Why we do this
I got an email from another librarian of the feel-good tribe, along with permission to link and share. Another example of how the little things we do in the everyday course of things may be huge to someone else. Keep it up, everyone!
I got an email from another librarian of the feel-good tribe, along with permission to link and share. Another example of how the little things we do in the everyday course of things may be huge to someone else. Keep it up, everyone!
Hi, everyone. Many thanks to
those of you who have asked after me. I appreciate being missed. Nothing dire
is happening, but there is a lot of chaos both at home and at work. My son will
be graduating high school a year early, and there are a lot of preparations
toward that end going on. I also had another cancer treatment. A fairly common
but definitely not hoped for result of thyroid cancer is recurrence. The body
scan after last treatment was clear; bloodwork in six months and another scan
next fall.
The Midwest is not unlike
other regions and has been affected by the current economic
crisis. We lost a major manufacturer here due to a direct hit from a tornado,
then two others closed up shop. Literally thousands of people are out of work in
our tri-county area. The unemployment offices are swamped and people are being
sent to the library with little or no guidance.
These former factory workers,
some with limited English language skills, and very few computer skills, must
use the internet to file for unemployment, get entered in our state’s required
database and post a resume. I consider myself fairly computer savvy and this is
a cranky, confusing and unfriendly interface.
Many of our patrons do not
know how to type and do not understand why they need an email address, much
less how to establish one. Taco Bell, McDonald’s and Wal-Mart, as well as the
larger employers in our area, all require applications to be filled out online.
People who can’t even speak English well are required to make resumes without
knowing how to say the word (“my rezoom” is how one patron referred to it),
much less fill in the form with properly capitalized names. One man did not
know what a capital letter was.
They must locate employer
websites, make a user name and password, find a job opening and find the
application. They must fill it in, make an email address and resume, and learn
to upload, attach or cut and paste it.
Our computer facilities are
maxed out. Before this summer, a five or ten minute wait was the most patrons
could expect. There are now often 25 people in line with a 30-40 minute wait.
Most of our patrons have no
other resources and are rising to the occasion. There is some impatience,
especially with children who play games and use MySpace and other social
networking sites. So far, for us, a user is a user, and everyone is entitled to
their first hour uninterrupted, and their second hour if they get back in the
wait list.
Meanwhile, because of state
tax issues, the library has had a hiring freeze since May. No one has been laid
off, but because of staff losses due to attrition and no replacements hired,
most departments are down to bare bones. We are still offering our most popular
public computer classes, but most programming has ceased. Our main priorities
are staffing the desks, giving great customer service and maintaining our
excellent collection. Public opinion of the library remains high.
The true reference question
is ever more rare, and so are the stories that I used to tell here. Most of my
transactions are now just that: tech oriented and business related. There is no
doubt they are important and valued, but there is not the emotional content
attached to them. People’s priorities and energies are focused on survival:
getting a job in order to eat and have a place to live.
So that’s the news from Lake
Woebegone, as Garrison Keillor says, where the women are strong and the men are
good-looking. The librarians? They’re still feeling pretty good.
I was startled the other day by a woman approaching the desk. She was a small, roundish woman, not threatening at all, and after a very pleasant greeting, asked, “Can you tell me if my husband is dead?”
Oh.
“Ah, let’s see here. When was the last time you heard from him?”
“It was about six years ago, I think,” she said. “He doesn’t live in the area.”
“Ok,” I hesitated.
“The Social Security office sent me over here,” she explained. “They said you might have some information that could help me.”
“That’s interesting, I was just thinking they were the exact people that could help you. But we have a subscription to the Social Security death index. Let’s look for him in there.”
I felt vaguely heartless describing it like that, but she didn’t seem to be exactly grieving, so I trusted I hadn’t offended her.
“Um, I’m sorry? His name doesn’t appear to be here.” I was feeling more confused by now. Was I sorry he wasn’t dead? Was she?
“Do you have any other information?”
“Does he have family in the area? If he had died, would they have published an obituary? We can search his name in the obituary index and see if one is published under his name.”
“Yes, he has family here.” We looked in the obit index and did not find him there, either.
“Ma’am, I suggest you contact his family to find out for sure. Have you tried to contact him?”
“Well, he doesn’t answer my letters,” she said. “And the last one came back. Maybe I will call his family.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more,” I said.
“Well, at least I know that officially, he doesn’t seem to be dead,” she said. “That’s a start.”
“Good luck with the family,” I said.
She laughed, very gently. “I may need it,” she said. “Thank you.”
My head is spinning. So apparently to some people, you get married and disappear, and somehow, to the other person, that is ok for six years and then it isn’t. Maybe I am just old-fashioned, but for me when people marry, I expect them to hang out together. You know, more often than every six years. And that your spouse would know whether you were alive or dead. And that communication with his family would not require luck in any way.
Somebody knows this man somewhere. But to her, here, is he really among the living?
It’s not a part of the job I enjoy, but often the library is one last place to learn about the latest scam. It’s happened with Ebay, it’s happened with online banks, and now, with email.
A very tall, roundish man bustled up to the desk in a great hurry. “Ma’m, I’d like a list of the closest branch of these banks, anywhere within say, three hours of here.”
I looked at the list. I didn’t recognize the names of any of them. I went to anywho.com and entered a bank name – the nearest one was three states away. “No, that’s too far,” he said sadly.
I tried the next one, same problem. Finally, third try, I found one in the next state, maybe four hours from here. His face lit up, and he almost ran from the desk, ecstatic, to the pay phone.
I saw him slam the receiver down and come purposefully back to my desk, head down and mumbling under his breath. “They’re just trying to steal my joy, they’re NOT going to steal my joy,” he said.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“They won’t open an account for me. Could you look for another bank for me?” He handed me the list, and it was an email – from Nigeria. Asking him to open a bank account with a small amount of money in it so they could add more. He was a long lost cousin…I’m sure we’ve all received a similar one.
I pretended to look at it, and wondered how to word my response, so as to be heard and not lumped in with the joy-stealers.
“Sir, I wonder if you and I might be related.”
His eyebrows shot straight up. As I said, he was very tall. He was also African American. I am very short and white. “What? Why?” he asked.
“I received a very similar email to this one,” I said. “Mine was a scam – they just wanted me to open an account so they could steal the money. They never intended to add any more to it at all.”
He was still surprised. “An email like this one? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir – we even got one here at work in our department email, very similar to this one. I’m afraid it is another scam.”
He was hesitating. I could see him weighing it in his mind. “Maybe that is why the bank wouldn’t open an account for you, sir. Too many other people that have gotten ripped off have complained. Would you still like me to look up another bank for you?”
He stopped. Slowly, he took his list back, and said very sadly, “No – no, I don’t think so. Thank you for your help.”
It is never fun to be the one to pop somebody’s balloon. But I know I did the right thing for that man – and who knows? We might be related, after all.
I’m sorry for the long silence. I had some minor health issues, Christmas came, I missed my daughter when she went back to school, and life seemed....small. Strange to say, I know, for someone who preaches all the time about the importance of small.
But today I had an interview with a local celebrity, a woman with a cause. Lo and behold, she began talking about each person doing their part, doing what they are good at, to help make the world a better place. She was encouraging, inspiring. So here I am, doing again the small thing I do.
A man called the desk and asked for the number for City Code Enforcement. “I....can’t seem to find the number,” he said.
“Let me look a minute,” I said, and I was stunned to hear him burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just diagnosed with cancer.”
“Oh, sir, I am so sorry.”
“They say it’s asbestos in my home,” he sobbed, “and I need to call Code Enforcement.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I know it must be frightening. I’m a cancer survivor myself.”
“You are?” He continued to cry, but more quietly.
“Yes, it’s been almost a year since my surgery. The doctors will do all they can for you.”
He was quieter as I gave him the number, and when we hung up, I said, “Bless you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
That’s all – a phone number, and letting him know he’s not the only one. I am the one who slowed the tears today, and I prayed a little prayer for those who will be the ones to slow the tears tomorrow and throughout his treatment.
Maybe it will be you, who knows? It’s a small world.
Hi, everyone. Now that summer is truly over and I have accomplished my three main goals of getting my daughter graduated and off to college, my son his driver’s permit and the four new cats neutered, I am back to blogging. Life does go on...thank you to those of you who checked to make sure all was well. It’s nice to be missed.
I just had woman on the phone this morning who identified herself as the mother of a teen. She wanted to know if children were allowed to come to the library and get on Myspace. When I said yes, she said, "Oh! My! That should be illegal!”
Shocked silence on my end, then she said, “Thank you. Goodbye.”
This literally was the entire conversation. I have no idea what her personal concerns were, what her child is like, what other convictions they may have that are coloring her experiences. But the interaction raised several questions for me, some more difficult to answer than others.
Social networking is a wonderful way to keep in touch when people can’t be together. It’s a way to meet, collaborate with and co-create material across miles, disciplines, continents and oceans. It is extremely cool…
…as long as everyone involved is also extremely cool. What if they aren’t?
I’m all for Web 2.0, interconnectivity and online communities. But I have my reservations, for all that. Some time ago, Michael Stephens was relaxing at his cottage, and some people in kayaks came by. Turns out they saw his photos on Flickr and came in search of him.
It has a happy ending – they were fans and thought he was cool and he was happy to have met them. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and I feel more physically vulnerable, maybe it’s because Michael expects the best of the world and gets it, while I know from past experience that there is also less than the best out there, I don’t know. I can't speak for him.
But I’ll tell you this: if any of you hunt me down while I am on vacation, I will not be amused. I will be terrified. As in, “What is it that you want of me? Are you hiding an axe behind your back? You’re not after my bank account number or my children, are you?” Unfortunately, we all know there are predators of many stripes and stations out there.
Now – before you put me into the same category as the poor woman who called me, remember that I have a distinct online presence that I value very much. I use other social networking sites. But to me, as perhaps to this woman, online is one thing - when it becomes physical, it is another.
The questions: Do all of the Web 2.0-or-bust people realize that this is what I am dealing with, at least here in the Midwest? Frightened parents, deeply concerned for the well-being of their children, concerned enough to say “It ought to be illegal” but not well-informed enough to know that isn't necessary?
How do I take those frightened people gently by the hand and show them it's not so scary? How do I teach their teens to operate safely on the web so that it doesn't have to be scary for their parents or for them?
How do I let the 2.0-or-bust people know I’m doing my best with what I have to work with?
Where is the line between online life and in-person interaction? How do people draw the lines, make the decisions? How to teach teens to do it wisely and well?
Any ideas?
I have a confession to make. Perhaps it is a celebration to share. The Feel-good Librarian finally has internet service at home!
It is an unspeakably luxurious feeling to post live from my bed. I have begun posting to my other blog again because I really can do it at the end of every day.
A word about that blog: it is a spin-off of the original Three Beautiful Things. I am so proud of Claire - with her blog, she has started a world-wide movement. There are now close to 100 spin-off blogs, all people telling about a few small highlights of each day, sharing simple, positive experiences. Three cheers for Three Beautiful Things!
I don’t what was up today. Teddy Bear Man approached the desk. He was overcome by a pretty young woman sitting near him. He was smiling and waving to her, but unable to speak well. He kept apologizing, a little embarrassed.
“You’re fine,” I said. “No problem.”
“You always treat me so well,” he said, suddenly articulate. “You remind me of my Aunt Renee. That’s why I come to you so much. Why is that? Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
I was sort of stunned. How do sum up your personal philosophy for someone who may melt down in the next three seconds?
“I just think everyone is worthwhile,” I said.
He pointed his finger at me. “That sounds like something my Aunt Renee would say,” he said. “If she were here, she’d probably shake your hand and say ‘God bless you for treating my Boo-boo so good.’”
“Thank you,” I said, and he walked away.
Not ten minutes later, the head of Maintenance came up. He stops and says, “Hi,” and “Have a good day,” pretty often. Today he said, “I just wanted to tell you that you always seem very professional, and from my point of view, very helpful to the patrons. I wanted you to know that,” and he moved on.
It surprised me. You never know who’s watching you, I guess. It sort of made me feel like a piano was going to fall on me – people saying nice things out of the blue, like it was some kind of eulogy or something.
Can I just say it to you? You are doing a good job. You are helping people who may never let you know, but who appreciate your kindness. When you treat people with respect, other people notice. Someday, that smile you give someone will come back to you.
Like now. Don’t worry – no pianos.
I just wanted you to know.
And, of course - pass it on.
It’s an old wheeze here by now, but the full moon – maybe in conjunction with May Day? – seemed to have an extra strong effect this month. People seemed to be unhinged – Teddy Bear Man was shaking and apologizing and groaning instead of speaking.
The craziness was coming thick and fast. First Mr. Hyperspeed came in. He was waving a pile of papers around, dropping them on the desk, on the floor, on the keyboard. He kept repeating himself, “The place closes at 6:30. I have 900 dollars in there, but can’t get to it – it’s embarrassing with people behind you in the ATM line. The woman said to call her with my email address and they’d send me a new PIN number. I gotta get an email address – the placesclosesat6:30Ihave900dollarsinthere....”
He was repeating this about three times a minute, flapping his hands and waving his papers and speeding up every time. I got him to an internet station. “Sir, this is where you sign up for email,” I said, trying to get him to sit down. “Can’t you do it for me? I don’t know nothing about computers.” “You need to give me the information, sir.” He flapped the whole pile of papers into my hand and said, “All my information is right there.”
We got him into Yahoo, got his name in there, figured out an account name. “Congratulations!” the screen said, “This ID is available.” He wrote it down at hyperspeed and jumped out of the chair. “That’s my email, right?” he asked. “I’m going to go call her and tell her that’s my email.”
“Wait, sir! We have to finish signing you up before it will register!” but he was already gone to the pay phones. One security question option is your father’s middle name. One of the papers he thrust at me was his birth certificate, which had his father’s first name, but not middle. I just used the first name – I didn’t know what school he went to or his favorite sports team.....
He came flapping back in. “That man won’t get off the phone,” he said. “I got to call them before 6:30...” He drifted off as I continued filling out the email form.
When I looked up, he was at the desk, using the phone there. I walked over with the pile of papers. “Here,” he said, thrusting the phone at me. “You talk to her.”
“Sir? Who is it?” I asked him. “It’s the credit card company,” he said. “Tell them I need a new PIN, they told me to call by 6:30 with my email address....”
I explained the situation to the woman and she said, “Can I speak to the card holder, please?”
Sure thing.
He finally finished with her and said, “I’ll be back in 15 minutes – she said they’d email me a pin. Thankyousomuchforyourhelp,” and he sped out the door.
In the 15 minutes that he was gone, Quiet and Classy Librarian was approached by a woman who was sort of glassy-eyed and shaking a little bit. “Where are your books for people who hear voices?” she asked.
I took a call from a woman who began with, “The library has never let me down.”
Uh oh.
“I have a new kitten. And I have a hole in my wall. The kitten went into the hole. How do I get her out?”
Wow. This is a library question? I guess so – someone is asking me....
“Have you tried putting down some fancy cat food? Maybe that would lure her out,” I said.
“Well, she likes cheese. But she just took the piece closest to her and ran back in the hole,” the lady said. “What about catnip?”
“Um, I don’t think I’d recommend that,” I said. “It sort of makes them go crazy.”
“Well, I’ll try the cat food, then,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Hithere,” Mr. Hyperspeed said.“Can you help me get into my email? Ican’trememberallthatstuffyousaid.”
He’s baaaaaack!
“Sure thing.” I sat down and got him into his email. “Here’s the message from the bank, sir.”
“Can you just read it to me? I forgot my glasses.”
Of course. I know his email password and mother’s maiden name. Why not his PIN, too?
He thrust the pile of papers back into my hand and asked me to write it down. I did, then asked if he wanted me to sign him out.
“Ohyesplease,” he said. “I really appreciate all your help. Can I buy you a soda or something for your trouble?”
Hm, tips at the Reference Desk? That’s just too crazy.
I’m glad it’s a month between full moons.
Hey,
I'm the guest poster over at Tame the Web today. Check it out!
