a venerable old grey Subaru, completely lacking in license plates, came cruising around the corner, to park itself outside our window. A rather older fellow hopped out of the car, and after a moment or two of indecision, lit out for the campground, leaped the fence and disappeared. That was both odd and a little unexpected. Several minutes later, the man came hirpling back, carrying with him a very large, red gasoline canister, with a nozzle. He proceeded to fill up his gas tank with the contents. He took his time about it, and when he was finished, he flitted off for the campground again, apparently returning the canister to its rightful owner, before driving away again. That was definitely a first. Folk have mistaken our parking lot for campground parking before, but never has anyone taken if for a refuelling station. I do hope that he had a friend in the campground, and was getting the loan of a tankful of fuel, and that he was not - heaven help up us - stealing it right from under the noses of unsuspecting strangers. 

Whilst that little episode was in progress, one of the building maintenance men dropped in to inform us that we've had a homeless person sleeping outside the library every night t his past week. Ordinarily, this would be something we would turn a blind eye to, at least, for a little while, especially since he clears out so early that no one but the groundsmen see him. This particular person, however, objects to the outside light that we have on that side of the building, and, rather than doing the intelligent thing, and unscrewing the bulb, simply smashes it to bits before retiring for the night. Sleeping is one thing, vandalism, something else all together, so now the Law is supposed to keep an eye on things. We shall see how that goes.

And before we had quite finished discussing that little matter, a great big, hairy individual, with wild hair and wild beard, appeared out of nowhere and came charging up to the back door like a Viking storming the stronghold. There came a battering upon the door, and I, serving at the moment in the capacity of Senior Staff Member, found myself responsible for shooing him away. 

"The Library is open!" He panted.

"Not yet." I replied. "We'll be open at 10. You can go around to the front, and we will let you in then."

He came a bit closer. "You have wireless, right?" he put both hands up in the air, and made fiddling-on-a-keyboard motions with them. 

"Yes, we do" I replied, holding firm to the door, in case he decided to rush in anyway, and I would find myself obliged to slam it in his face. "You can use it at 10."

I closed the door on him rather firmly, before he could decide, in his agitation, to come in anyway.  

He did leave, which was good, but he did not go very far. My boss, returning from a morning meeting, encountered him a few moments later. Apparently, it was not the wireless he was after, but the washroom, and having failed in his attempts to infiltrate the building by legitimate means, was using the meager shelter of the air intake unit for the heating and cooling system, as his own personal lavatory.... ho hum. Another day at the library. 

And this... this all occurred before we had even opened our doors. I do believe I am ready for my weekend!

Truer Words...

There are many benefits to working in a library, and in general, I rather enjoy my work than otherwise. But like all jobs, even the very best, there are down sides as well. For me, one of the down sides is seeing the sort of book that tends to make it to the bestsellers lists. It is discouraging, for the most popular books with the longest library waiting lists, usually are not very good books - and I use the word "good" in this instance, in both sense. For in general, the writing in bestsellers is not of the best, but settles for mediocre. There is little of style or substance about them, nor, after an author starts churning them out at a rate of one per year, imagination and originality. Furthermore, the majority of fiction being published these days - bestsellers or not - are usually not very good. The world-view is skewed; if not outright immoral. Even the good guys - generally flawed but redeemable - are not particularly moral, and strong Christian virtues seldom make an appearance, being eclipsed by a vaguer, less demanding set of values. Yes, it is possible still to find quite good stories, ones that are well-written and morally sound, but it is not so common as it once was.

Therefore, it is supremely satisfying to come across someone who appreciates the finer things. Take, for example, the fine old gentleman who frequents my place of employment. He has just discovered Louis L'amour for the first time, and is raving about him. Now, mind, Louis L'amour is not a high-water mark of literature. I read a few of his books back in high school and remember them being ripping good yarns, full of galloping horses and gunfights - classic Westerns, but not, necessarily memorable. However, this old gentleman is enjoying them for all the right reasons. According to him, the books are just plain good. They tell a good story, with plenty of excitement. The Good Guy is always good. He never shoots anyone if tying him up will work just as well. The Good Guy always wins, and the Bad Guy always loses. The Good Guy gets the girl. And that is how it is supposed to be.

And, by golly! He has a point there - especially in regards to Westerns, with their knight-errant cowboys, and their stern code of honour and decency. The Good Guy is supposed to be good, or if his he not exactly good, he should be trying to be. The Good Guy should win, and if he does not, if his story ends in sorrow and sacrifice, he should still have a moral victory over the Bad Guy. And while the Good Guy cannot always get the girl, he should be the sort of man a worthwhile girl would want to be got by. It is not fashionable to write old-fashioned stories like that anymore, but I believe there is a crying need for them, that deep down, people crave them. Perhaps if there were more of such stories about - if people read about how things are supposed to be - they might just discover that there is nothing old-fashioned about it at all. They might discover that goodness, far from being boring, is a powerful and dangerous thing, and that a man is more truly himself when he chooses to walk that narrow path. That adventures are only worthwhile if there is something at stake, and that death and sacrifice are not things to be afraid of. And, just perhaps, it might have a beneficial effect upon the reader.

On the Weather

For the last couple months, we have been getting a good deal of snow, and rain, and rain-and-snow mixed together. There is hardly a week goes by without some sort of weather, usually quite cold weather. For me, this is not a big deal. I happen to like snow and rain, and much prefer cold weather to hot. I might admit that a bit of sun and warmth is quite pleasant for a change, but since we actually have had a few days this week featuring those qualities, I cannot say I was disturbed at the snow we got today.

I rather think, however, that I might be the only person left in town that is not fed up with the weather. When the rain started early in the afternoon, my co-workers let out a unanimous groan. When the rain turned into quite a serious snow storm, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. "Are we ever going to have spring?" was the despairing cry I heard quite often today. By contrast, during the late afternoon, when both rain and snow stopped, and the golden sun broke through the black and fantastic storm clouds, the populace rejoiced with exceeding great joy.

The best reaction probably came from a small, handsome Mexican child, who was playing with his father in the Children's Section of the library. He saw the sun coming in at the window, and stood stock still, gazing at it in awe. He exclaimed fervently, "It's a miracle!"

Is My Luddism Showing?

I work in a library, and in general, find that the jobs suits me very well indeed. There are a lot of benefits to it, for a bookworm like myself, not the least of which is that I am able to indulge my reading-addiction on a whim without bankrupting myself while I am at it. However, as with most things, there is also a side to modern librarianship, that annoys me exceedingly. To whit, the rather appalling tendency of certain Powers That Be within the public library structure, to talk about "making the library relevant to our times".

Perhaps I am even more old-fashioned than I generally give myself credit for, but libraries have always seemed to me to be rather above the need of re-invention. There primary function is educational. They are repositories of knowledge and literature. A really good library will have an extensive, and well-maintained non-fiction section, which will contain everything from works of the major philosophers, to study books for obtaining one's contractor's license. There will be plays, and poetry, the maths and sciences, books on languages, geography and geology. There should be fiction too, but in keeping with the educational function of a library, it should be good fiction, well written and of the sort that will be as worth reading 100 years from now as it is today. At least, that is how I have always thought of a library should be.

In practice, however, the relentless drive towards "making the library relevant" has meant that there is an emphasis on novelty, and that the novelties tend to have less and less bearing on the purpose of a library. This shows up in various ways: an unnecessarily generous portion of the book budget going towards shiny, new best sellers, even if works of classical (and therefore, enduring) literature must be deleted to make room for them. Or the introduction of clubs or programs, whose sole purpose is to get people through the doors (therefore proclaiming the library's relevancy) rather than promoting education. Fortunately, the library I work for, tends to be fairly restrained in this regard. Our librarian is very good at finding the balance between the new and shiny, and the old and worthwhile. The programs we offer, tend, for the most part, to both be educational, and entertaining. Every once and a while, though, some new trend comes along, and our library jumps at it. The most recent is the addition of e-books and online audio books to the system, and, much to my irritation, I was required, last week, to learn how to set up the software and use the vile things.

I shall now freely admit that I am very resistant to change. I am the sort of person who has to believe that the good coming out of a change is so great as to make up for the bother of changing at all. No, I am not afraid of change. If something is not working, it is not working, and the sooner we get that sorted, the better. However, change, in our present society, does not usually mean fixing something that is not working. More often than not, it is some clever individual's chance to re-design the wheel. And there is the problem that I tend to have with technology, especially when technology encroaches upon my personal indulgences. Not that technology does not have a place. I am not a complete Luddite. I have a blog, after all.

E-books, however, are a form of technology that I have very little patience for. I suppose they have a place. I could see downloading a number of books into a device when one is travelling, so as to avoid a 50 lb backpack, full of books, because you never know when you might need something to read. (Yes, that is how I travel.) I could see the benefit of buying an e-book of an out of print book, that one really wants to read and cannot get any other way. I could see the advantage of using an e-book in the place of the $200 college text books I have been hearing about lately. However, I cannot see a single benefit of e-books as a regular library service. It defeats the purpose of most relevancy schemes, in that it does not get people through the doors. The cursory run-through of the program, to which I was subjected, turned up only the usual selection of bestsellers. Since we order multiple copies of those anyway, and since we are only allowed to own a certain number of electronic copies of each book, I cannot see how the e-book will significantly cut down on the waiting list for those items. People who are interested in anything besides the usual commercial bookstore-type offerings are tough out of luck. The software necessary to run the books takes close to an hour to download, and is sufficiently tedious and confusing to permanently discourage me from ever doing it for myself. (And will, no doubt prompt a rather large number of calls from confused patrons, whom we will have to attempt to placate.) I was quite disgusted with the whole matter, and made my disapproval rather plainer than I ought.

I think, though, the main problem I have with e-books, is that I am passionately devoted to the experience of reading a book. Ideally, I prefer my books to be hard-covered, or at least, well-bound and attractive. I like the weight of a book in my hands. I like the sound the pages make when I turn them. I like the ability to fan through it, and look at the illustrations, if illustrations there be, or to see how long it is til the end of the chapter, and whether it is worth putting off something important, until I get there. I like the dust-and-excitement smell of old books, and the look of the printed word on the cream-coloured page. I compulsively collect books, and like the look of them, sitting companionably together in my shelves, full of knowledge, adventure, passion and character. For all the benefits and e-book might provide, it will never provide the same experience as reading a genuine book. I resent their encroachment into me life, even in so slight a fashion as an icon on my computer at work. (Which I have no intention of ever using.) I resent being told that e-books are the way of the future. I resent having people tell me what I could do to disguise my e-book (should I ever find myself in possession of such a thing) to resemble a real book as much as possible. I particularly object to other people finding my objections amusing. However, I rather fancy that I am not the only person to feel this way, so I doubt the demise of the book is quite so imminent as everyone says it is!