Feel-good Librarian

Loaded for bear

I looked up from the desk to see a dark-haired short guy blustering up to the desk. It was obvious that he was upset about something; not at me, or the library it turns out. But his irritation was immediately apparent.

“Here!” he said, pushing a piece of paper at me. “I heard there was a Kelley Blue Book website. Can you look that up for me?”

“Sure.” The paper had the year, make and model written on it. “Ok, that’s in. I need to know what value you want: trade-in, private sale or retail.”

“Oh, DEFINITELY trade-in value. I just came from the car dealer and they offered me basically nothing for this car. I KNOW it’s worth more than that.” The tall young blond guy with him was obviously his sidekick, and nodded vigorously up and down. I could almost hear him say, “Yup, yup, yup,” but not quite audibly….

We entered the zip code, options on the car and pressed for the figure. When it appeared on the screen, he exploded.

“SEE!!!” he shouted, turning to his friend. “They didn’t offer me sh—!” Turning back to me, he said, “They offered me $4000 less than that there on the lot.”

He began the long saga of his used car hunt. How he knew just what he wanted and asked for it, including price range. How the rep only showed him cars out of his price range. He was visibly swelling with outrage as he continued. How on the way out he saw the exact car he had asked for, in his price range, but had been told there weren’t any there.

“I work second shift, so I had gotten up early to car hunt. When I went back, I told them they had wasted my time. ‘I know how you people work,’ I told them. ‘You sell people cars they can’t afford, they default on the payments and you get your car back at some cheap car repo auction price and resell it.’ Well, it isn’t going to work with me. I’m going back there with this and rip them a new one.”

“Yup,” his sidekick said. I swear. “He will, too,” nodding up and down.

“Print it up,” he said.

“Ok,” I said, “Let’s check it one more time to be sure.” I had the zip code in, trade-in value indicated, not retail, all options accounted for. Sigh. Pushing print.

I didn’t try to explain that if people won’t pay a price, the car doesn’t have that value, that markets fluctuate and all that. He didn't want to hear it.

As I handed the paper to him, he flashed an evil grin and said, “THIS – is going to be fun.”

I don’t think I have ever felt so much like the information I was handing over was a loaded gun. And I don’t believe he's licensed to carry.

Classifying the Almighty

People come to the library in search of all kinds of information. For many of them, we are the last resort, last stop before the wasteland, so to speak. For some, it is more like, “Well, why not try the library? They know everything else….”

It is gratifying, of course, and completely unrealistic. I mean, we can give it a shot, sure, but God is a bit beyond our grasp.

One poor woman had heard a talk at a church and called us. Pet Lover Librarian spoke to her. “They said this is what God is like,” the woman said. “But how do you know?”

Pet Lover Librarian purchases the religion books. She has a lot of knowledge in the field, but this is not something you look up in a source and read to someone. “Well, there are a lot of things people consider when they think about God,” she said. “They sometimes start with one of the sacred books of their religion: the Bible, the Koran, the Bhagavadgita.”

“But how do you know what’s true?” the woman insisted. “How do you find out what God is like?”

PLL tried again. “People talk about experiencing God different ways,” she said. “Through prayer, or visiting holy places, or worship services. But ultimately, each person has to decide for themselves. That’s what faith is.”

“I’ll try,” the woman said. “It’s all you can do,” PLL told her.

Another young man came to the desk, doing research. “Can I get a photo of the founders of Judaism?”

Powerful Presence was helping him. “No, you can’t. They didn’t have cameras back then,” she said.

“Well, who did found it? It came from Christianity, right?”

“Really, it was the other way around. It was the Jewish priests and leaders - you know, Moses and the Ten Commandments,” she said.

“Well, can I get a photo of God, then?” the boy persisted.

For once, she was speechless. Later she told me, “I just couldn’t believe he was asking me that. I mean, this is God! God is….well, you know, God is a spirit, God is….You can’t take a picture of God!” She laughed. “I really wonder what church he goes to.”

Finally, I spoke to a woman who wondered if we had a certain book. “It was published long ago,” she said. “But it speaks to my experience with other beings.”

“I see,” I said. “Do you have the author or the title?”

“Yes. It’s called God drives a flying saucer.”

God, aliens, lost souls. There’s room for us all at the library.

The other side of the desk

Now, obviously, I have been in the hospital, not in the library. But customer service is customer service, and I experienced some five-second kindnesses from Feelgood hospital staff that I wanted to pass on.

Feelgood Surgeon came in before surgery and looked at my neck. “You don’t have any wrinkles now,” he said, “but I can see where you will have one. I’ll tuck the scar right in that line.” Then he moved my head around to make sure, and drew it with a magic marker, to show where to cut!

Feelgood Night Nurse asked if there was anything else he could get me. I hadn’t eaten for 30 hours, so I said, “You got any popsicles on you?” “Sure thing!” He reappeared two minutes later, with an orange popsicle – at 4 am.

Feelgood Lab Tech noticed my special surgery manicure (see photo). She took my blood, then stuck on a bright pink band-aid. “To match,” she said.

Feelgood Patient Care person came in at 6:30 am to take my blood pressure. I had been wakened every hour through the entire night and felt like I was about 93 years old, with bags under my eyes big enough for a dinosaur to fit in. She looked at my chart and said, “You’re 43? I can’t believe you’re 43. You don’t look 43….” I don’t care if she was lying – it was a kind thing to say!

And thank you all, for all the kind wishes, thoughts and prayers. It’s like the feelgoodness is multiplying and returning to hold me close. Thank you again and again.

A friend in need

As a customer service person, I am usually not comfortable asking for things. I am used to providing assistance, helping and encouraging people. I anticipate needs, ask follow up questions and provide current, historical and background information. Now, however, I have a request to make.

I found out this week that I have cancer. I don’t mean to be melodramatic - this is a good kind to have, if there is such a thing, with a 97 percent cure rate. After surgery, I have one-time chemo. My hair won’t fall out and I won’t be nauseous. I will be radioactive and in isolation, but only for a few days. I only get a week off work, so obviously the prognosis is pretty good.

On the other hand, this is the big C word that nobody wants to hear. I am nervous about the surgery and the following discomfort, about being on lifetime meds, and about glowing in the dark. So…..

Here’s my request: my surgery is Wednesday the 21st. If you can spare a good thought or a prayer, stand in front of your statue, touch your beads, light a candle or just think, “Gosh, I hope the FGL is ok,” I would appreciate it. I’m extremely ecumenical when it comes to blessings.

I will gladly return the favor, as I often give thanks for my readers, but here’s hoping I never have to. Good health to you all!

5 things meme

I've been tagged by the Vampire Librarian. I'm supposed to tell you five things you don't know about me.....

1. I once saw a pin that said, "List of things to do today: 1. Pierce nipple. 2. Shave head. 3. Get tattoo." I didn't know whether to give it to my brother, who had done all three, or to my mom, who had done the last two. So I bought two - one for each of them.

2. I've lived all over the world, and I like the midwest best. Must be in my blood or something - everyone else seems to think it's flyover country.

3. I'm the fourth generation of loud snoring women in my family.

4. My kids are the fifth generation to share my birthmark.

5. I wanted a crew cut, nose ring and tattoo for years. Now I'd settle for a Harley.

Say what?

Communication is one of the most important human skills, at ours or any other desk. Sometimes there are language barriers to overcome. There is a large Hispanic population in our town, as well as Asians and Eastern Europeans. They have varying levels of English ability; everyone is very earnest and they try really hard.

Other times, it is handicaps or illness of various kinds that make people struggle to be understood. A woman with cerebral palsy who drives her cart like a race car is very patient with me as I try to figure out what she wants. Teddy Bear man usually comes in asking for pictures, but some days cannot speak at all, only wave and groan.

I looked up from the desk the other day to see a deaf man doing sign language to his computer screen. I was pretty sure he was in Instant Messenger, but I knew his computer didn’t have a camera on it. Suddenly, he was signing furiously, then slapping his hands to his head in frustration, then typing madly.

I was helping a line of people, then realized the next person in line was him. He started squealing and waving his library card at me. He made cutting hand motions. I do know the sign language alphabet, but his hand motions gave me a pretty good idea of what he wanted to know. I held up one finger, said, “Just a minute,” took his card, and checked his number.

Sure enough, he had used his time for the day. The computer must have kicked him off. I turned the screen so he could read it, pointed and said, “No more today, I’m sorry.” I didn’t know if he could read lips, but he squealed again a few times.

“Come back tomorrow,” I said, and he shrugged his shoulders, nodded his head, and put his card in his wallet. He seemed resigned and cheerful about it. There was no doubt he understood me.

As on many other occasions, I realized that this kind of communication is something you really can’t prepare for. We like to inform the public of our services, hoping to help more of them, but how to describe it? Perhaps a new sign:

“Reference Desk. Human spoken here.”

Who's Who?

Sometimes we have no idea how significant a small piece of information might be to someone. We all have different spheres that measure success or visibility in different ways, and we often aren’t familiar with those outside our own area of expertise.

I got a phone call the other day from a very old person. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, and the voice was shaky and slow.

“Do you have the 2006 Who’s Who in America?” they asked.

“Yes, we do. We have a subscription and receive all the volumes,” I said.

“I see.” Silence.

“Would you like me to look someone up for you?” I asked.

“Could you do that?” They sounded surprised and pleased. “I’m 91 years old and don’t drive anymore. That would be so kind of you.” They gave me the name, and off I went.

“I have it. The name you requested is in here; would you like me to read it to you?”

“You are so kind. Thank you.”

I read it. The person listed was a man, a composer of organ and choral music, winner of some prestigious awards as long ago as 1924. First a director of large church choirs, then a professorship at one of the local universities, and a local address.

“That’s all,” I said. “Would you like me to copy it and send it to you?”

“Why, yes - that would be wonderful.”

“All right, could I have your name and address?” I asked.

It was the name and address of the person listed in Who’s Who.

Being listed in there might not be important to me, but would a composer ever have heard of Library Journal? Seeing your name in print is a highlight at any time, especially if you are 91 and housebound.

It’s too bad there aren’t publications for great mail carriers, super tech people and heroic parents. All of us have our Who’s Who moments in someone’s life, in print or not. I’m thankful to have been a small part of this one. Congrats!

Under the mask

Sometimes when I’m busy, I forget that my patrons are all individuals. Somehow they become this big, needy, endless, many-headed mob. The faces are different but the problems never end.

The woman I am thinking about was short and round, her gray hair slicked back maybe with some hair product and anchored with a plastic headband. She was wearing sweat pants, big glasses and pink plastic shoes.

She asked me for Ripley’s Believe It or Not books; books full of unusual and sometimes far-fetched facts. I took her over to the shelf, and gave her the 2004 and 2005 volumes. As I was walking away, I heard her say to my back, “I’m supposed to be in here somewhere…..”

I made a mental note to check back with her, vowing not to have another Slow Guy incident, but kept going. It was a hectic shift and there were people lined up at the desk, but I did get a chance to go back.

“Any luck?” I asked her.

“No,” she said. “They said I would be in here, but I haven’t found it yet.”

“We haven’t received the 2006 volume yet, maybe you’ll be in there,” I said. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Well,” she said, “I donated my four leaf clover collection to a museum and they said it was the largest they’d ever heard of. There were over 4,000 four leaf clovers in there, along with some five and six leaf ones. What makes it unusual is that I collected them all within six months.”

“Wow,” I said. “That seems like a challenge.”

“Well, I took my kids fishing and to play soccer in the park. I don’t fish or play, so I found my own thing to do.”

“I hope you make it in,” I said. “Maybe you should call the Guinness Book of World Records.”

She laughed. “Maybe I should,” she said. “I’m done collecting, but it would be nice to see it in print.”

I know - four leaf clovers may not be a big deal to you. But I personally haven’t done anything worthy of Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

You just never know who is under that grandma disguise, that homeless disguise, or the librarian disguise, for that matter. I’m glad I took the time to find out.

Two-way street

What is it about giving someone information that makes them want to share their life story? Are they trying to achieve some kind of balance, give and take? They have received something from you, and they want to give something in return, make it an exchange, instead of one-way gain?

I was teaching an intro to computers course, the kind where you show people how to hold the mouse, how to move it around. The kind where you tell them it’s ok not to understand HOW the computer works, just to learn how to run it – sort of like your car. They are all older than I am, some of them trying to overcome bifocals and arthritic hands and new vocabulary. (“What’s a link? Do I have to push search? Does it say that anywhere in the instructions, in case I forget?”)

One woman was doing pretty well. She knew how to type, which is a definite bonus, and had used a mouse before. She zoomed through the exercises until she got to cut and paste. That slowed her down a little. She had a few questions during class, but wasn’t really very talkative. When class formally ended, though, she was vocal with her thanks.

People were wrapping up the exercises, talking and leaving when she called me over. “I’m going to go upstairs now and practice,” she said. “Where do I find an emancipation form?”

I told her to go to Reference and showed her the forms we print off the net, mostly connected to reducing or terminating child support. “Oh, that’s not going to work,” she said. “This child ran away from home with her boyfriend and now wants to return. Her parents won’t take her until she breaks up with him.”

Her eyes got big and she lowered her voice. “But now she’s pregnant. Her parents won’t pay her expenses until the boyfriend is gone. He’s 7 years older than her, has no job and lives with his mother. So she’s staying with me, her granny, but I can’t afford a baby on retirement income.” She looked sad.

I was stunned. What makes people tell me these things?

“Wow,” I said. “Our forms aren’t going to help you at all.” I thought for a minute. “You probably need a lawyer, but that’s hard on retirement income, too.” She nodded her head.

“Go on up to Reference,” I told her. “They can look for books about emancipating a minor up there.”

We were quiet for a minute. “Bless you for helping her,” I said. “I’ll pray for you all.” She squeezed my hand and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You do that.”

Off she went to her pregnant granddaughter, off I went to my quiet little office cube.

Is it vulnerability? I had taught her a little computer stuff where she was feeling shaky and I was kind and patient about it, so she felt safe? Did she just need to share the burden she felt by sharing her story? Does it help her to know that I am somewhere in the world, listening and praying?

Information is a gateway. It’s also a two-way street.

Helpless, not hopeless

Standing behind this desk, I am still amazed at what I see in the library. People who need help come to the library to use unfamiliar technology with no training or background, to solve insurmountable problems.

I have training and background; in a sense I am the keeper of the technology. But some days, I have no help to give. I am the helpless one.

A loose family group came in last week to use the internet. I think they are staying at one of the shelters. They asked for help looking at the sex offender registry.

I got them signed in and showed them how to get there. The petite woman came to the desk. “I don’t know why she wants to look in there,” she said.

Pause.

“My ex - her father - molested her and she wants to see his picture.”

Pause.

“I guess if it brings her peace she can go ahead, but I just don’t understand it.” She walked away from the desk, obviously agitated, going toward her daughter, then moving quickly away.

I stood there, helpless.

After a few minutes with other patrons, I looked up to see the mother standing in the corner, back turned, wiping her eyes. I got a tissue, touched her on the shoulder and handed it to her. I had no words to offer – helpless.

The searching group became more animated – they had found something. The girl who was looking said, “Let me see, let me see! That’s him…..” Her eagerness turned on her. Suddenly she was rocking back and forth in her chair, sobbing. No one made a move to comfort her. Some of them were still glued to their screens.

“I’m safe, I’m safe,” she chanted softly to herself. “I’m safe now.”

Her mother was standing at a distance, wide-eyed and struck motionless. I stood behind the desk – helpless.

The girl’s quiet sobbing slowed and then stopped. She wiped her eyes on her t-shirt, took a deep breath, and changed the site on her screen. I could see her mother hoping. The girl was moving on to another page on her screen, and I hope, in her life.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, the mother stopped at the desk. “Thank you for the tissue,” she said, and continued toward the door.

Tissues in the hand – photos on the screen. Did any of it help?

I hope so.