Toys In The Attic

Certifiable

2006-05-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

Just a little update on the surprisingly quiet little old me.

Last month I finally graduated earning me my Masters in Counseling Psychology.
All I can say is:

THANK YOU JESUS, SHIVA, ZEUS, RA, and mostly the devil!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm finally free of papers, tests, boring lectures, and paying for my own abuse!!!!!!!
Now I can be abused full time for a laughable salary!

I've spent all the downtime whoring myself out for work. A Masters degree and no one wants to hire me. I'm officially too qualified for most positions but not qualified enough for my own field. It will take me another two years to get my license. Until then....I wonder if Burger King is hiring?

Street Justice

2006-05-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'm officially beyond pissed at the lousy policies that protect patrons at the risk of employees.

There is a patron who has been purposefully stalking the staff for weeks. He repeatedly asks us out and then goes and complains that we are not attentive enough when we repeatedly (and politely) refuse him. He follows us around and blatantly will stare at us either scowling or with a dirty smirk. He loves to use his concealed gun license as his proof of ID. I guess that makes him feel like a big man letting all of us women folk know that not only is he an obnoxious pervert, but he's armed as well. I'm still not going out with him. I think I'd rather be disembowel than spend one minute with him.

Last week he upped the stakes by announcing to a circulation worker that God will give all of us uterine cancer because we won' t go out with him. This was said in complete vicious certainty. Lovely, that way I'll be put out of my misery and won't have to deal with his slimy ass any more.

Yesterday, he pulled out a knife and left it on the table right in front of him to further drive home the point that we're dealing with a perverted and dangerous psycho.

What does policy say? We can do absolutely nothing!!!! Our well being has been repeatedly threatened mentally, physically, and emotionally but we must smile and invite further abuse. The sheriff came and talked to him but what does that ever do? Why, it made him belligerent and even more dangerous. He spent the day harassing us verbally and approaching staff members only to veer away at the last moment. That night, he verbally assaulted a part time worker because he walked away from his computer for half an hour and someone else took it.

Our director, the awesome man that he is, let us know that we can handle him however we want from now on. Honestly, he's just as desperately looking for a reason to ban this walking freak as we are. He finds himself as ruthlessly tied by impotent policies as we are.
We've started a list of all the incidences that have occurred and petitioned the county for a security guard but all they offered was for us to call the sheriff's office when there's a problem. Oh good, let's give the psycho twenty minutes to run rampage against staff and patron alike.

What the hell is wrong with this system?!?!?!?!?!!?!!! Is my life really so meaningless?! I may be a lowly part time worker but come on!

That's it, I'm giving a call to arms for all the abused public workers. It's time for street justice vigilante style. I'm tired of taking crap from this wacked out assholes on a power trip. Me, I'm from Amazon stock with a large frame and a yellow belt in Tae-Kwon-Do. I have no problem clocking out and taking this scum on in the parking lot. I could snap that little man like a twig and I have all the training I need to disarm him first.
Join me my fellow libraries tired of being screamed at, threatened, insulted, and looked down upon! It's time to take back our libraries from the belligerent and the perverted. No more shall we take groping and sneerings just because we're paid (horribly) to!
Take up your scissors and metal nail files! Load your staplers and grab the nearest volume of Who's Who. It's time for some Library Justice!!!

Now where's my flame thrower? It's time to take out the trash!

Library Psychosis for Dummies

2006-04-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

I can say without hesitation that I am the quarkiest, strangest, and darn-right silliest member of our staff. Who else builds towers out of all the highlighters when bored or engages in bizarre happy dances?
I often leave my poor co-workers staring at me blankly or laughing at my absurd antics.
Love me or hate me, I definetly make things interesting. On that note, I can be quite scary for the uninitiated. It takes a lot to handle an ADHD sugar addict.

So, as part of my court-ordered community service, I shall leave instructions for my brave friends on how to deal with me. Invaluable information indeed.

1. It's never wise to give me sugar....EVER. If you have to sit in the same vicinity with me for any length of time, be sure to remove all sugar products. If you think I'm strange now, you don't know what a pound of sugar and a label machine can do. However, it makes an excellent source of revenge. Feed me chocolate right before the target of your scorn has to work with me and watch the fun from a safe distance.
2. If you ever see me sitting quietly at the desk call an ambulance immediately. The odds are I'm either unconscious or dead.
3. If you ever see me sitting quietly at the desk grinning, vacate the premises. There's no telling what I did but you'll be a lot happier not knowing. It is your choice whether or not to warn the others.
4. Mindless tasks are your friend. If you have any at all, save them and pass them on to me. Not only do I strangely enjoy them, but it keeps me busy and distracts me from ploting random acts of depravity.
5. Beware of wearing anything shiny. My strange attraction to them coupled with my impulsiveness may lead to a medical emergency. Don't be surprised if you get tackled. On that same note, dangling a shiny object in my line of sight is an excellent way to distract me if I am engaged in inappropriate activity.
6. Despite the disturbing patron reaction to my highlighter towers, it is not wise to hide the markers and highlighters from me. Strange as the towers are, you at least know that I am engaged in harmless activity. Without them, there's no telling what I'll get into.
7. If you see me engaging in a bizarre series of completely dorky body movements do not be alarmed. I am not having a seizure nor are my neither reigions being invaded by ants. That is my happy dance indicating something good has happened. Now would be a good time to tell me that the newspaper section is a mess.
8. Odds are I'm going to poke you. Don't be offended, like any third grader that's my way of saying I like you. Or, it's may subtle way of making you move. Or, I just like the funny noises you make when I do it.
9. Don't dare me to do anything. You may have made it in jest or in certainty that no sane individual would do such a silly and stupid thing but I am no sane individual. I will do it with gusto and embarass you to no end.
10. Never ask what I'm doing or what my rationale is for that activity. I won't be able to give you those ten minutes back.

More coming soon. Jump in anytime my poor comrades in arms with your own unique ways of dealing with me!

Back from the Grave

2006-04-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

I LIVE!!!!!

Sorry, I know it's been a while but I got flattened by college. For the last two months I have been studying obsessively for an evil hard exam that will determine if I get to graduate. I only get this one shot and if I fail, that's it no graduation. You only get one more chance to take it six months later and if you fail that, you have to start grad. school all over again! x_x

Understandably, I put all other projects on hold and focussed completely on relearning everything from the past two years. Naturally, I remembered nothing. Where the hell was I?
I am happy to report that not only did I pass, I got the highest grade!!!! Can you believe it?! Thus and so, it was totally worth the effort even if I had to make you wait for all the interesting library gossip.

A lot has happened since I left you guys in my descent into the ninth ring of hell. I have a lot to tell you so there should be a lot of new posts in the near future.

For now, I'll just share with you how I coped with the whole psychotic level of stress. I decided to have do-something-crazy-you-might-regret-later week. That week I decided to get my first tatoo and I also somehow convinced one of my friends to get her nipple pierced!! I have no idea how I did it or else I would cultivate my evil powers of pursuation to more creative means.

I'm still wincing when I think about it. That's how you know we're in grad. school; you have to be a masochist to put yourself through this kind of hell.

Anywho, Mae Kyl has over fifteen tatoos (take that librarian stereotypes!) and so I got her to recommend a good place to get repeatedly stabbed.

With an entourage of my fellow grad. students to coach me through, we made an appointment and I went there right after work. That's the best time because I'm already so exaughsted and frustrated that my body's practically numb.

The tatoo artist was great, he showed me everything and how everything is top of the line hygenic. That's great because that wasn't do-something-crazy-that-might-get-you-a-blood-born-disease week. Unfortuneately, he also showed me the gun he uses to give the tatoo and showed me how it really uses several needles at once. How is this supposed to make me feel better? I think I could have really been happy not knowing that I will be experiencing the pain of many needles as oppossed to one.

I decided to get it on my hip so no one would know unless I showed it to them. From my experience with henna, I learned that I hate having radom strangers come up to me and comment on my life choices.
BTW, whichever coworker who left and handout on how many diseases and skin disorders you can get from tatoos can suck it. That was so not cool because I got it five minutes before I went to get the tatoo.
Not cool!

Sadly, the readying process took place just when my friend got her nipple pierced so I missed a potentially educational experience. I was just so morbidly curious about the whole thing, but I had to sit still and have my hip cleansed and marked. Damn it.

I was really quite proud of myself during the process. I was so afraid I'd be one of those people who act like her limb is being sawn off; screaming and moaning and being a right royal weenie. You see, like most, I have this understandable fear of needles. It's not the pain per se because it really is minor and my clumsiness gave me and incredible pain tolerance. It's the fact that you know you're about to be stabbed and not only can you not dodge and run, but you're supposed to sit still and RELAX! My primal instinct is far too finely tuned for such a blatant disregard of safety measures. It would be so much better if I never saw it coming, like if the doctor jumped out from behind the door.
Ah, but I digress. Happily, it did not hurt nearly as much as I thought it would so I was able to carry on a coherant conversation and did not make any embarassing sounds of pain. I did do my fair share of grimacing but that's neither here nor there. I had such a tight death grip on the table that my arms ended up hurting more than the tatoo afterwards! I also kept getting the insane urge to laugh which is not too terribly good with a permantent marking procedure. Damn my screwed up response to uncomfortable situations!

In the end, my tatoo turned out beautifully and to date I have still not regretted it.
Now, I know you have all been on the edge of your seats during this whole soliloquy dying to know what I got. What sweet nothing did I have permanently etched into the tender flesh of my hip? If you've been reading my blog or know me at all, you should have some idea. And no, it's not 'pink elephant' which was however a close second.

All I can say is: "CAW!" A beautiful representation of my true inner nature. Whenever I manage to come across a disposible camera, I'll take a picture of it and share it with you!

A special thanks to Librarian Extraordinaire for actually reading my blogs and noticing my sudden absense! Thanks for checking up on me and being so damn supportive!! And thanks to whichever kind soul asked her about my whereabouts. It makes me feel all warm and squishy inside! >_<

More stories to come kids cause I've been saving up a lot of them!
See you next time same Bat Time, same Bat Channel!!!

Clear!

2006-02-09T13:41:00.000-08:00

Due to the overwhelming amount of seizure induced medical emergencies, we now have an AED machine in circulation!!

Sadly, it's not the same as the paddles you see in medical shows. It's a strange system of patches that monitor the heart and will administer a shock if it detects an irregular rhythm. Only three people in our entire library are qualified to work it. One of which just told me she couldn't remember how the patches go......

While I'm happy to have such a fun new addition to our library, I'm upset that it's rigged so that you have no control over the shocking process. I spent the day making a list of all the wonderful and unethical uses to improve my day and library functioning and now I can't play with it!

Oh well, I can still dream can't I? I'll just continue saving up for the machine for sale on ebay.

Here's my list anyways of unethical uses of life saving devices; I'll figure out a way around the computer eventually.

1. Better punishment for library infractions
2. Our new and improved complaint department. Tell it to the paddles.
3. New and improved way of breaking up make out sessions.
4. Frankenstein reenactment on one of the many crickets in the law library. (I swear it must be a sacred graveyard the way they come en mass to die)
5. ECT to help cure staff depression.
6. Play God (always fun)
7. Terrify the patrons by holding it aloft while laughing maniacally. (excellent way of clearing the library at closing)
8. Excellent tool for computer intimidation. Work or else....
9. Harsher form of electrolosis. This is required for the werewolf full moon scenario mentioned earlier.
10. More effective child control. Nothing stops them from climbing the shelves better than a little electrically adversive conditioning.

Feel free to add your own!

Parking Space Nazies

2006-02-09T11:06:00.000-08:00

The library shares space with various other county offices in the same building. We meekly cram ourselves into the limited space of the first floor while they take over the second. We are also surrounded by government buildings.

Our parking lot has the same space issues that the library itself does. It's way too small for the amount of people that use the facilities and that tiny space must be shared with the workers and patrons of the other departments. There are two separate parking lots...erm...squares of asphalt. The choice one is right at the door and this is reserved for handicapped parking and for the county employees. It is much smaller than the one ten feet away and is filled with ominous signs threatening towing for anyone adacious enough to park in these run down yet sacred spots.

I have yet to see anyone more rabid about a parking space outside of Walmart.

When I was first hired and came across the street from human resources with my special car sticker in hand, I assumed that meant I could park in the sacred spaces. I was amost instantly corrected in a very candid way.

I had just parked and was gathering my things when a very loud rapping rattled my driver's side window. Who's that rapping at my chamber door?
Needless to say that I almost became incontinent from shock (this isn't the best part of town).
There was a well dressed woman standing there virtually steaming and turning the most interesting shade of purple. Alarmed, I hastily got out of my car wondering what medical emergency was transpiring. I noticed a bright red car edged so close to my bumper that I started to wonder if I was going to get charged for a proctology exam.

"YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO PARK HERE!!! COUNTY EMPLOYEES ONLY!!!" She sputtered full of righteous indignation. I stared at her blankly for a moment, my poor brain trying to process the reason for such rage. Remember, I had barely started to work for the library so I was unused to instances of rage over minor things. Ahhh, the good old days.....

"Oh, I'm a county employee. I work for the library." I said. At this point I was wondering if perhaps an ambulance should be called because I think she was so enraged she forgot to breathe. Pretty colors.
"NO, YOU CAN'T PARK HERE. LIBRARY PEOPLE DON'T COUNT. MOVE NOW!!!!!" Ah, lovely, so nice to know that we're appreciated by the community. What percicely do you do that makes your presence so much more valuable than mine? Perhaps the Public Relations Department?

Being the decent human being that I am, I capitulated rather than be screamed at and moved my car a whooping ten feet to the other parking lot. Apparently, this was not a rare case of one evil person. Oh no, all of us have been screamed at by this irrational lot when we naively parked in their sacred places. Not only that, they feel the need to inform us of every infraction as if we are somehow responsible for our patrons.

Time and time again they march up to our desk loudly proclaiming that their sacred parking place had been defiled by one outside their ranks.

"Someone parked in my reserved spot! It was a blue truck!"
*blink blink*....um....okay....we're really not responsible for enforcing that.
Well I need to find out who did to make them move!!
(Good luck with that. Now, can I help you find a book? You do realize you're in a library right?)We don't have a PA system here to annouce such a thing. I'm afraid I can' t help you. You're welcome to question our patrons or check upstairs in the other department.
She just stood there for long moments staring at me and blinking. I returned my attention to the computer and promptly ignored her unitl she wandered away still shaking with emotion.

Through the whole conversation they look both insane with anger and near tears. They fume and yell and roll their eyes. I can't help but wonder what they expect a reference librarian to do for them? What is going through their panic sticken little minds that makes them think I can magically wave a wand and make the mystery truck owner appear before them? What makes them think I care? I'm a bitter overworked librarian, I could care less that you had to walk ten feet. True, I'm going to be a Psychologist one day, but today is not that day.
Who the hell goes to a librarian for parking lot violations?! It scares me that these same people are in government services. Watch out DMV, you've got competition for rudest, most unreasonable staff!

Walk the extra ten feet and live with it People! The exercise will do you good. Perhaps you can use the extra ten seconds to work on anger management or reassess your priorities.

Shouting Match

2006-02-03T13:20:00.000-08:00

One of our regular patrons is a sweet old lady that putters around the library with her cane in one hand and book bag in the other. She usually gets by on her own and managed to master using our computer catalogue to find her books. Completely harmless....until she needs help....

This woman always, and I mean always, forgets to wear her hearing aide. How do I know she owns one? Because she shouts it to me every time I try to help her. I'm not talking about a loud voice either, we're talking actual shouting like the kind you only hear from sports fans in the heat of the moment.

So, she shouts out her question and I'm forced to shout out a reply because she's too impatient for me to just write it. The whole library falls into a shocked silence as this woman shouts at length about what she wants and I'm helpless to get any clarification or explain why we don't have that book. No matter how loudly I shout to try to accommodate her, she never has once understood me and just proceeds to yell at a louder decibel how she can't hear me.

She's nice so I'd feel bad about reporting her to the police for verbal assault but I'm at a loss of how to handle her. We've tried shouting subtle hints about bringing her hearing aide with her next time but it has yet to happen. Perhaps we can set some money in the budget aside for an in-library use hearing aide.

Until then, I'll bring ear plugs and brush up on my short hand.

Mr. Sanderson Strikes Back!

2006-02-01T11:46:00.000-08:00

Ah, our most torturous patron returned from a long refreshing trip abroad with a million impossible questions lined up for us.

However, he must feel that we are not suffering enough from his daily barage of sadistic inquiries. Perhaps we deal with his cruel ways a little too efficiently and his sadistic needs are not being met? We have a folder chalk full of every question he's ever asked ready and waiting right at the desk. We have websites bookmarked that detail his areas of interests (like a complete national listing of every embassy and consolate of every country; which we use every few hours or so), Our Latin and Greek dictionaries are on standby along with Babblefish on favorites.

So now he has come up with a whole new way to drive us to self injury. It also happens to be one of those, 'careful what you wish for' kind of things.
Mr. Sanderson finally consented to learning to use the computer. At first I was overjoyed because now he could finally look up his own outrageous questions and come to a better appreciation for what we do.

Oh no. Of course that's not what happened. Why do I even bother with that big let-down we call hope?

I have yet in all my library experience aiding the elderly and toddler alike to see such an incompetent computer person! Even the technophobes got nothing on this man. He now comes in daily and every five seconds will gesture us over for a computer question.

The email address disappeared, where's the email address?! Do I have to type it in again?!
Scroll up.

I want to send this email, how do I send it?
Click on the send button.

Why am I at the attatchment screen?! I don't want to be here, where's my email message?!
*sigh* Click on the back button.

How do I get to the webpages? (on yahoo)
Click on the blue underline words.
It's not working! (clicking on the black text)
No, on the blue! The blue! No, the big BLUE letters!!!

The page isn't loading! Why isn't it loading?!
Don't move the mouse when you click on the link. No, you've got to hold it still. It's still moving, you can't move it even a little. Please put the mouse down before I strangle you with it!

Yesterday I sent an email to someone and I want a copy of it. What do you mean you can't recover it for me?! I sent if from that computer right there! I don't care that that's the way the server works!! Where are you going? What's that metal nail file for?

These are in no way an exageration. These are just the questions he asked today. And yes, he asked them yesterday and the day before that! I'm still battling with the whole cursor thing with him and the mysteries of the backspace. Let's not even get into the strange and confusing scroll button. Surely the webpage begins and ends with that square before me!

On top of that new nightmare, he still calls us with impossible questions several times daily.

I think I must have been a really bad person in a former life to get this kind of karma. Perhaps a murder or drug peddler to six year olds.

You know what would be really great right now? Hand granades.

Headbanging

2006-01-30T12:34:00.000-08:00

Sadly, the librarians do not stand as one as a front against an unending slew of ignorance and intolerance. Even within our stronghold of knowledge there are weaknesses that threaten to crumble our resolve. Ours comes in the form of a worker in another branch who remains the most clueless, helpless, and hopeless staff member. She hands down wins the coveted helmet award. I'm surprised she's allowed to drive.

I will affectionately refer to her as the Headbanger because that is exactly what you want to do after speaking with her; just wham your head into your desk until the sweet release of unconsciousness.

I've never had the opportunity to meet her in person but her phone calls are a daily source of horror. Those who have just shake their heads and express profound sympathy for the staff that has to deal with her on a daily basis. If it's at all possible, she's actually worse in person than she is on the phone.

Let me walk you down a few senarios that are the hallmark of an interaction with this strange creature. This was my first ever converstation with her a few weeks after she was hired.

Me: Hi, this is Library Psychosis from the Main Branch, we need a book sent up here for a patron.
HB: Ooooookaaaaaaaaaaayyyy..... *silence*
Me: (that's an ominous beginning; no greeting, no prompting, just erie silence) I need volumes 4,5, and 7 of Alice 19th; it's a series.
HB: Okay, what's the title?
Me: *blink blink* Alice 19th. They all have the same title.
HB: So the author is Alice what?
Me: No, the title is Alice 19th. The author is Yu Watase. (I'm getting scared. Are you sure you work here?)
HB: So you need all seven volumes?
Me: No, I only need volumes 4,5, and 7.
HB: Okay. So I'm sending you Yoo Wase. Who's the author again?
Me: (I give up, could you just put your mother on the phone?) The author is Y-u W-a-t-a-s-e. The title is Alice 19th. Every one is titled Alice 19th, they are just different volume numbers.
HB: I see, so you need volumes 1-7 of the series.
Me: No, I need volumes 4,5, and 7.
HB: Okay, I'll send them to you. *starts to hang up*
Me: Wait, I need to tell you the patron's name!
HB: Oh yea.

I wrapped up that conversation by making her repeat everything verbatum like a five year old. Sadly, she really never quite managed to get it right. Is it bad when the patron starts laughing half-way through the conversation?

I was honestly starting to wonder if they were messing with me. Unfortunetly, my fellow co-workers sadly informed me that this was a repeat performance.

Headbanger is also notorious for simply saying 'hello' when we call them making us wonder if the patrons are answering the phone and our cousins are locked up in the basement.

She also forgets her own name and where she works whenever she calls us.
This is the only explanation I can come up with for why she calls us and just starts prattling on about what she needs without identifying herself or that the book is for a patron.
I often times get through almost the whole conversation before she finally mentions the patron name and I realize that this is a staff member speaking. I use the word staff very loosely for her. I don't think she actually does anything and is discouraged from trying. What she does do turns out so horribly wrong that we're tempted to do drug testing on her.

She also loves to shake up our book finding experience by leaving out key facts about the book location. For instance, not telling us that the book is on the new shelf or in Large Print. One time she gave me a title to a book and I spent twenty minutes looking for it. She had so badly mangled the title that only one word from it that she gave me actually matched the real title.

These are but a small few examples of her expertise in chaos and confustion. I'll list more once the trauma eases.

The patrons are infiltrating us! Stupidity abounds!!

Florescent light of Doom

2006-01-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

It's official, the libary is a medical emergency waiting to happen. The florescent lights that usually remain benign enough to only suck the energy out of us have made their first move to eliminate their human rivals.

Twice in the same week we've had the paramedics called in for people dropping from seizures. The first guy was a member of a local chess club at the nightly meeting. He suddenly fell out of his chair and bust out in a full blown grand mall seizure. He even managed to knock his head on something on his way down.

The second seizure was yesterday. A young girl who had never had a seizure before nor had sustained any head injuries just dropped and had a quiet minor seizure.

It must be the faulty florescent lighting. In the corner of the library there is a short in one of the florescent lights that makes them flicker sporatically like fire light. It can be quite hypnotic. Zog the Intruder said he spent an hour watching the light claiming it looked like flowing water.

Thus and so, it's hypnotic yet slightly sickening motion is slowly deteriorating our physical health and mixing up the neurons and neurotransmitter impulses. Patrons are dropping like flies! It's brainwashing the masses sucking out their brains like a lavalamp inspiring this new rash of horrifyingly dense questions (refer to the apocalpse post).

The maintainance people have messed with it countless times yet the florescent light always prevails!

Beware all ye masses!

*you're not paranoid if things really are out to get you!*

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse Updated

2006-01-18T13:36:00.000-08:00

*I added another sign!*

No matter what religion you prescribe to; they all proclaim that the end is coming. No one knows exactly when, but we are warned to look for signs.

After years of working at a library, I have been seeing those signs. Duck and cover people; we're all going to die!

The Signs of Impending Doom:

1. Literature and Quality are Dead

A teenage girl came up to me at the desk all stylishly dressed with perfectly shaped hair. We're talking mid to late teens.

Do you have the Romeo and Juliet book?

*long silence filled with blinking* You mean the play Romeo and Juliet?

It's a play?

*more silence with blinking* (I'm waiting for her to crack up and say "of course it's a play! Sorry, that's what I meant.) You know...by William Shakespeare...?

Really? Huh.

*internal wailing of horror* Okay....well I can take you right to the Shakespeare collection.

This was in no way exagerated or played up; this older teenager didn't know Romeo and Juliet was a play by Shakespeare!!! The truly scary thing is that one day she will be in a position of power. *shudder*

2. Rock and Roll is Dead

I met a guitarist who had never heard of Stairway to Heaven.

I'll give you a moment to blink in utter shock. .................................................
Yea, that's what I thought. I was under the impression that it was a requirement that the first song a guitarist learns to play is Stairway to Heaven (or at least House of the Rising Sun)!

I sadly found this odd creature in band class. I was part of the jazz band (small school endorsed ensemble lead by the band director) at the time and was a senior and oldest member. After years of teasing me with the idea of actually playing Stairway to Heaven (euphoniums don't get the cool music that guitarists do), the director finally decided to let us play it. I was so excited I did flips.

Now for the scary part, only the Tuba player and I had ever heard the song!!!!!! We're talking about over a dozen teenagers (including a guitarist and drummer!!!!!) who had no idea about the song!! Only the low brass who have no melody parts at all knew how to play it!!!!!
There's nothing sadder then hearing a rendition of Stairway to Heaven by a bunch of people who had no idea how it's supposed to sound.
I nearly wept.

3. Common Sense is Dead

A grown man approached my desk looking for the nearest Western Union. Given my lousy sense of direction and poor knowledge of the town, I politely handed him the phone book. With a frown he immediately flipped to the yellow pages under 'w'. Hardly daring to think that he truly was unable to use the phone book, I tentatively noted that the yellow pages were alphabetically listed by subject while the white pages were listed by organization/ name.

To my horror, surprise filled his face and he said "Really?"

This reaction I could have understood from new technology, a mentally retarded individual, a foreign individual, or a five year old. This man was neither.

Helping the Future

2006-01-17T13:52:00.000-08:00

Concidering how all librarians are secretly (or not so secretly) plotting to take over the world, I present you a link to a list chalk full of useful advice to the aspiring overlord. (we may smile at you but we're really thinking of how to turn you into one of our minions)

Enjoy!
Here's the the Evil Overlord list created by Peter.
http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html

Houdini Reborn

2006-01-16T12:53:00.000-08:00

I swear, Houdini came back in the form of an Iguana. As you might have guessed already, Ziggy made another grand escape. *sigh*

I guess this time it was my own fault, I let my guard down. Lately, he has been very good whenever I let him out of his cage. He spends a few hours basking in the window then happily retreats to my computer to spend the rest of the evening enjoying the heat of my monitor. He even stopped showing interest in my closet or the other half of my room. During my winter break, I've even let him out while I wasn't home since I'm only gone for four hours (I keep my door closed and there is no gap where it reaches the floor). He had been behaving so remarkably well. He successfully lured me into letting my guard down with a false sense of security. The first few days, he acted like he always did and my guard went down even further.

Friday was my wake up call that I'm not dealing with your average reptile. After I came home I spent twenty minutes downstairs greeting my puppy and other furry friends. When I finally got around to going upstairs to get ready to go jogging I had an ominous sign half way up. There on the tile was a small, watery, black offering. I don't know about other reptiles, but iguana's have very unique droppings. Translation: not good.

I indulged in denial for a few minutes imagining perhaps that one of the dogs had an intestinal problem or there was a bird loose but I've been cleaning up after Ziggy for so long I couldn't pretend for very long. I zoomed up the stairs and felt a moment of relief and consternation when I noticed that my door was still firmly closed. Perhaps a rogue lizard infiltrated my home?
None-the-less, I went into my room. I instantly knew something was horribly wrong when I noticed that my computer area was in perfect order.
Normally, Ziggy annihalates everything in a three foot radius in his attempt to scamper up to the moniter. His sunning spot was empty and my bed was bare. I even checked my closet even though the door had been closed. I turned around and to my horror, I noticed that my display of asian wares had been knocked over and trampled. They happened to be sitting on three large plasic storage boxes covered with a pretty fabric (make shift furniture is the hallmark of the college student).
They also happened to be stacked near an opening in the wall. A strange quirk of designing had the constuctors leaving a small square opening in the wall. I had so many knicknacks taking up space there that I had totally forgotten about it.

Ziggy hadn't.

In a panic I fled from my room and looked around wildly at all the tall places in the area. The droppings on the stairs left me with a bad premonition. I had opened the backdoor twenty minutes ago, that could have given him plenty of time to escape into the great outdoors or been made a snack by my giant labrador retriever. Again indulging in denial that he hadn't gone downstairs yet, I ran into the next room and miraculously found him at the far end stretched out to his full length staring at me challengingly.
I took up that challenge with the experience of three years of lizard wrangling. I didn't even play our usual game of sneaking up on him. I bolted, he bolted but he had nowhere to go. I scooped him up and didn't even bother with the curtesy hold I usually do. To minimize stress, I normally hold him so that my fingers don't go around him so he doesn't feel trapped. It increases the number of wounds he inflicts but it also makes transportation easier on both of us. This time I caged him efficiently and even used my other hand to hold his hand quarters. Iguanas are notorious thrashers and even as a three year old he can wriggle at a seventh grade level. I could barely hold him long enough to make it back to my room. I dumped him on my bed then went to work lizard proofing my room. I pulled away the storage boxes, covered the secret exit and closed all doors.

Suprisingly enough, he seemed far calmer about this whole event compared to the last time. He didn't glare at me or sulk on my bed or anthing. He just promptly climbed up my computer (I beat him to the punch by moving everything in the area. He had destroyed enough that day) and went to sleep.

I'm starting to realize that while I have Houdini as a lizard, I also have one that isn't too street smart. He's excellent at finding freedom but seems to have no idea what to do with it. Twice now he could have disappeared into the cosmos but instead he remained in areas easy enough to capture.

So, being raised in a single room all his life has made him incapable of living on his own and he knows it!! He's hopelessly dependant on me. Yes!
That may sound a little cruel but that is one iguana who has it made. I spend more on him than I do on myself and I sport so many gashes on my hands and wrists that the mental hospital staff I intern for are giving me worried looks. He gets the best mixes of his favorite foods, special vitamin spray, special mulch to help with his shedding, and a brand new aquarium that cost a hundred dollars (that's a lot for a college student working part time!). So, it makes me happy that he's stuck with me. Because, despite it all, I still love that evil little lizard.

However, I'm now going to go burn all of my iguana care books. They all said (including the pet store people!) how docile and low maintainance iguanas are. The many battle scars I have beg to differ.

Oh well, here's to you Ziggy. May you one day learn to like me.

P.S.- I have some great Christmas lizard pics that I'm going to post as soon as the scanner stops being evil. I actually got the film developed before summer so now the only thing standing in my way are computers bent on world domination. You'll love them! My Ziggy is quite a model.

Greek and Latin

2006-01-12T12:43:00.000-08:00

Miscommunication tends to be one of the more frustrating problems that spring up between patrons and librarians. This often stems from the policy that we're obligated to pretend we're wrong while the patron is obliged to insist that they're right.

Today, I got one of the most confusing calls in a week.
An older gentleman's call was transferred to my department (information) after circulation gave up hope of helping him.
Mr. Wrinklebottom informed me that three or four days ago he had asked for a book on CD to be pulled and held for him. Apparently, it was on the mending shelf because the case was broken. It was decided that the CD could take another quick rotation so it was taken from the shelf and placed it at the checkout desk for the man. When he came in, the hapless worker noticed that one of the boxes was missing. (Upon later investigation we discovered it was John (aka Zog the Intruder). Our books on CD are often too expansive to fit in one case so two or three boxes is not unusual. Zog searched but was unable to locate the other disc. It was too busy for much of a search at the time to the older gentleman left saying he would check back with us at a later time.

Cue today when I answered the phone to be emmersed in one big miscommunication that would end up taking up an hour of my time and two good handfuls of hair.
Mr. Wrinklebottom related the aforementioned tale and told me that circulation had searched for the missing disc and had come up empty-handed. I offered to take a look of my own but he said that it would probably be a waste of time because they had already looked.
I paused at that point wondering what he would like me to do if not conduct my own hunt.
After a moment I regrouped and said I knew a few places were it could be that circ. wasn't aware off. I put him on hold and thrust myself into the enormous pile of mending poor Mae must deal with on a daily basis. I came up empty handed as I expected but I never-the-less also checked the chelves and reported back to circ. to get first hand information about their search. I left circ. feeling just as baffled at they.

I returned to the phone to get a little more information; it looked like I would have to refer this one to someone else (mwhahahahahaaaa! I love having no authority!). I tried to find out who had initially pulled the CD for him but he couldn't remember but I figured it must have been Mae because no one else is really qualified to determine if the CDs on mending can take another battering before being tended to. I told him when Mae was working and looked up the CD title on the computer in the vain hopes of gleaning anything that may explain the mysterious disappearance. Here I noticed that the title was checked out a few weeks ago. This baffled both of us with Mr. Wrinklebottom adamantly stating that he had never checked it out.
So, we were at an impasse. I could think of nothing else to do for him because I had no idea what was going on but I had the feeling that he was just as confused. Everytime he spoke he confused me more and I managed to confuse him more whenever I attempted to explain something.
So, I kept telling him to contact Mae on Saturday and maybe she will have more answers for him. He kept having Lumburgh moments repeating the reasons why he didn't check it out and why he needed it.
I was so thoughrally frazzled by the end of the conversation that I had to have a quick soda brake in circ. to regroup. That was when Zog the Intruder clocked in. I gave him quite a scare bum rushing him in my excitement to find out what was going on.
He just blinked at me (as most people do) while I breathlessly conveyed my confusion. After a moment he went up to the desk and picked up a CD in our holding area.
Zog: For Mr. Wrinklebottom?
Me: Yea! The title was "All the Flowers are Dying"
Zog: Noooooooo.....he asked us to pull "Ten Big Ones"
Zog and I blinked at each other for a very long minute then burst into laughter. When we checked his record we found that the title he insisted was pulled for him was actually a CD he was on hold for. Meaning, the CD was checked out when he asked about it so we put a hold on it so when it came back we would hold it for him.
There was more laughter and a very relieved sigh from me as part of the puzzle was solved. Now all that remained was looking for the other half of "Ten Big Ones" I had spent twnety minutes looking for a portion of a CD that wasn't even here!
After another ten minutes or so, I found the other half and there was much rejoicing.

Now the puzzle was not only solved but there was a happy ending; Mr. Wrinklebottom would get the right CD to check out. Thus and so, I happily called Mr. Wrinklebottom to relate the good news. He was silent a really long time after I explained the miscommunication then told me he had no memory of the title we pulled for him. He was also pretty confused about the whole hold concept. At any rate, he thanked me for my time and made a note of the titles and said he would come right now to check out the CD.

After I hung up, I scurried back to circ to tell Zog about the surprising (or not so surprising) conclusion. He just started laughing and was still laughing when I returned to my post.
So much chaos and confusion all because of a wrong title.

On the bright side, Mr. Wrinklebottom was very nice and polite through the whole process. That's what kept this whole incident from becoming insane. That's all I ask from our patrons, if you must be misinformed, wrong, hopelessly lost, and/or insane, then at least be nice about it and I can help you.

*sigh* Just another day in the neighborhood.

The Many Reasons Why I Hate Newspapers

2006-01-12T11:13:00.000-08:00

Why do I hate newspapers you may ask? It's not due to the bloodbaths or the mindless agreeing with the president's dictator-like policies. It's not the hundreds of ads or the boring commentary on economics. No no, I hate newspapers as only a librarian can hate newspapers. I hate them because I'm the one responsible for displaying and rotating them.

The average person has no idea what kind of hell newspapers can impose.
To begin with, over half of our daily newspapers are mailed to us from their original cities. What does this mean for me? They were mailed rolled into tight little tubes. That's right, they spent at least 24 hours like that waiting to make it to my little newspaper table. If that wasn't evil enough, they make sure to separate all the sections before rolling them together. Not only do I have to fight with unruly papers, but I have to fight these unruly sections back into the core paper! I have done everything from smashing dictionaries and weighty law tomes on top of them to counter-rolling them in every imaginable way. Often the library rings with the loud TWAP of me trying to conquer the cruel contortions of the heavy mass of ink and paper.

Once I have semi-beaten them into submission, I get to go to the periodical section and find out how badly the patrons mauled/ and or stole our selection.

No matter how painstakingly we have posted notices over the library and the newspaper racks begging people not to remove the sections. No matter how much we stapled them to within an inch of their lives, people still happily rip the papers apart and leave the scattered remains all over the library. Even wild carnivores are more tidy with their kills. There will be no returning them to their proper well marked places. Oh no. The torn, folded, mismatched remains will be left in a pile on a chair spilling onto the floor like week old carrion.

Sometimes they like to really shake it up by adding the remains of another newspaper mixed in. It's at this point that I'm really grateful that no one can read my mind because I can make the hardest marine blush with my explitives when riled. (I'm a writer, I'm great at being graphic)

We keep up to a week of the older issues on a shelf organized to have the newest on top. Our patrons love extending their anarchy to those shelves as well by mixing up all the dates and adding other newspapers at well. Again, this is not a time to talk to me because I'll be so busy trying not to vocalize my frustration some of it may seep out instead of the polite conversation that has become almost automatic.

I know, I know; it seems like such a small irritation in the grand scheme of library work. It did remain just a small irritation for about a week or so, but the sheer repitition of these frustrations can wear away the patience of even Ghandi!

This is also when I get to discover what newspapers have been stolen as well as what parts of the newspaper has been stolen. It happens, I'm used to it; it's just the utter lack of subtley that irritates me. I find the front cover stolen off the paper. Or worse, we had one patron who liked to steal the sports section by stuffing it in his pants to smuggle it out. We could almost write off the unsightly bulge as an unfortunate encounter with a cheap prostitute but there can be no mistaking the distinctive rustling of paper as he swiftly walked toward the exit. Naturally we had to burn the papers.

Finally, due to the very nature of libraries, our greatest horror comes from the fact that many of our male patrons like taking it with them into the men's room.
Let's all take a moment to let that sink in and groan privately in disgust.............................................................
..........................................................................
Now that you've had ample time to void your stomache, I'll explain further.
As with other things, we beg, we plead, we tape notices to the men's room door. Still we find it left in there or have returned...SOGGY! *weep* Yes, it has and we have shuddered and glared at the person returning it but they have no shame. Afterwards we must Lysol it until the ink runs because we're not allowed to burn it since so many people use it daily.

Oh the humanity!!!!

I end up washing my hands so many times a day that my skin is raw. And yet, I feel so dirty.
*sigh*
Such is the life of a menial library worker.

Dress of Doom

2006-01-06T11:10:00.000-08:00

Try as I might not to be paranoid about inanimate objects, I'm bombarded with reasons not to trust them.

Today I became convinced that my dress is out to get me. The very same dress that became infamous due to the tornado incident struck again in a vicious attempt to expose me. One of the wonderful people in tech services did a double take, then called my attention to a seam split. Where you ask? Why in the most embarrassing and hardest to see spot (from the my perspective). Right smack dab on my glutius maximus. While this wear and tear damage is hardly complimentary to the size of my assets (hehe no pun intended), it also is in a place I wouldn' t have noticed. I try my best not to walk around staring at my butt....people were starting to complain....;p

So, here I am stuck at work with my tighty whities exposed again. *sigh* At least we're making some progress. My co-workers actually told me this time! More than that, I got two offers of sweaters to tie around my waist and a sewing kit!!
Thank you guys for not leaving me to walk around like that for a cheap laugh!!!!! (I wonder if they're feeling okay?)

I resisted the sweater at first hoping that walking with my hands behind my back would be enough to cover the spot. (I felt a little shy about tying someone else's sweater around my rear quarters). However, a sweet patron I was later helping was also nice enough to point that spot out. The fact that she was elderly wearing thick glasses was enough to shatter my little fantasy world.

So, I swiftly ran to circulation and snatched up the proferred sweater and tied it around my waist with many a thanks.

After I get home, me and this dress are going to have a serious talk. If it doesn't mend it's evil ways, I will threaten incineration.

You're not paranoid if everyone really is out to get you.

Mud slinging

2006-01-03T12:02:00.000-08:00

Hehe, I thought I'd like to share with you one of my pet peeves that I perversely also find quite funny.

Anyone in public service knows to cringe from the adolescent crowd as they tend to be snotty, ill tempered, rude, unreasonable, and loud.

Any attempts to reign in their behavior is met with rude comments and they make a point of being even more obnoxious just because I'm in public service and can't throttle them while on the clock. Oh ye of little faith. *evil grin* I can hurt people where it won't show.
But that's beside the point.

The pet peeve I have is that they love to retaliate against my authority by muttering lewd names under their breath. Normally, that really gets under my skin because, as I said, I can't throttle them while on the clock. However, I get to have my fun when they do it in a very passive aggressive way that capitalizes on their fear of confronting authority.

Yesterday, I was forced to confront a wiry youth many times about the computer as he was being very loud and running from one computer to the next to chat with his friends while disturbing everyone in a hundred foot radius. When the time came for him to blessedly take his leave, he muttered "punk-ass bitch" as he scurried past the desk.

Yes, that's when my evil grin appears and I prepare to draw on the lung power of my band days.
In a very loud, very cheerful voice that rings through the library I call out to the retreating youth:

Me: I'm sorry what did you say? I didn't quite catch that. (The library stops and everyone turns to stare at the young man)
Punk: Nothin' *avoiding eye-contact*
Me: Are you sure? *cue arched eyebrow to indicate I know exactly what he said*
Punk: Yea *shoving his hands in his pockets and half turning away*
Me: Oh okay. If you need to tell me anything, just let me know!

It's fun watching them run from the library while still trying to maintain their bad boy demeanor.

So, while I may be a bitch (what librarian isn't in the face of that?). I can proudly say I'm not a punk because I refuse to mutter names at people and run away when called on it. If names will be called, you can bet I won't say them under my breath.

Small Kindnesses

2006-01-03T11:50:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd share with you guys some warm fuzzies that librarians don't get nearly enough of.

We spend our days dealing with the irrational, rude, cruel, ignorant, greedy, and just plain mean. We have to field dozens of complaints that don't reflect our true quality of service and have to deal with nasty comments lewd name calling, and people bitching about how little we offer yet blame us for the lack of services instead of the government for the tiny pitance we have to work with. I've had things thrown at me, been called rude names, groped, insulted, talked-down too, dismissed, and physical violence threatened.

However, once in a blue moon, a person will actually thank us and tell us what a wonderful job we are doing. Every now and then, a kind person will gush about the amazing services we do offer and proudly fill out a comment card about how friendly and eager the staff is.

I just got such a compliment today and it made up for some of the abuse we've been suffering since school let out for the holidays. It's nice to have these little kindnesses to return to me a small shred of faith in humanity.

So here's a big thank you to all you kind people who take the time out to speak out on what we're doing right and remember what it's like to work in public service.

Computer Envy

2005-12-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

Our computers may be evil, impossible machines bent on world dommination, but I find myself envious of them despite myself. And it's not just the perks of dictatorship.

For one thing, it gets to go to sleep whenever it's not in use. How great is that? To just shut down until someone nudges you no questions asked. Heck, it even gets to display some pretty niffty screensavers while it does it.

Second, it gets to chose when and how it works. Our computers are the bane of our tech people's lives. These evil computers randomly decide they don't want to go to certain webpages or that they're in the mood to just freeze up. When we screw up, we get a vicious tongue lashing. When computer's screw up we are at their mercy trying everything in our power to convince them to return to normal. If normalcy can't be attained, they get shut off for the day.

How great is that?! It's like sending one of us home because we're not working right!

Ah well.....it's nice to have a dream.

Eccentric Moment

2005-12-28T11:05:00.000-08:00

I shall now share with you one of my more eccentric moments.

For Christmas, one of my co-workers gave me a five-dollar gift certificate to Hastings. I immediately spent it on a cheap little catapult gun that flings tiny plasic ninjas at people called "Ninja Attack." I've never been more amused in my life.

I spent the night running around my house shooting things while proudly calling out my lethal battle cry "Ninja Attack!" My pets weren't pleased with my new toy and my mother almost lost an eye.....

My co-workers forbid me from ever bringing it to work. Ahh, but I find myself lost in the fantasy of stalking the library looking for evil doers, blinding the porn fiends with my plastic minions. Soon my battle cry will ring from the shelves Ninja Attack!! All the beligerent, whiney, trouble makers will learn to fear my cheap gun.

See, it's fun being stupid! And it only cost five dollars. It must be tough and expensive being normal.

NINJA ATTACK!!!

Public Service Announcement

2005-12-27T15:31:00.000-08:00

To those of you sitting in open backed chairs. I understand that it is enevitable that on occasion, the public will get a good view of your delicates. I present to you the following advice to lessen some of the emotional damage this viewing could cause to unwilling onlookers.

1. If you insist on lowriders, then make sure you're wearing clean underwear. There's never a time of day that I can handle brown undies.
2. ALWAYS WEAR UNDERWEAR!!!!!!!!!!!! For the love of God people, don't free ball it!!!! I can't count the number of emotionally scarring times that I got caught in the light of a full moon.
3. If you insist on not wearing underwear, invest in a razor. The only thing worse than a full moon, is a warewolf full moon. *shudder*
4. Thongs have their places; never in a library. I'd rather not know your underwear preference.
5. If you must wear a thong, please refer to number 1. This is another horrifying event I've whitnessed far too often. Doesn't anyone do laundry anymore?

*Sigh* I know things are getting bad when I miss the days when guys puffed their boxers outside of their jeans. If anything, at least I knew that they are wearing underwear and it is relatively clean.

I learn so much more than I ever wanted to know about people here.

Random Thought of the Day

2005-12-06T03:50:00.000-08:00

Freakonomics is a title on the Best Sellers List.
While the description is interesting enough, I think the title would be more apt as an observation of the library habitat rather than a satire of contemporary economics.

A realistic how-to guide for dealing with patrons would be nice.

Just A Sweet Transvestite

2005-12-05T15:25:00.000-08:00

More humorous/tramatizing incidences from our cop friend.

Librarian Extraordinaire, this one's for you. You mentioned how your girls were always in escape mode, well, this person tops your adventurous bossum.

Mel Archy stopped a transvestite casually walking down the middle of a road. They politely nudged the fellow over to the side of the road and asked for his/her ID. He/she fumbled around his/her person looking for the proper identification finally finding it tucked away in his/her tight fitting shirt in the bra. While tugging his/her ID free, one of the pseudo-girls fell out revealing itself to be a water balloon when it expoded on the street.

Professional above and beyond the call of duty, Mel and his partner remained calm and continued with their business. Once they got the transvestite into the back of the squad car, Mel and his partner had to scurry to the back of it away from the camera and laugh hysterically.

I've given to understand that it was also a very quiet trip to the station.

Once again, I tip my hat to you Mel for your solid professionalism in the face of absurdity. The rest of us would have been helpless with laughter and let the guy get away.

Lumbergh Moment

2005-12-05T14:05:00.000-08:00

Working in a library can in some ways resemble cubicle life more than I care to think on. We may not be hemmed in by little boxes working under four idiot bosses, but some of the resemblences are uncanny. Our library shelves are a tight squeeze and we do have to cater to some pretty scary instances of blind stupidity.

For anyone out there who's seen office space (where have the rest of you been?), a librarian is bombarded by TPS Report moments.

Too often, when a patron is told that we do not have a book they'll pause, then launch into the reason they need that book. All I can do is smile politely and repeat the available options. This may or may not trigger another bout of explanations on their part.

Look, telling me your life history and how this book is relevant to you does not make it magically appear. I'm not a magic book fairy that withholds the wealth of knowledge doling it out to those with a very good reason for needing it. Also, the only thing that repeating your reasons does is piss me off. That's when my polite smile gets a little strained and the temptation of the scissors grows.
It's that kind of elevator button mentality that goes into the people who keep hitting enter on the internet then complain when their page isn't loading.
Once is enough people!!! Unless questioned otherwise, assume 'message received.'

I mention this now because I received a phone call so similar to a conversation with Lumbergh that I had to share.

Lumbergh: I need a book from the Star Trek Voyager series.
Me: Okay, do you have a specific title of the book?
Lumbergh: No.
Me: How about an author?
Lumbergh: No. It's from the Star Trek series.
Me: Yes sir, I understand. However, we have many different books from that series written by many different authors. I'll need something more specific to find the exact book you're looking for.
Lumbergh: Oh. (pause) Yeaaaaaa.....you see, I need that book because I'm in the middle of a series of Star Trek Voyager your library has.
Me: *blink* (trust me, that guy sounded so much like Lumbergh that I had to pause) Okay. Well, until I can get more information, I won't be able to locate that specific book.
Lumbergh: Yeaaaaaaaaa....that book was part of a series from your library. I really need it to finish the series.
Me: (not sure whether to laugh or cry) I understand, but I really will need more information before I can find the book you're looking for.
Lumbergh: Okay, thank you. I'll be sure to send you a copy of the memo.

Hehe, he didn't say that last part of course but it would have fit.

Unless specifically asked, I really don't want to know why you require that information.
For the love of God, don't give me the intimate details of the reason you need a book on Herpes.
I can find Incest for Dummies without knowing what triggered the need for such an item.

And I Thought We Had It Bad

2005-11-17T12:56:00.000-08:00

I now have a whole new appreciation for policeman. Sure, I get angry at them like the rest of you for giving out superfluous tickets while conveniently not being there for the person who nearly kills you by swerving into your lane or runs a red light and honks at you for nearly creaming him. However, I just heard a story that inspires sympathy for some of the things they have to put up with.

The interlibrary loan librarian's (Anne Archy) hubby is a cop. That is a wonderful combination for we can have unannounced police visits at night. A rare commodity indeed. Not only that, a cop with a personal interest in the safety and happiness of his librarian spouse. Take that all you snotty, bad-attitude, porn loving freaks!

But I digress...

The other day, she told us of one of her hubby's adventures. Apparently, he had to stop a large man who was weaving down the street obviously heavily intoxicated (ie: terminally smashed)
So, after talking to him, Mel Archy was required to slap on some cuffs and pat the man down to check for weapons or other illegal substances. Unfortunetly, the pants were so loose that while Mel was checking the pockets, he managed to pants the tipsy gentlemen.

#87 reason why baggy pants are a bad idea.

Trooper that he is, he just kept on going all professionalism. The intoxicated fellow just laughed and wobbled in place. Mel then proceeded to feel under the t-shirt for any other hidden objects. That's when he made the unfortunate revilation that the man wasn't wearing any underpants. I can only imagine the horror of the moment, yet brave brave Mel said nothing and remained nonchalant. The smashed man didn't help by loudly proclaiming:
"Do you know what you're touching?"
Mel: *sigh* Yes, Sir. Now pull your pants up.

Naturally, he immediately went to the squad car to drown his hands in liquid hand sanitizer. The drunkard loudly yelled out as he was escorted to the squad car,
"Why are you doing that?"

No reason, this is my ritual after feeling up drunk men. Was it good for you?

Mel went through this whole uncomfortable process without complaint or loosing his cool. That's just freaking amazing.

I'll try not to complain anymore when when I get my usual butt-crack view from the people sitting at the computers.

Smooth Award

2005-11-15T11:09:00.000-08:00

Okay, I shall now give the Smooth Move Award.

It goes to my co-worker Mae Kyll for a brilliant remedy for the incident mentioned in the previous post. Things only worsened after I posted it. The children continued to run away and the father would only come drag them from whatever display they were dismantling after we handed him our child policy. One time included the little boy wandering into the bathroom and screaming.

In a moment of pure genius, she made a reservation for the computer the parents were on. This will bump the non-parents from the computer once they have had their hour and cause them to put a little more focus on their children....or at least leave the library without the internet to keep them amused. Those books just get in the way.

What a wonderful, conflict-free way to get rid of a problem all the policies and threats when threats and policies failed!

Unethical? Maybe. But in the long run, it prevented manslaughter.

Kudos to you Mae Kyll!

Question

2005-11-15T10:19:00.000-08:00

What's worse than a screaming child?

A parent screaming at the child to stop screaming.

Case in point:

Right in front of our desk are our internet computers. A father and a mother sitting side by side have two children sitting not three feet away from me. One of which is cry/screaming while the other is trying to grab everything off of my desk. The father starts yelling at his child to come back. The child, probably deafened by a lifetime of screaming, completely ignores him. What does this quick learner do? Why naturally, he just continues yelling his child's name. After the tenth time and I had to extract a handfull of bookmarks from the industrious child, the father leaned over and grabbed the child's arm to drag him back. (that's right, he was that close!)

Meanwhile, the child in his arms continued screaming unabated with the father throwing out sporatic yells to stop screaming. The mother then leans over and yells for him to stop the child from screaming. He yells back that he's trying.

I'm not even exagerating space or volume, my co-worker can verify this.
I'm sorely tempted to scream at the father not to scream at his child not to scream. Anarchy is a speciality of mine.

*sigh* Is it a bad thing when we start to miss the jackhammers going off right outside of the area?

JUSTICE PREVAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-11-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

To all of you poor customer service workers librarian and otherwise forced to endure the slimiest of human beings with no recourse or escape: I share with you this triumph!

Long has the library been a haven to perverts. Here they accumulate to stare at you unabashedly smirking. We have been groped, stalked, harassed, and assaulted with all manner of sexual innuendos by these people but yet must politely smile and redirect their offensive attacks.

One of our most notorious patrons has been here longer than I have. He stays here all day long and knows the library better than we do. However, that won't stop him from asking a staff member in a skirt to find a book for him that always ends up being on the top or bottom shelf. If the staff member should be clever enough to gesture to the book he will instantly complain that his knees hurt or that it's too high up. Yea right. I don't care if I get fired for it, I'm not giving that perv an extra inch of calf. He is also notorious for following us around the library staring at us with a I'm-picturing-you-naked-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it expression. He is the most slimy fellow you can picture. Just one glance makes you want to slug him. Unfortunately, library policy frowns on staff members assaulting patrons. This is why we deserve a HUGE raise. Imagine putting up with endless perversion and having to smile about it.

Sadly, this is the most minor of his disturbing offenses against the opposite sex. This guy will quite blatantly lay down on the floor next to a shelf and peer up through the books to stare up a woman's skirt on the opposite side. That's right, beware ladies because this evil monkey doesn't even try to hide what he's doing.

But wait, it gets worse.

He's had to be banned from the children's section because he made a habit of lying on the couch to stare up the skirts of twelve year olds!

Hold that shiver of disgust, it gets worse.

He also likes to sit outside the library in the mall way next to the stairs to stare up the skirts of six year olds!! BLEACH!!

Want the coup 'de grace? No? Too bad. He has three daughters!!!!!!!!!!! Damn you CPS for being so useless!! This unbelievable skeazebag actually has three daughters and committs so many unspeakable sexual crimes here at the library. I weep for society.
As a future child psychologist, I must brace myself to meet these poor girls one day. For now, I'm creating legislature that demands all sexual offenders be castrated....slowly.....

For the three years that I have worked here, I've had to endure his stares, his lurking, his skirt fenagles. But yesterday was the final straw.

Yesterday, one of my co-workers ushered me over to the shelves. On one side, one of the tech services workers was crouched down in a skirt studiously doing her job. On the other? Who else but that evil monkey casually reclined on the floor enjoying the view. Fully disgusted beyond measure, I stomped up to him and asking him if he needed any help in a very angry, very loud voice. With a guilty expression, he plucked a random book from the shelf and leapt to his feet. He avoided eye contact as he scurried away. The tech worker had already disappeared from the area so I hastily went to tech services to warn her of his anticts.

By the time I made it, the worker who alerted me to the situation was already there taking matters into her own hands informing the worker of the travesty she had unwittingly endured. Naturally, she was upset.
At that opportune moment, the administrator entered the area. We immediately told him of this new incident in a long string of sordid incidents. Brownie point #1 to him, he told me to go ahead and call the police. Excellent. :)

Not quite trusting in the power of a warning even if it is from a man with a gun, the tech worker and I made alternate plans. Should he get away, we planned to clock out and beat the literal crap out of him and/or remove the source of his evil. It would be on our own time as civilians so our administrator can't complain.

I happily dialed the number and described the offender in detail. Sadly, this was to be a warning since our perv was disinclined to listen to the administrator's frequent warnings.

Once that happy task was accomplished, I returned to the main area to keep an eye on him. There was no way I was letter this perv go. Whether he would talk to the police or my fist, this guy was getting talked to. He seemed to sense something was in the air because he was cowering in the far corner talking on his cell phone. We placed several guards at the entrance to prevent escape and awaited the arrival of the men in blue.

Just as they arrived he made a run for it but the police stopped him. There goes his plea of innocense. Only someone who has done something wrong flees.

I patiently waited back in the main library to be approached by the police as well to make my statement since I placed the report in my own name.

Ten minutes later, it was my supervisor who came to me with the play-by-play of what happened.
While talking to this skeevy piece of primordial ooze, our administrator changed his mind and decided to permanently ban him!!!! YYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Needless to say, there was much happy dancing done by the entire staff. One million Brownie points to our illustrious administator for that!!!

That's one perv down, 20,000 more to go. His replacement was already in that same day. A guy in a blue jogging suit decided to take it upon himself to stare at us all day long in a very open and obvious manner. Oh well. At least for today, we take home a small victory. The entire staff came to work today in skirts in celebration.

Random Thought Of The Day

2005-11-04T11:16:00.000-08:00

You haven't lived until you've been chased by a wild turkey.

More Wildlife Adventures

2005-11-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

As you may have noticed, my family's an eccentric little mobile circus that always ends up including animal acts (whether intentionally or not).

As I was regailing you with my lizard rescue story, I had an epiphany as to why my mother has such dislike for reptiles.

When I was very young, my parents packed me and my two brothers into the back of a tiny car to drive six hours to visit my grandparents. The whole trip was one long desolate road with no trees and bored cows. You know, the kind of trip that resulted in at least one of my brothers being expelled from the vehicle.

It was well after midnight when my parents pulled up to a lonely road stop for a break and to attend to the wonderous call of nature. I remained in the car in a state of semiconsciousness only vaguely aware that we had stopped. It was one of those reststops that is but a large pop-up bush next to a sheltered picnic table. There was absolutely nothing else but dust and asphalt as far as the eye could see. Not even crickets ventured an opinion, it was dead quiet.

Then, the silence was shattered by the screech of my mother. My eyes snapped open in time to see her dive from behind the bush (literally, like a professional baseball player sliding into home) with her pants around her ankles bathed in the white luminence of the headlights. Just as the echoes of her screech faded into the lonely howl of the wind, a soft rattling sound could be heard. A very disgruntled looked rattlesnake made its stately exit from the bush on the opposide side.

My mother later reported (after she had beaten us for laughing at her near death experience) that as she squatted down to attend to business, she spotted two black glittering eyes staring up at her following by that gentle rattling warning. She had come dangerously close to peeing on a rattlesnake's head.

That's my family for you.

Thus, I think her adversion to reptiles is understandable.

The Pueblo Incident

2005-10-31T21:24:00.000-08:00

Some of my fondest memories of my youth come from my family outings when my parents and I would drive around on Sunday and visit the various tourist attractions of New Mexico. Mostly, we would visit the old pueblos and the ancient homes of the Native Americans. Usually, those trips would be sleepy affairs with a few oohs and ahhs but nothing too amazing outside of the historical wonder we were expected to feel. However, one trip will always stand out in my memory and sometimes will visit my nightmares. I was but a scant ten years of age, naïve and wide eyed. It was that mild summer day that I first encountered the true face of evil.
It was late July, that time of year when the plants start to give up hope, when we visited the Grand Quivera. It was a hot day filled with the smell of sun-beaten earth and dying vegetation. The temperature was high enough for us to risk showing off our pasty legs and arms in shorts and t-shirts. A mild breeze was circulating but it had all the cooling power of a furnace and only managed to kick up dust to irritate our eyes and throats.
The dusty trail we walked on wound around the large pueblo structures giving the tourist ample view of its splendor before leading them directly into its weathered depths. Lining the dirt-packed trail at random intervals were thorn bushes well over six feet tall that were far too sturdy to submit to a little draught. Lurking in those formidable walls was a vast collection of insects, most of which enjoyed feasting on the blood of others. Understandably, exposed as we were, we tried to give those areas a wide berth.
Our guide strolled ahead of us along the road absently pointing out the occasional historical fact. He was young; perhaps just a high school student dressed in jeans and the purple polo shirt that all the employees wore. His speech was uncertain yet careful, as if he had memorized it but this was his first formal recital. We followed him and nodded every now and then as he spoke. I really wasn’t listening to what he said, feigning interest to be polite. At that age, historical monuments didn’t hold a lot of appeal.
Little did we know as we innocently strolled along the path that a creature of pure malice had targeted our wholesome family outing. I can imagine it now lurking somewhere in the bushes plotting…
SLAP! My mother glared down at her forearm where a black insect fluttered away unscathed. Now, for those of you city folk who have never had the pleasure of seeing and/or being bitten by a deerfly, let me describe it to you so that you may appreciate the situation. Deerflies look like large houseflies with brightly colored eyes. However, it’s their bite that makes them so insufferable. Imagine being bitten by a large mosquito but instead of getting that lovely serum that they inject that numbs the skin, you only get pain...a lot of it. Try thinking of a fire ant bite, only ten times worse. To top it off, it still itches like crazy!
Another annoying fact that you won’t get on any website is the sheer persistence of those little devils. Insecticide only makes them stronger. Off is useless, and they will follow you to your grave if they have to. This deerfly was no exception; instead of going for a more unaware meal, it lingered by my mother watching her with its beady little eyes. Around and around her it swooped keeping clear of her swatting hands.
SLAP! My mother turned away from the high-pitched ramblings of the guide keeping her eyes fixed on her foe. The deerfly feigned for her shoulder but she dodged it and swatted. It swung away sharply then resumed its shark-like circling. I watched the interesting dance for a little bit debating whether I should aid her, risking the attention of the deerfly, or not. It was far more interesting than learning about how and when the pueblo had been built. I glanced at my father but he was too engrossed in conversation with the guide to notice my mother’s private battle.
Fortunately, the deerfly finally wandered off relieving me of the decision. My mother heaved a sigh then joined back in the conversation my father and the guide were having. Without that minor entertainment I was left to amuse myself. Once again shutting out the bland conversation, I concentrated on defending myself against the milder mosquitoes. They may not have been as persistent as the deerfly, but that didn’t make them any less annoying.
We moved on through another patch of thorn bushes picking up some more mosquitoes to add to our little collection. We stopped again a little closer to the pueblo and the tour guide pointed out a ceremonial pit describing its various uses. I looked down the empty blackness of the ten foot drop imagining a large tiger pacing, and then wondered where I could get a hold of a bunch of palm tree leaves. I looked up at my mother to ask, then froze. The large deerfly had returned and was on my mother’s calf. I could have simply told her but she would only scare it away starting the whole uncomfortable process all over again. I knew that the only way to save her was to kill it and the only way to kill it would be to take it by surprise. This operation would require a great deal of finesse and stealth.
Now, looking back, I admit that wasn’t the brightest course of action. I was young and reckless and unaware of my own mortality. Being older and wiser, I can now appreciate the horror and stupidity of what I was about to do. Just bear in mind that I only had my mother’s welfare in mind.
So, decision made, I slowly advanced on the deerfly raising my hand ever so slowly. I stopped mere inches from my target; my mother continued to chat oblivious to the imminent threat. Slowly I pulled my hand back as far as it would go keeping focused on the black insect, sensitive to the slightest wing flicker. My muscles trembled as I held my arm aloft poised for destruction. I took a deep breath, held it, and then released the tension building in my arm sending it flying forward. Time slowed as my hand advanced, the wind whistling past my fingers. Inch by inch I came closer to my goal and the deerfly remained still. Closer and closer I came, the force building from my velocity. My hand was mere inches from crushing the life from the foul deerfly. I nearly howled with glee, there was no way that it could escape now; my hand was just too close.
With a deft flutter of wings, the deerfly flew away through the small gap between my hand and her leg. ...Crap.... Futility, I tried to recall my hand but it was too late. I could only watch in horror; I was powerless to stop.
SLAP!
A sound that was half way between a squawk and a scream erupted from my mother as she whirled around. Her eyes darted from her leg to me and there was a moment of pure silence broken only by the mournful cry of the wind. A large, red imprint of my hand formed on her calf standing out brightly against her pale skin. My mother’s face turned a color that has no name. It was a strange combination of red and purple that covered her entire face and neck. Her eyes bulged and her lips were pursed so hard that all the lines of her face stood out in stark contrast. Her hands balled into tight fists and my life flashed before my eyes. I have seen this face before only in mothers and only in moments of pure rage. Thus, I have dubbed it the ‘mommy face’. I learned quickly in life that the only defense against the mommy face was a swift retreat accompanied by fervent apologies. So, I backed up with my hands waving desperately in front of me. All I could do was sputter,
"Deerfly! Deerfly!" I gestured wildly. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see the deerfly anywhere. Bastard! He did that on purpose I know it! At any rate, the less than eloquent explanation seemed to satisfy her but she still scowled at me fiercely, the vein in her forehead throbbing.
"Next time, tell me," was all that she said. The tour continued and the deerfly remained absent. I walked a bit behind my mother still a little worried that she hadn’t believed my noble intentions. My only consolation was the knowledge that my actions had saved her from dire discomfort. Perhaps the deerfly was gone for good, frightened from its near death experience. Every now and then a mosquito would hover near her but a few slaps were enough to keep them at bay. They were no where near as cunning or persistent as the deerfly.
We stopped again just before another long stretch of the thorny bushes as the guide pointed out the historical relevance of that particular spot. I was busy squinting my eyes trying to make the distant pueblo look like a hat when I noticed a patch of blurry dots advancing on us. I fully opened my eyes and stared in disbelief. The great deerfly had returned trailed by its court of flying insects. They flew reverently in its wake, a small army preparing to strike. They wasted no time with me flying past as if I didn’t exist. They ignored my father and the guide casually discussing some architectural point of the ancient structures. No, this deerfly seemed to have an agenda. It had some unfinished business with my mother. It was about then that I realized how truly malicious and insidious that deerfly was. How many other deerflies commanded their kin in human raids? Deerflies are notorious for their relentlessness, but that was just crazy.
Hastily I called out a warning to my mother who was walking along oblivious to the impending danger. She sighed heavily and turned around, her eyebrows were drawn into a frown and her lips were still pursed. A small yelp squeezed out of her throat when her eyes fixed upon the advancing attackers. She stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide. I charged forward with a fierce battle cry hoping to catch them by surprise. I managed to disperse its court of elite soldiers but nothing would deter the evil deerfly. It escaped my clumsy attack and flew full force at my mother. She backed away from the menacing flurry of black wings and her hands rose in preparation for battle. I lost sight of her as she rounded the corner disappearing into the patch of thorned bushes. I raced after her swatting madly at the regrouping vanguard. I rounded the corner; breathless from combat in time to see what a fatal error she had made. The deerfly had paused in its attack hovering in front of her. Then, from all sides, as if on cue, a small swarm of insects exploded from the foliage and closed in around her. I could only watch in horror as she flailed wildly emitting more of those half squawk- half screams that she’s famous for. The air was filled with the hum of bloodthirsty insects and the cries of my mother.
I guess I could have jumped in and sacrificed myself to aid her but...that’s a lot of itchy bites and my last rescue attempt hadn’t gone so well. Plus, it didn’t help that I could hear the stifled laughter of my father and the guide.
"Help me!" She growled. Her viscous slapping did nothing to stop the insect’s aggression and already small, red bumps were forming on her exposed arms and legs. So, she did the only thing she could in such a situation: retreat. Unfortunately, in her panic, she forgot about the bushes. She scrambled away from them right into the sharp embrace of the thicket. She let out another squawk followed by an interesting stream of obscenities that I had never heard before. The ironic thing about that is when she later caught me repeating those same phrases in a moment of pure ire, I got punished. On top of that she actually asked where I had learned such vulgar language! My mouth had been too full of soap to reply.
At any rate, there she was tangled in very sharp plants surrounded by all of those insects biting her. The coup de grace was when the deerfly finally decided to join in. It lazily flew up to her taking its time to choose a spot. My mother, tangled as she was in the bush, was helpless to stop it. The deerfly casually decided on her thigh settling there with ease. Its wings fluttered a bit and it crawled around a little, tapped her skin with its furry leg, then moving on. Now I understand the need for survival but that was just sadistic. I didn’t know that insects could be that cruel! From personal experience, I know how evil deerflies can be but damn!
"AHHHH!!" That did it.
With a mighty heave she broke free of her restraints and slapped her thigh with all of the anger and strength that she possessed. However, that malicious insect again managed to get away but this time with a bellyful of her blood.
I began to relax foolishly thinking that the deer-fly would leave her alone once it had gotten what it wanted, but oh no, nothing’s ever that simple. That greedy bastard regrouped with its squadron and made ready for another attack. To make matters worse, some of the mosquitoes were starting to meander in my direction. My mother sent a glare at my father who had lost his restraint completely and was just out and out laughing then bolted with me hot on her heels. As we ran I could hear my father calling after us,
"I’ve got the car keys." Of course, when you’re being chased by a bunch of highly coordinated insects, you aren’t exactly thinking clearly.
We ended up waiting by the car; or rather ducking behind the car, for ten minutes before my father and the guide leisurely arrived. The deerfly still hadn’t given up although it had lost its followers. It circled the car in wide arches that progressively tightened. The second my father was in range, my mother snatched the keys from his outstretched hand and fumbled with the lock. She flung the door open and swiftly leapt into the car. She didn’t look happy.
As we drove away, safely confined in a metal shell, I swear I could see that determined little deerfly flying after the car as fast as it could swathed in a cloud of dust.
To this day I have never looked at deerflies or mosquitoes the same. Also, I’ve never tried to kill an insect while it was on another person...unless I don’t like them. So when someone tries to tell you that insects are mindless creatures just trying to survive, remember this story. They’re all evil and out to get us. It’s all just a matter of time.
The End...?

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-10-31T14:08:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is my all time favorite holiday beating out even Christmas and my birthday!!!!

What other time can you prance around in any costume of your choosing, be anyone/thing you've ever wanted and then be rewarded with candy?!

I never really grew up so it's wonderful to have a grown-up excuse to play dress-up. I use Child Psychology as an excuse to watch cartoons and play with toys. It's research.

So, on behalf of all you big kids out there running the streets in your costumes:

WWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My costumes are always really inventive to the point that no one ever gets them. They usually require a good sum of money and lots of creativity. This year I'm a crow and damn proud of it! I concider it a big success because I've already had children pointing at me and adults doing double takes. So long as my costume didn't turn voyeer like the rest of my clothes and expose me, I'll take it that my costume is just that good.

CAW! CAW!

What are you?

Shinies

2005-10-31T13:41:00.000-08:00

I'd like to share with you an interesting quirk of mine that is rather notorious around work. I have an unusual attraction to all that is shiny. Tin foil, diamonds, costume jewlry, glitter, whatever. If it glimmers, I'll quickly snatch it up and squirell it away in my private stash. Yes, I actually have a special, little box where I keep my favorite shiny items. Every now and then, I'll pull out my special box of shinies and bask in their glimmering glow.
And woe be to any co-worker who wears a pretty piece of jewlry for I will be all over it with triumphant cries of "Shiny!" Watch the workers cower in terror!
I believe that is what 'caw' means for crows. They, who share my obsessive love of sparkling items, are proudly calling down to its fellows happy shouts of their favorite object. Perhaps composing beautiful poetry about the many wonderful qualities of sun-struck gems.

Caw!

As homage to that one animal I relate to so well, I dressed up as a crow (and was promptly mistaken as a dark angel. What kind of angel wears a beak?!). One of my co-workers dressed as a belly dancer so bejewled that I tackled her with my piercing cry of joy. "Many Shinies!!!!"
I haven't left her side since and even managed to steal her ring. I had to give it back though because she had my date hostage (a little black crow to help avoid lengthy explanations; now I can just point).

My shiny love even won me an award at the county costume contest. I ended up rushing a judge with a sparkling pearl necklace (hey, I have to be in character right?) So, I won scariest costume award.
Hmmm....perhaps I take my love too far?......

Sad thing is, this is the second year in a row that I've won scariest costume. I always have to chuckle because in ROTC (college training for military) they always complained that I wasn't intimidating enough. I am a rather silly, easy-going type so terror isn't usually an adjective I'd use no matter what my co-workers say.

Oh well. I guess there's two type of scary in this world:
The big intimidating, guts and gore scary
And the you never know what she's going to do next but it will probably be crazy scary.

Hehe...it's so fun being unpredictable and goofy.

mmmmmmmmmm............shinnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyy......................

Flash Dance

2005-10-27T12:13:00.000-07:00

I think I must have been a stripper in a past life because no matter how hard I try, I always end up flashing people. No matter what care I take when wearing a knee level skirt, I always end up giving people a good view of thigh. If I dare to wear something a little low-cut, I either forget and lean over, or a button of loose virtues decides to aid the process. For instance, I was wearing a button down dress while taking a test. While bending over to turn the test in, my professor gave me a strange look. Only as I exited the building did I realize that a key button had sneakily slipped from it's confinement to let anyone who cared to know what color my bra was.
I did get an 'A' on my test though.

Only once have I let such a flashing incident occur. At my brother's wedding, I was a bride's maid and thus subjected to a blue dress that stopped at my upper thigh (there's no such thing as a bride's maid dress that fits). That's right, there could be no bending or sitting for me because even standing a certain way almost guaranteed a panty shot.
Knowing this, I intentionally raised my arms up high to catch the bonquet. I had the misfortune of being highly competitive and desperately single. Maybe I was subconsiously hoping that the extra view of my tighty whiteys might aid the latter trait.

The most notable transgression of this strange chain of coincidences came in the form of a tornado warning. A mere hour before the library for which I worked would close, we went under a tornado warning and were forced to evacuate to the basement with what few patrons refused to leave the building. We ended up staying there until ten o' clock at night with absolutely no furniture to sit on, no food, and at least one patron who smelled like dirty socks. I spent most of the evening trying to avoid the open-mouthed stare of an adolescent sitting next to his younger brother. I kept glancing to my co-workers questioningly, but they just quickly avoided my gaze. So, I spent the whole night getting miffed at this kid and the middle-aged man for staring at me but remained silent since I was technically on the clock and had to be nice.
It was only the following day that I was enlightened to what had so caught their rapt attention.
I happened to be wearing a long button down dress (different one) that day. Because of its length, I deemed it safe to sit on the floor without giving anything away. As usual, I was wrong. I had managed to sit in just a way to give a generous view of my legs and panties. That's right, I brought a young man to adulthood that night. Apparently, the entire staff saw it too but didn't bother to inform me of my unfortunate positioning. Thanks guys.
To make matters worse, my car drowned while I tried to flee that night.

Does anyone else have this weird problem? Am I alone in my unintentional flashings?

Bathrooms For Dummies

2005-10-26T15:08:00.000-07:00

“Where’s the bathroom?”

This question comes at least five times a day no matter how large or brightly decorated the signs are. The sheer repetition of this question used to grate on my nerves but recently I have found new joy in answering it. We found out the hard way that some people are too shy to ask and take matters into their own hands.

A few months ago we stumbled upon a…surprise…by the emergency exit. An ominous pile was resting quietly on the floor. Perhaps the sign was misinterpreted? We all ended up investigating it because we just couldn’t bring ourselves to believe that it was what we thought it was. We all came up with wild alternatives involving smuggled animals or people raised by wolves.
Yet, none of those psyche-preserving stories could alter the fact that someone had crapped on the floor.

Now I quite eagerly show people where the bathroom is and am grateful that they asked. So much for instincts.

An occasion only slightly less horrible but sadly more prevalent came a couple of years ago when a pale faced patron quietly approached the desk and informed us that someone had “missed” in the men’s room. I’d never been so glad to be female in my entire life. It didn’t matter that I routinely checked the men’s room at night when we were closing, I blatantly played the modest young lady card and turned expectantly toward my male co-worker (he owed me, this guy never worked). Grim faced, he grudgingly accepted his manly obligation and went into the bathroom. He was back in only seconds but his face was ashen and there was a haunted quality to his eyes.
Me: Well, how bad is it?
Jack: ...
Me: That bad?
Jack: ..yea...
Me: Number 1 or 2?
Jack: ..(flinch)........2.....
Me: Should we call the janitor or would you like to clean it up?(Did I mention that this deadbeat only played on the computer all day long and always looked to the rest of us whenever someone asked him a question? Naturally some retaliation was required.)
Jack: .....I’ll call the janitor......
Me: I’m not sure they’re still here (it’s nighttime), are you sure it’s that bad? (Squirm, you worm, squirm!)
Jack: (emphatic nodding)

PTSD at its best. This guy wouldn’t talk for the rest of the evening and looked really queasy for a couple of hours. I guess some patrons are just overachievers.

Naked Man

2005-10-26T15:01:00.000-07:00

Most libraries are cursed with quiet little nooks where the teenagers and perverts flock to do their unsightly deeds. It’s a dreaded task to do the hourly scan in which we flush the wrong doers from their niche with a stern admonishment or, in my case, a scream of ‘Oh my GOD! Put your clothes on!’ (I like to embarrass them to add a little flavor to my day and further deter them from a repeat performance.)
Ours comes in the form of a law library set in the back with many close-set shelves. To make matters worse, ours has a computer for the patrons to look up legal documents. Sadly, anyone with a modicum of computer knowledge can bypass our settings and plunder the Internet to their heart’s content.

One such occasion, we had a regular patron who spent many an hour back in that little room sitting in front of the monitor’s warm glow. He was clever enough to have a legal related screen up whenever we warily passed by, but his frantic glances over his shoulder were pretty obvious.

Do people really think that we’re that stupid? If we can arrange dewy decimal then I think we put two and two together.It started out slowly.

One day, we’d catch him hastily putting his shirt back on. The next week, we’d check the area and he’d poke his head out from behind a shelf and be surly refusing to come out. When we shut down the computer at night we get to have a lot of fun closing out all of the porn pop-ups. It’s so nice to learn about our patron’s preferences: midgitlove.com.

Needless to say, we always go in there armed with a can of Lysol. Ah Lysol, it is a librarian’s most trusted friend in such an unclean world.

On that most fateful day when he had crossed the line into overconfidence believing that we would never catch on to his evil deeds, I was thankfully off the clock. This is a first because I have an uncanny timing to be at work whenever the bizarre or unruly come around. I of course was very thougrally briefed on the situation later in minute detail.(sigh)

The bookmobile librarian was forced into the task of checking the area and sadly did not have the patron’s background information. When she walked into the room her eyes were initially drawn to a neat puddle of clothes lying idly by the computer. Her eyes of their own volition traveled upward where they were accosted by the horror of a naked man cowering in the corner who had never known the touch of soap. Far too late she threw up her hands to hide the emotionally scarring sight and asked if he was all right. (What a sweet, sweet, naïve soul!) The man yelled out and ran into the loving embrace of the shelves while that tough cookie librarian fled from the room to seek out the nearest figure of authority. Our assistant administrator happened to be very nearby so it was a matter of minutes before they both returned to the scene of the crime. Naturally, the man was gone but the amazing thing is, no one had seen him. We scanned the entire library quickly (by now we had the whole staff involved. It was a code pink: Naked Man On The Loose!) However, he was gone without a trace and the check out desk stationed right by the door had noticed nothing unusual. So this means that the man had managed to dress himself and casually leave in the course of three minutes!! He may not have been subtle, but boy can he move in a crush.

The staff of course notified the police and all of the non-present staff about the incident (in more detail than most of us were comfortable. Was knowing his birthmark important?) and warned us to keep an eye out for the offender. Quite miraculously, he showed up three days later as if nothing had happened (I was there for this part). I guess he figured we wouldn’t recognize him with his clothes on. We called the police and then quietly pulled him aside to explain that he had committed a crime and that he was banned from the library. The man became irate exclaiming; “I wasn’t completely naked!”Later investigation revealed that he was indeed wearing socks.

When I begin my promising career in streaking, I shall forever keep those words in mind. When they finally catch me, I will escape all prosecution by wearing fuzzy slippers.

I'm a tumor, I'm a tumor, I'm a tumor

2005-10-26T14:53:00.000-07:00

I’m an avid fan of the cartoon “Family Guy” not just because it’s raunchy and goofy humor but also because it says all the things I wish I could.
One very memorable quote I take away from the show is the mother saying that she deals with her emotions by quietly suppressing them. The show then cuts to an image of her brain with a tumor sitting top singing.

That is a very apt description of what’s happening to me at work. Being paid to be polite means suppressing all of the things I desperately want to say and just smile at them and try to work around their grouchy ignorance.This blog has been life saving for me because now I have a place to express everything I have to hold back all day long and laugh at it to boot!

I shall now proudly list of what I say and what I mean to further shrink my tumor chances.

What I say: I’m sorry Sir, our policy forbids you to view those images on our computer. Please close the screen immediately.
What I want to say: Stop looking at pictures of naked people in the middle of a public library you pervert! There’s a seven-year-old sitting right next to you for God’s sake!! Now I’m going to have to Lysol the entire area. Go buy a porno magazine like the rest of us!!

Patron: Do you work here? (I’m sitting at a large desk under a large sign saying ‘Information’ wearing my nametag)
What I say: Yes, how may I help you?
What I want to say: No, I’m just sitting here until the men in while lab coats drag me away. The real workers are tied up in the basement. Care to join them?

What I say: Ma’am, children seven and younger must be attended by an adult at all times.
What I want to say: Ma’am, the staff is tired of pulling your children off the shelves, rescuing the costly reference material, and begging them to stop screaming at each other. Either you go make some parental attempt at control or I’m making a Ritalin and Thorazine cocktail and taking matters into my own hands!

Patron: Where do I sign up for the Internet?
What I say: Right here at the desk.
What I want to say: I don’t know. Someone really should put up a sign right here at the desk to let you know. A great big neon pink sign right on top of the desk with 172 font. Someone really should get on top of that and put them up all over the library while they’re at it……oh wait, they did!!!

Patron: This li-berry sucks, yur’ all useless!! I’m going to complain, what’s your name?
What I say: (grudgingly) Library Psychosis
What I want to say: God. Feel free to take this up with the mere mortal library administrator but you’ll be hearing from me later. Mwahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Or….

Grizelda, the Gypsy Queen. While you have been standing there yelling, my stealthy minions have robbed you blind.

AKA: Mr. Sanderson

2005-10-25T13:38:00.000-07:00

Ever since the day I first started working information, I was always surprised by some of the questions I’ll get asked on a daily basis. Everything from the obscure to the strange will pass across my screen and only 5 years of experience researching for college has prepared me for the type of digging I often do.

Quite fortunately, it is but one question and then I may go about my day. However, there is a patron that is the phone scourge of our library. Five times a day he’ll call and pelt us with questions so obscure, so inane that we spend the first twenty minutes of our three-hour quest lost in a daze of horror.His fake name (for all intents and purposes) is Mr. Sanderson. However, he had kindly let us know that he has gone by many aliases. He looks like Santa Claus but don’t let that bowl full of jelly tummy fool you, his rusty ego-centric attitude rivals even the worst know-it-all type of Ph.D. professor. This man will call in an endless loop in which he gets the answer for his question and then asks another. To make matters worse, he usually hangs up on us when our answers displease him or whenever he feels the conversation has ended. He also doesn’t bother with hello; he just starts barking out commands.He absolutely abhors waiting on hold so will promptly tell you he will call you back which could either be in thirty seconds or three days later depending on how sadistic he is feeling that day. If you dare to be so insolent as to put him on hold, then he will promptly hang up and call again to yell at you for your audacity.

The funny thing is, he’ll usually forget the obscure piece of information we unearthed for him and call us a few days later to get it again. Now we have a folder just for him brimming with everything you never wanted or needed to know.He is the ultimate penny pincher. He will have nothing to do with a number unless it is toll free. He uses us as a phone book getting numbers and address from all over the room because the thought of losing a quarter to call 411 sends him into a rage. He will demand us to scour the far reaches of the Internet to get him a refund on a half-eaten burger he found dissatisfying. Even the 5-cent fee to print is far too grand a price and he has been quite vocal about it. His questions know no generalities. He will want to know the exact second an obscure Irish rebellion took place and will brook no lenience for the rough estimate that is the only thing the poor librarian can find.We’ve all learned to cringe when that nasally, yet low voice grates over the phone. And woe be to she who he has deemed to be his favorite for he will ask for her personally and unload all of his ungodly requests upon her indefinitely. Fortunately, he leaves the country for several months at a time. That little courtesy and chocolate is the only thing that convinces me that the world isn’t completely evil.

“What is the postage rate for a 3.5 lb. package shipping to Germany?”
“How much does Fruit Cake International charge to ship a cake from France to England?”
“Give me all of the numbers for businesses who sell insurance in the nation.”
“What time do school children get out of school in Greece?”
“How much would it cost to ship a computer to Ireland?”
“I need (some obscure religious document) in the original Latin and two different English translations.”
“Give me a list of all the Gregorian chanting groups who sing (some even more obscure medieval religious song in Latin).”

These are but a few samples of our personal hell and none of those questions were exaggerated in any way. These are real questions that we had to research!!!!! The kicker was his response when you sadly informed him that after several hours’ research and three hospitalizations, the staff was unable to locate the answer to his unreasonable request.He unfailingly asked: “Are you sure?”Long experience has taught us to expect this totally irrational and cruel response to our tortuous experience, so another staff member is usually standing by with a syringe of thorazine and all sharp objects have been removed from the immediate area (one staff member tired to perform brain surgery on themselves nasally with a pencil to try to erase the last few hours from her mind).

No, we’re not sure. In fact, we haven’t been doing anything all day. We just made up that phone number we gave you. I think it goes to a tree surgeon in Tibet. The agonized, frustrated screaming you hear in the background is out little way of killing time. Has anyone seen my pencil?

In a long string of endless, mind numbing, nervous twitch inducing questions, three stand out amongst the others. These are the Olympic medals that shall remain with me forever. He truly outdid himself on those days setting a new standard for other patrons to live by.

Bronze Medal

Mr. Sanderson requested the toll free number to the corporation head of a fast food chain restaurant (don’t remember the name now) to complain about shoddy service. After quite extensive searching through our databases and the Internet, we discovered that the corporation had gone bankrupt and was dissolved. The individual owners of the restaurants were able to keep the name and style but they were no longer tied to each other or to any higher authority.
Me: It looks as though the corporation that owned that chain has gone bankrupt-
Mr. S: (cutting in) That’s not true! I was just at that restaurant last week in Idaho! Look again.
Me: (deep breaths, find my happy place) Yes, the individual restaurants were permitted to keep the name, but they are each run by their respective owners. The individual restaurants are not linked to each other or to a corporation anymore.
Mr. S: How’s that possible? It’s just the same, did you check the Value Line (business resource index)?
Me: (twitch) Yes sir, the information is accurate. We even double-checked through other resources to be sure.
Mr. S: I saw the same restaurant in Utah, the name and menu were the same.
Me: (twitch) Yes, they were all allowed to keep the format but they are no longer a part of a corporation.
Mr. S: Are…(don’t do it)…you…(don’t do it!)…sure?
Me: (internal screaming) Yes, we are quite sure. I can get you the local number of the restaurant you are looking for but there no longer exists a toll free number.

He hung up shortly after that in a huff. I love it when patrons are absolutely sure that we lie all the time just to ruin their day.

Silver Medal

“I want a list of the policies to adopt children internationally.”As a future child psychologist, my immediate instinct was to notify the proper authorities to prevent this heinous crime. I’m going to have one hell of a workload anyway why must he add to it?

Sadly, though, my professional obligation is to look no matter my horror. Within the first ten minutes, it became clear to be that there are hundreds of agencies out there and they each have different policies and specifications. So, with my Mr. Sanderson buddy standing by for moral support, I awaited the dreaded call.

Me: There seems to be over a hundred different international adoption agencies and they all adopt different policies. These policies are also quite lengthy.
Mr. S: That’s fine, read them out to me.
Me:……..I’m afraid that would be too time consuming (and stupid, let’s not forget stupid). If you’d like, you could come down here and get on one of our public computers. I’ll show you how to find these results.
Mr. S: Just read me the first ten.
Me: *sigh* The policies for each agency go on for several pages, I’m afraid it would take too long to read them all. (Where’s my pencil?!)
Mr. S: I’ve got the time.
Me: I’m sure you do. Torturing us is a full time job) Yes, but I need to help the other patrons as well.
Mr. S: Print them out and leave them for me at the check out desk.
Me: I can do that, but it will be a lot of pages and we charge 5 cents a page (take that cheapskate).
Mr. S: Fine, then give me the toll free numbers for the first few.
Me: Okay. (Ah, progress at last! Whatever it takes to get you off the phone, my sedative is wearing off.)

Now where’s that number for CPS?

Gold Medal

Mr. S: I need the toll free number for the head of the homeland defense department. They stole my tortillas!
Ophelia Paine (supervisor extraordinaire): They stole your tortillas?
Mr. S: That’s right. When I cam back from Spain, they confiscated my tortillas and didn’t give them back. They are specially made, you can’t get them anywhere else! (snork* I’ll bet).
Ophelia: Did they give you a reason?
Mr. S: No! They didn’t say a word, they just stole them from my suitcase when I wasn’t looking and then refused to even acknowledge that they had them.
Ophelia: …….Ah…Okay…..(the only possible diplomatic reply) I’ll just look up that number for you. (While we’re at it, shall we get you the number of a good therapist/mental hospital?)

Thankfully that was the end of it but we would’ve killed to hear his conversation with the homeland defense dept. head.The final note I’ll make on this interesting specimen ties up how we feel about him nicely.

One day, just for fun we entered his name on the county’s criminal record search. Among many other crimes that were dismissed in court, he was convicted of phone harassment.Ahahahahaaaaaahahah (twitch) hahahahahaaaaaaahahah (twitch twitch) aaaaaahahahahaaaaaaaa (collapse)

Help Yourself

2005-10-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

While this is a self-serve type of library for the most part, the patrons seem to think this includes all objects and persons they can get their sweaty little paws on. This story isn’t so much funny as my desperate need to share my horror and try to make sense of it all.

Just recently, we had a perfect example of patrons who have problems with boundaries or at least basic human respect. During lunch, our AV desk is unmanned and only two people are at the information desk to deal with the lunch crowd until our comrades in arms bravely return. My trusty companion and AV librarian in her own right Mae Kyl and I were the ones to serve our time in that dubious position.
Quite suddenly, we got buzzed on our phone. We gave our standard “information” reply and readied ourselves to be informed by the secretary of an incoming call.“We need help back here.” A gruff, foreign voice said. Mae and I exchanged confused glances for a long moment trying to identify the voice and figure out why a staff member would say that. Since it was coming from her domain, Mae had to deal with it by default. (I love hiding behind my job description!).

She quickly darted back to AV. When she finally returned a few minutes later, the rage on her face made me relocate the scissors and break out our emergency supply of chocolate. It turns out that one of the patrons had decided that they were just a little too lazy to walk the extra thirty feet to the information desk and used our phone to buzz the desk…the phone that has a large sign strapped onto it telling the public that it is for staff use only….And no, these people were not handicapped in any way (unless you count their people skills).

But wait, there’s more.

It was a couple and the man had decided to plop his sweaty, dirty self down at the desk. Never mind that there was a chair two feet away for patron use. Oh no, he had to sit in our chair smelling...I kid you not...so strongly of excrement that I thought he had a colostomy bag (smelled it all day every time I passed AV). When informed that the phone was for staff use only, the woman snapped that the sign on the desk said to ask information for help.

The only time that a patron will actually read a sign is to twist it to their own needs.

But wait, it gets better!

The woman then sneeringly told her husband that Mae probably wouldn’t let hum use the staff chair either but “that’s alright, you can trip ‘er as she walks by.”\

Yes, that’s right, she said it. At this point I’d like to give a round of applause for Mae because no one ended up dead…except for the chair, it’s never smelled the same after that despite the dousing of Lysol it received. Funeral services will be held Saturday.

I listened to her relate this tale with my mouth agape and could not think of a single thing to say. Me…miss verbal diarrhea was left speechless…that was my level of shock. As much as I like patrons taking care of themselves in the library, this is too much. I also like the fact that they can threaten us and we have no recourse. Where else in life can you threaten somebody without being incarcerated? I can’t walk into a store and threaten to trip the woman who monopolizes the entire isle without 3 civil suits slapped on me. I can’t tell someone I’m going to hit him or her if they don’t hurry up in the ATM line without the SWAT team being called in. So why, oh why, is it okay to hurt a librarian?! Who will be our champion in the face of such evil?

That’s it, I don’t care what the director says, tomorrow I’m bringing my flame-thrower to work. Job satisfaction will go up and I guarantee patron complaints will go down.

This blog is brought to you by the makers of Lysol. Friend to Librarians everywhere. We’d all die of plague if it weren’t for you.

Telepathy

2005-10-25T13:27:00.000-07:00

It seems that some of our patrons are under the delusion that we are either psychic within the ranks of Sylvia Brown or the stupidest amoeba to slither out of the primordial ooze. While I’m terribly flattered that they think so highly of our abilities, I feel the need to remind people that we are unable to deduce your needs based on a single monosyllabic grunt. Sadly, the people who believe the former quickly adopt the latter’s beliefs the second we ask for clarification or elaboration.

I present to you an example that happens way too often:
Patron: Computer.
Me: (Why yes it is, good job! Now can you tell me what those rectangular things on the shelves are?) ….yes….?
Patron: *heavy sigh* Computer! *points at the computers*
Me: (Yes, we’ve established that you can name and locate the object. You want a cookie?) Do you need to use the computer?
Patron: *rolls eyes* Yea.
Me: Okay…what did you need it for?
Patron: I need to do some stuff.
Me: (Oh goody, an English major.) What specifically? We have different sets of computers for different functions.
Patron: *more sighing and impatiently crosses arms over chest* I don’t know. I just need a computer!
Me: (It’s funny when they get all huffy like it’s MY processor speed that’s the problem.) It makes a difference based on your needs. Do you need Internet, to look up articles or to type a letter…?
Patron: *rolls eyes again at other patrons* Fine, Internet!
Me: (Look, it’s taking everything in my power not to grab by pointy, mental nail file; don’t encourage me) Okay, then you’ll need to sign up at the computer with your full library card number.
Patron: What?! I never needed that before!
Me: (AHA!! I knew it! You’ve used for computers before and at least know that they all have a different purpose! You’ve just been screwing with me!!) Yes, Sir, several months ago we switched to PC reservation.
Patron: I don’t have my card. I thought I wouldn’t need it! All I want is a stupid computer for five minutes!

Naturally this conversation rapidly spiraled downwards into the hell of pointless, ungrateful complaining. That same conversation also applies for books. Library Extraordinaire has gone into that before so I’ll spare you from the torture of trying to be rational in the face of stupidity. To be honest, I can pretty much tell what they’re trying to communicate in their own lazy way early on, but I simply can’t encourage that kind of behavior. Think of it as a public service. I do this for all customer service people. I will play stupid and make them tell me exactly what they want to train them for proper public speaking. I would hate for someone to die because they walked into the emergency room and would only say ‘arm’ and gesture impatiently.

I tend to have a modicum more respect for the patrons who think we are hopelessly stupid but are nice about the whole thing. You know, the one’s who are condescending but believe they are doing a public service. They are the ones who feel the need to say everything very loudly and veeeeerrrrrrrrry slowly as if proper enunciation is the cure for incompetence. Trust me, I’ve tried, it doesn’t work.They are the ones who insist on coming around the desk to look over my shoulder to make sure that I’m doing everything right. They then top everything off with ‘deary’s’ ‘huns’ and a ‘good job’ dripping in demeaning tones.Not great for my self-esteem but at least they’re not being mean about it.We ask for so little and boy do we get it.

Library State Hospital

2005-10-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

One of the most interesting problems of library work comes from the most unusual corner of the universe: insanity. Not us although that happens sooner or later; or, as we in the biz call it, going Library.
No, this interesting crowd comes from the 1% minority of this fine nation and yet we are honored by the presence of at least three at any given time. This population is the severely, chronically mentally disabled. While this provides oodles of educational opportunity for a Psychology student like me, it provides for an unusual and potentially frightening backdrop to the uninitiated. I’m chalk full of examples of abnormal psychology in my classes but it certainly doesn’t make for a sage setting. Despite multiple pleas to the committee, librarians aren’t allowed to dispense drugs. A tragic loss for all sides. I have seen more textbook cases of schizophrenia working at the library than I have interning for the local mental hospital (I kid you not!). I’m not complaining, though. They tend to be better behaved than most if you don’t mind the strange behavior.
For whatever reason, we are the place to be if your perception of reality is altered. Apparently the voices only have one directive: To the library!

Thus and so, I present to you the Gallery of Insanity showcasing some of the more interesting cases that liven our day.

Magic Manson

This is a wiry chap in his latter years grizzled with a long, white bushy beard. We’ve often done double takes due to his uncanny resemblance to Charles Manson. Luckily for us, he was mostly harmless. His main obsession was to gather every single book we have on the occult, rock and roll, and drugs. He would then proceed to open books to random pictures and arrange them in pentagrams on tables. He also enjoyed helping us decorate the window display. He found the one picture of a group of naked people we have (located in an occult book from the 70s) and placed it in our plastic tree displayed prominently at the window. To complete the effect, he ran outside and began to yell at the picture through the window.Very chic.Time after time, we had to gather up and shelve those books and endure some pretty strange conversations with him about Telekinesis (or rather, he talked and we stared sprinkling in a few nods here and there) and he would throw pennies at us to demonstrate. Sadly, that’s the nicest thing to be thrown at us by a patron.He would show up twice a day every day to raid our shelves and leave interesting and sometimes horrifying displays on the tables and windows. Then, suddenly, he stopped coming. We wondered at this for a week or so until we saw a news report that a man that looked almost exactly like our patron had been arrested for arson! Wow…I’m not sure what we did to dodge the bullet on that one but I guess all the nodding paid off!!!

Clothespin Man

This is a homeless man that has come into our library for as long as I’ve worked here. I had always credited him as being one of our best patrons because he knew all the rules and obeyed them without question. He was even bettering himself by teaching himself Spanish via our language section. I never paid much attention to him until one fateful night poor poor Mae Kyl was approached by a patron with an ashen complexion. We all instinctively dread this. If it’s something to horrify our hardened lot, it’s got to be bad.How shall I put this delicately? The patron walked into the men’s room (why do all these things happen in the men’s room?) and caught our normally compliant Clothespin Man walking his winkie all over the bathroom. We’re talking some serious redecoration here!When the police questioned him later, he informed them that he had only been on earth since he was fifteen.Hmmm….well, I guess it’s a subject most people don’t want to broach when speaking with a visitor. So, for the benefit of all future alien visitors: Please do not use public bathrooms to tend to your dailies. Thank you.

Romirez

This is a patron that was a little before my time but just suddenly reappeared within the last week. Apparently, he is firmly under the impression that he is Ronnie Romirez (AKA the Night Stalker). This is one of those patrons that you give a wide berth and try not to attract his attention. He was in the habit of making the information staff look up and print pictures of all of Romirez’s victims and would grin and rock excitedly while they did it. Little fervent mutters of “yes, yes that’s it.” Would send chills down their spines.Even though he only vaguely resembles the legendary Night Stalker, I’m still tempted to call the police and tell him we have Romirez in the library. This is one hombre who needs some preventative legal attention….Creepy…..Now I need to find out what his victims looked like to make sure I don’t fit the profile.

Margaret Thatcher

This patron was a woman in middle to late adulthood who was firmly convinced that Margaret Thatcher was the Second Coming of Christ. Don’t believe it? Well then, she’ll be more than happy to tell you about her theory in extensive detail. She was fond of writing them down on the back of a chemical dependency center pamphlet. (ahhh, how appropriate) Heck, you didn’t even need to ask. She’ll tell you anyway; you, the plants, the wall, anything that isn’t able to outrun her. She also happened to be a creative member of our patron base. She would often bring us her arts and crafts consisting of random magazine clippings pasted to construction paper.I really liked her; she was just fun to watch. My college Psychology Graduate Department needs to add the public library to their list of internship sites. The experience it provides is golden…..and contagious………..at least that’s what the voices tell me.

PETA has nothing on me!

2005-10-25T12:35:00.000-07:00

I think I finally found the fine line between animal lover and insane animal freak.

I've always been an avid animal lover. You know, the type that always makes you go to zoos with them on trips, and rants about the evils of hunting with a semi-automatic rifle. However, I thought that I was safely walking the line that made me tolerable and even understandable. That precarious state of sanity is now forever lost.

I tend to love all animals and have a special affinity for the exotic breeds. If I were on my own, my house would be filled with animals of all sizes and descriptions...the smell would be great.....
So, (as a courtesy to my parents) my love has been limited to some dogs and a three year old Iguana. Now, don't let those pet books lie to you about how mild mannered those things are. I've had mine since it could fit into the palm of my hand and it still hates me. I've spent hundreds of dollars on him to keep him happy and healthy but he spends all day glaring at me from behind his luxurious lizard habitat filled with only the best mulch. I let him stretch his legs on the weekend when I can keep an eye on him. These he spends plastered to the window watching the world go by. I had always thought him to be sunning, but that assumption turned out to be horribly horribly wrong.

This weeked was particularly cold so when I let him out, I figured he'd go straight for my monitor (l0ts of heat there) and pass out for the remainder for the day. None the less, I closed my door and settled down with a good book.
Not five minutes later, my Mom runs into my room and in an unsteady voice asks me to look out my window. She thought she saw my Iguana by the pool.
Heady with denial, I looked certain that she was merely seeing one of the many little lizards that inhabit the area. My door was closed, how in God's green earth could that fat three footer make it all the way out there in five minutes?
I casually glanced out the window, and there he was, luxuriating at the far end of the pool; the tip of his tail grazing the water. Our ancient cat that died four years ago and no one told her (think pet cemetery) was batting at him confusedly then, cat-shrugged (pet owners know what I'm talking about) and walked on.

Now, let me tell you that an iguana is notorious for their ability to climb and swim. Given the amount of trees surrounding my house, I was almost positive from the start that I'd forever lost my precious, evil little lizard.
I sprinted downstairs trying to conceive how he got out and managed to sneak by four dogs and a cat who would think he looks delicious! Once outside, I try to creep up to him keeping my eyes diverted. I don't know why I keep trying this trick with him because he always keeps glaring at me and runs for it no matter how slowly I go.
This time was no exception, he dove into the pool with all the grace of a wild iguana. Pretty amazing for a juvenille who's never been outside the house. My real terror spawned from two facts: 1. the pool cover was on almost guaranteing he would drown 2. the water was absolutely icy meaning I wouldn't have to worry about the cover because he would go torpid and drown long before he tried to surface again.

I hastily began to rip the cover from the pool trying to spot him. Frigid beads of moisture flew everywhere splattering me. Half way through the process, I finally spotted him as a green smear at the very bottom of the deepest part of the pool.

Naturally.

I had a very bad moment when I realized what I had to do next. This is when I realized that my love had gone to far. In that freezing weather even with the knowledge of what an amazing swimmer my lizard is, the sinking dread of my task settled over me. I could only shake my head as I stripped down to my underwear as fast as I could and jumped in. It was only then that I began to regret not taking diving lessons. While I spent those first few moments trying to breathe and halt the central nervous system shut down the icy water had inspired, my mom came running out of the house asking me what I was doing.
Gee, it makes me wonder just how well she really knows me? Given the fact that she was the one who alerted me to the fact that my lizard was contemplating freedom near the pool, I should damn well hope it was obvious what I was doing. How often has she caught me skinny dipping in the fall?!
At any rate, I gaspingly pointed down while pushing more of the cover aside and preparing to dive for the slightly relocated green smear.

Now comes the example of heredity. Without furthur conversation, my mother (who actually doesn't like reptiles and abhores touching them but loves animals none the less) strips down to her underwear and dives into the water like a fish. She absolutely astounded me because she actually caught him with that initial dive!! She mastered the great swimmer! (I guess the frozen water didn't help him) She came gasping to the surface holding him by the tail while he thrashed madly. Unfortunetly, she came up under the cover so I was frantically trying to push the cover away leaving her to fend for herself with writhing godzilla-want-to-be. Despite a distinct possiblity of drowning because of the cover, she still didn't let go of the little guy to save herself. See, we're both crazy together.

She finally managed to swim to safety and I took him from her and held him tight. My dad made it outside just in time for me to climb out of the water. To add injury to insult, that was the day my dad got to find out that I sometimes wear a thong. Wonderful. So, despite muscle fatigue, I sprinted up the stairs to deposit my now sulking iguana back into his cage and put on something dry and voluminous. Days have past and all my iguana can do is glare daggers at me through the glass. I guess he must have spent the last three years carefully plotting his escape only to have them twarted.
So, in honor of his cleverness, I'll respect him and try not to glare back.

Thus, I love my animals too much. There was a lot wrong with that scenario but it makes a great story.

The moral to the story is: Never wear a thong when in the same city as your father. You never know when the forces of fate may require you to strip down and do some lizard rescue work with him nearby.

Sign Blindness

2005-10-25T12:01:00.000-07:00

You know, I'd always thought that the blindness people showed for all signs no matter how large or brightly decorated was a sort of disorder.
I had always naively hoped that they simply could not see these massive structures full of the helpful information that they so desperately need. (ie: the bathroom sign)

But no, my little illusion which helped me get through the day without ripping out my hair has been shattered.

At our library, you use a little computer to make a reservation for a computer. Once the reservation is made, it gives you a neat little receipt bulging with obvious and precise information of where to go and when. There can be no confusion:
Computer # 3
Time: 2:15
Wait: 15 min.
Pin #: 2252

Easy right? But oh no, about five people a day march up to my desk and thrust this little piece of paper under my nose demanding to know what they do next! I'm starting to wonder if it's sheer laziness, surely the effort to read must be too great a burden! If it's not laziness, then I fear for our world. If that many people are too stupid to follow specific directions printed out for them, then I'm retreating to a cave deep underground for the end is nigh. Like a spork war or dying of plague because no one washes their hands after using the bathroom.

I'm always so tempted to be a smart ass when there is such a distinct lack of effort. I want to say: Oh, is the print on the paper bad? Habla engles?
or
I don't know either. They should really put that information down on a slip of paper to help you out.

I guess I could also make them read the paper and tell me what they think they're supposed to do, but that type of person always quickly runs to tattle on me saying that I'm being rude and conscending. *sigh* I lack the personal strength to smile and pretend you're smart when you can't even try to read a slip of paper.
That, in my opinion, is what truly qualified Mother Theresa for sainthood. I bet she could do it.
..................................
Dear God! It just happened again while I was typing!!
Well, that's going to have to end it. I'm going in the back and sobbing with frustration. Let me know if any of you know of a cave with low rent.

Random Thought of the Day

2005-10-21T13:38:00.000-07:00

Today's random thought:
I don't care if waffles are really just warm bread, mayonaise is never good on them...ever.

I actually discussed this with a patient at my internship site. I'm learning tons.

One size fits all

2005-10-21T12:54:00.000-07:00

One Size Fits All (or Most) is one of the biggest lies you can find in the clothing industry. It is proudly proclaimed on the packages when you go to buy a costume or other generic article of clothing like a prize from a cereal box.

I want to know who the hell, they're getting their idea of normal from?! I'm not exactly circus freak material but there has never been a time that I could fit into anything with that label without some serious squirming. I'm not even going into the horror of One size fits all for panyhose. (sadists) I'm not overweight but I still can never squeeze into anything that bears that misleading label. My question is, who does? If your not ten or Twiggy, what average American woman actually fits that?

I laugh pretty hard at those costumes that do bother to specify a size because they pretty much follow the line of thought that spawned on size fits all. Sizes 8-14 are more like 3-7.
This is how I know that a man decided the sizing options. No woman would be so masacistic or unrealistic. Errr....except for shoes. We sure take a lot of abuse for a cute shoe.

In Memorandum Of Nuttsy

2005-10-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

The other day, a dead squirel was found under a seat in the magazine section of the library where I work. Given that the entrances are far and few, it is highly unlikely that this squirel somehow entered of its own volition. Unless we're talking the mission impossible squirel that stealthily snuck into the ducts and navigated this complex maze of tubes to land dead in our library, then we're looking at someone just a little sicker than the usual library crowd.
In fact, I know it couldn't be a mission impossible squirel because any squirel who could make it into the library undetected would not have died. That kind of squirel would be the bane of the library making us spend endless hours in its pursuit.

So, someone brought in a dead squirel to share with us. Why or how? None of us knows. In fact, we really really really don't want to know. There are many great questions in the universe that I desire the answer to; that's not one of them.
I'm doing my best the ignore the fact that someone collected a dead squirel from the road (lord I hope it was dead in the first place!) carefully smuggled it into the library, then neatly deposited it in a not too obvious place.

This is why psychology intership sites should include the library. There's always plenty of abnormal behavior and severe psychosis to learn from.

And Thus It Begins

2005-10-20T12:06:00.000-07:00

Hi,

For those three people who stumble upon this little island of insanity, welcome.
For those who know me from the Library for Dummies blog, I'm Library Psychosis.

I'm one of those random people who amuse themselves with shiny objects but are terribly amusing. I am a librarian, psychology student, bellydancer, writer, and so much more. Roughly translated: I'm ADHD.

This blog will be filled with only the sillest of observations and my own wry look at the insanity of life.

Buckle your seatbelts and keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times!

Toys In The Attic

Certifiable

Street Justice

Library Psychosis for Dummies

Back from the Grave

Clear!

Parking Space Nazies

Shouting Match

Mr. Sanderson Strikes Back!

Headbanging

Florescent light of Doom

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse *Updated*

Helping the Future

Houdini Reborn

Greek and Latin

The Many Reasons Why I Hate Newspapers

Dress of Doom

Mud slinging

Small Kindnesses

Computer Envy

Eccentric Moment

Public Service Announcement

Random Thought of the Day

Just A Sweet Transvestite

Lumbergh Moment

And I Thought We Had It Bad

Smooth Award

Question

JUSTICE PREVAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Random Thought Of The Day

More Wildlife Adventures

The Pueblo Incident

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shinies

Flash Dance

Bathrooms For Dummies

Naked Man

I'm a tumor, I'm a tumor, I'm a tumor

AKA: Mr. Sanderson

Help Yourself

Telepathy

Library State Hospital

PETA has nothing on me!

Sign Blindness

Random Thought of the Day

One size fits all

In Memorandum Of Nuttsy

And Thus It Begins

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse Updated