Wait a minute ...
My final semester of library school starts Wednesday. This morning it occurred to me that I have no business working in public service because I hate people. What the hell was I thinking?
The hope, of course, is that academic librarianship is a better fit. I start my practicum at the college library on Wednesday as well, so I guess we'll see if experience dispels that fantasy. I know there will probably be a fair share of whiny freshman who want all full-text articles for the paper they have due in four hours, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that there will be far fewer senior citizens and mentally ill patrons than in the public library. Honestly, if I wanted to go into social work, I would have (and obviously, my hatred of the human race kind of excluded me for that).
At my reference job, we have a new crazy patron. I guess he's been coming for a few weeks now -- every fucking day. Apparently he lives across the street and doesn't have much other than TV and Bible study to keep him busy, so he visits at least once a day, sometimes more. His thing is TV and movie stars from the '50s and '60s -- are they alive or dead? This is actually not an uncommon question, and it's a relatively easy one to answer with either the Internet Movie Database or the Dead People Server. But most people ask about one or two individuals. And they know their names.
This guy delivers a mumbled stream-of-consciousness-esque monologue about whatever show he watched on Nick at Nite the evening before. Eventually I'll say, "Do you have a question?" and he'll mumble something about wondering what "he" is up to, and then I'll say, "what's the person's name?" and he says "CLAYTON MOORE!" (or whoever) at the top of his lungs, because of course I should have caught that. And then I'll say something bitchy about how I wasn't alive when that show was on the air, because I am a horrible person, and then I look up the person and nine times out of ten, tell him when they died. And then he is shocked, because he saw that person on Nick at Nite just the day before. And then I explain that it's a rerun.
This generally goes on for five minutes or more, and finally I answer the phone or tell him to have a nice day or whatever, and he kind of shuffles away. And then he immediately comes back, because he's remembered someone else he was just wondering about, and then the whole process repeats again. Usually he leaves and comes back once or twice more and then finally exits the building, at which point I look for something sharp with which to slit my wrists.
Obviously I am not the only person who deals with him, but it sure seems like when there are two or three of us to choose from, he gravitates to me. Or -- as occurred on Saturday, when I was literally walking away from the desk to go on my sacred fifteen-minute break and he approached me to ask what the Brady kids were up to, and the (60-ish) person I was working with looked at me helplessly and said she never watched that show -- I somehow manage to get stuck with him anyway. Funny thing -- I was able to find out what all of the Brady kids, as well as the parents and the maid, are up to, and not only did I not watch the show, but I wasn't born until four years after it went off the air!
Of course the patrons are not all like him. In between his visits, I also get to show senior citizens how to make double-sided copies and where to stick their floppy disks. Seriously -- how can you ask me that question and expect me to answer it politely?
And while I'm ranting, a few common patron interactions that will eventually drive me batshit crazy, if the above hasn't already done it:
The hope, of course, is that academic librarianship is a better fit. I start my practicum at the college library on Wednesday as well, so I guess we'll see if experience dispels that fantasy. I know there will probably be a fair share of whiny freshman who want all full-text articles for the paper they have due in four hours, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that there will be far fewer senior citizens and mentally ill patrons than in the public library. Honestly, if I wanted to go into social work, I would have (and obviously, my hatred of the human race kind of excluded me for that).
At my reference job, we have a new crazy patron. I guess he's been coming for a few weeks now -- every fucking day. Apparently he lives across the street and doesn't have much other than TV and Bible study to keep him busy, so he visits at least once a day, sometimes more. His thing is TV and movie stars from the '50s and '60s -- are they alive or dead? This is actually not an uncommon question, and it's a relatively easy one to answer with either the Internet Movie Database or the Dead People Server. But most people ask about one or two individuals. And they know their names.
This guy delivers a mumbled stream-of-consciousness-esque monologue about whatever show he watched on Nick at Nite the evening before. Eventually I'll say, "Do you have a question?" and he'll mumble something about wondering what "he" is up to, and then I'll say, "what's the person's name?" and he says "CLAYTON MOORE!" (or whoever) at the top of his lungs, because of course I should have caught that. And then I'll say something bitchy about how I wasn't alive when that show was on the air, because I am a horrible person, and then I look up the person and nine times out of ten, tell him when they died. And then he is shocked, because he saw that person on Nick at Nite just the day before. And then I explain that it's a rerun.
This generally goes on for five minutes or more, and finally I answer the phone or tell him to have a nice day or whatever, and he kind of shuffles away. And then he immediately comes back, because he's remembered someone else he was just wondering about, and then the whole process repeats again. Usually he leaves and comes back once or twice more and then finally exits the building, at which point I look for something sharp with which to slit my wrists.
Obviously I am not the only person who deals with him, but it sure seems like when there are two or three of us to choose from, he gravitates to me. Or -- as occurred on Saturday, when I was literally walking away from the desk to go on my sacred fifteen-minute break and he approached me to ask what the Brady kids were up to, and the (60-ish) person I was working with looked at me helplessly and said she never watched that show -- I somehow manage to get stuck with him anyway. Funny thing -- I was able to find out what all of the Brady kids, as well as the parents and the maid, are up to, and not only did I not watch the show, but I wasn't born until four years after it went off the air!
Of course the patrons are not all like him. In between his visits, I also get to show senior citizens how to make double-sided copies and where to stick their floppy disks. Seriously -- how can you ask me that question and expect me to answer it politely?
And while I'm ranting, a few common patron interactions that will eventually drive me batshit crazy, if the above hasn't already done it:
- When I ask if I may help you, for the love of God don't say, "I hope so" and then remain mute. It was a rhetorical question meant to elicit your information need, people!
- When you do express your request, phrase it as a question. "Last Friday's Chicago Tribune"? Not a question. Setting a list of titles in front of me without so much as a word? Not only not a question, but grounds for homicide.
- If you call the library to ask your question, do not ask to whom you're speaking as soon as I pick up the phone. Every time I answer "Reference, may I help you?" and someone responds, "Who is this?" I have to stop myself from saying, "Madame Defarge; who the fuck is this?" (Although I guess this is better than the people who refer to me as "Reference" throughout the conversation.)
- When you ask if an item is in the library's collection, do not say, "Do we have this book?" Yes, the library is supported by your tax money (if you actually live in the library district; most patrons don't seem to). No, that does not make it yours. Do you go to the DMV and ask if "we" have any more copies of the Rules of the Road? I think not.
I'm going to beat myself senseless with a hardcover book now.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:31 PM
4 Comments:
I adore you, you misanthrope you. First off, kudos for working batshit into a conversational rant. And double kudos for introducing me to the dead people server.
I am quite sure that the academians and erudite professors at the university will be a big improvement from the very brady stalker. Hey, the next time he asks you, why don't you say, "I don't know. Could you tell me what ever happened to Ted Knight?" Maybe this will confuse him into a mumbling stuper and lead him to meander on home. Or you could just tell him you told him that already. Then tell him you think he left the gas on. Make him think he's losing his mind. Have fun with it. And as far as not liking the job, what's the worst thing that can happen? You have to find a new profession. I see nothing wrong with that. Have you ever considered politics? =) You'd make an excellent speech writer.
The classes are going well, for the moment. We've gotten through sinners, and start the Crucible this Thursday. I have to finish reading it again first. Naturally, i'm behind. But did you know that Marliyn Monroe dated Elia Kazan before she married Miller? And Miller's daughter married Daniel Day Lewis, who played John Proctor in the movie version. I'll take useless knowledge for 500, Alex.
Mike's parents are supposed to come into town this weekend to visit on their way to Hawaii, but now they've cancelled their trip because it's raining in Hawaii for the next two weeks. Am I the only one who finds this strange? We've never once cancelled a trip for the weather forecast. Unless there's a hurricane a comin', we're a goin'.
Mike and i have been making projections about how much we'd have to make on this house to be able to move to Illinios. I may have to change my name after all. I told him i'd change it if he moved back. =) We'll see.
Keep the crazy patron stories and job rants coming. They're a bright spot in my otherwise dull days.
If you move back to Illinois, I'll ... I'll ... have a kid. (As long as you do it first.) Incentive enough for you?
I've actually just spit out my coke. =) So apparently, we've digressed to living our lives through if/then statements. If Chicago, then change name. If Kelly in Chicago, then have kids. Or- If life less stressful, then have kids. I believe the engineers call that Boolean logic. Isn't that fun to say? We're so fucking Boolean.
I prefer to see it as a series of transactions. God, I'm such a whore. At one point I tried to trade the name change for a conversion to Catholicism, which I thought seemed fair. Obviously that one didn't go anywhere.
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