New books? For a library? What a crazy idea!
My friend the humanities department chair came into the library yesterday very frustrated and angry about a meeting she'd had with members of our administration, who were typically unresponsive and uncooperative. She vented a little about the situation and her crappy day and then said that she guessed she shouldn't complain, since she didn't have bad days very often--her last one was Dec. 1, 2006.
It did sound like a bad day--we had a huge snowstorm during rush hour that morning, and apparently her train caught fire and all the commuters were sent out into the snow to find their own way to work. She said it took her an hour to get a cab.
But that part barely registered with me, because I was stuck on the idea that her last bad day was 11 months ago. She's not some annoyingly cheerful Pollyanna type, either. We regularly start our days by comparing notes on how tired and unmotivated we are. Obviously she sets the bar a little higher than most people on what constitutes a bad day. And obviously I'm a bit of a drama queen. But one bad day a year? I'd say I average one every week or two--just ask M. Defarge.
I wish I had her attitude. She also routinely says how much she loves her job. I don't think I've ever said that in my life. I like my job, and I've liked aspects of previous jobs, but love? Hell, no.
Today I emphatically did not love my job, or our administration. I'm starting a library advisory committee made up of faculty members, in part because I could use the feedback and in part because the library plan my predecessor wrote (read: borrowed verbatim from another library, but with permission, so it's OK) for our accreditation report says we already have one. This afternoon my boss asked to review the agenda for our upcoming inaugural meeting, because he wants to make sure we're not thinking that this will be a purchasing committee. Because, once again, there will be no purchasing of library materials.
There are so many things wrong with that statement that I want to rip my hair out in clumps. But my train did not catch fire on the way home, so I guess it wasn't a Bad Day after all.
It did sound like a bad day--we had a huge snowstorm during rush hour that morning, and apparently her train caught fire and all the commuters were sent out into the snow to find their own way to work. She said it took her an hour to get a cab.
But that part barely registered with me, because I was stuck on the idea that her last bad day was 11 months ago. She's not some annoyingly cheerful Pollyanna type, either. We regularly start our days by comparing notes on how tired and unmotivated we are. Obviously she sets the bar a little higher than most people on what constitutes a bad day. And obviously I'm a bit of a drama queen. But one bad day a year? I'd say I average one every week or two--just ask M. Defarge.
I wish I had her attitude. She also routinely says how much she loves her job. I don't think I've ever said that in my life. I like my job, and I've liked aspects of previous jobs, but love? Hell, no.
Today I emphatically did not love my job, or our administration. I'm starting a library advisory committee made up of faculty members, in part because I could use the feedback and in part because the library plan my predecessor wrote (read: borrowed verbatim from another library, but with permission, so it's OK) for our accreditation report says we already have one. This afternoon my boss asked to review the agenda for our upcoming inaugural meeting, because he wants to make sure we're not thinking that this will be a purchasing committee. Because, once again, there will be no purchasing of library materials.
There are so many things wrong with that statement that I want to rip my hair out in clumps. But my train did not catch fire on the way home, so I guess it wasn't a Bad Day after all.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:12 PM
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