Thursday, December 29, 2005


patrons I can do without

"Well, I'm a professor."
I used to work in an academic library and I have been a professor. So I know how little it can take to be a professor. It it didn't how did I get to be one?

I'll ignore, for the purposes of brevity, discussing whether or not academic librarians work "for" faculty or "with" them.

The public library where I work, we have a handful of pushy, impertinent, condescending patrons. They are usually frustrated with our lack of resources in a given area.

Me: I'm sorry, the only journals we have that discuss medieval architecture are in this database and some aren't full-text. We just can't afford to have more. Did you look in the datab ...

Professor Jackass: Um, YEAH! I'm a professor at (local worthless college) so I know how to do research. I've been here for five hours and you don't have what I need!

Me: OK, good. Maybe you can try (worthless college's worthless library) and see if they ...

PJ: I have to have this syllabus ready tomorrow for SOME reason and the college library is closed this week and I JUST DON'T HAVE TIME!

Alright Senor Snippypants, I'm going to stop you right there. If you were any kind of professor you'd have your syllabus ready already. And if you were any kind of post-graduate educated person you'd be better at research than what I'm seeing, which to my eye resembles a retard trying to fuck a football. Why don't you take your inferiority complex and poor career choices and bounce the fuck up on out of my library before I introduce you to Professor Knuckle and Dean Sandwich.

Personals ads perverts

The ALA's policies on Internet use and censorship make it clear that librarians, with certain fairly rare exceptions, are not to judge or assign value to any patron's choice or reading material, paper or electronic.

The upper portion of my brain realizes this. The reptilian portion of my brain holds certain patrons and their "innocuous" choices of entertainment in total revulsion.

By this I mean the personals ads pervert.

I feel for personals daters. I do. Were I not happily married to Mrs. Boneless Chuck (Boneless Charlene?) at a rather young age I'd probably use one of the services.

The guy we have is clearly not, um, dating, as you might recognize it. Isn't online libe dating supposed to be like shopping? You browse, select and then leave, right? Not our guy no sir. Four or five hours a day. Every day. E-mails, chat, profiles, pictures. Never porn, at least not that I can see. But e-mail with e-skanks for hours. He's clearly not looking for companionship, he's into the giddy thrill of a harem.

Which is cool. Far be it from me to piss in another man's pool. So why does Personals Ads Pervert make me want to Hulk Smash?

One, he's just a schmuck. I glanced at the girls he thought he was talking to. That willowy strawberry blond with the cleavage and wicked smile? That girl doesn't need to get dates on the web. She gets dates by getting up and breathing. If she bends over a pool table at a bar for 6 six seconds she'll have marriage proposals tied to Cosmopolitans delivered to her before she can straighten up.

It's a guy, my friend. Or a skank. A bus station-grade skank.

Two, Spending hours amassing a golf bag full of "girls" to chat up is the begining of bad behavior. It's like a kid setting a fire or killing the neighbor's pomeranian. Personals ads guy is getting ready to move up to big boy sex behavior, I'm pretty sure. And all it takes is one whiff of sex criminal in the library for our stock to fucking CRASH in this town. No taxpayer goodwill for us. No sir. We'll be wrestling bums for change for the new Britannica.

So that's why I hate the personals guy. Everytime I see him -- with his weak chin, pointy nose, late-20s baldness, dirty apartment reek, raccoon-in-a-trash-can grin -- I see our fragile little informational ecosphere vanish in a puff of smoke with naked pictures of "kittengurl18" in the background. And it makes me want to throw him a friggin' boot party.

Donation or sanitation

Did you think we would want these? This is not a rhetorical question. Did you look at these loose-leaf binders of home ec. syllabi from 1986 and think to yourself, "Self, I think the local library would LOVE to spend some of its precious staff time to lovingly process these rare jems of intellectual history"? Really? Or the yellow, basement-funk-having science fiction novels? How about the incomplete collection of magazines from the 80s? Salavating for a chance to get our hands on those were we?


Let me save all of you some time. There is nothing interesting about your family. Nothing. Not where they came from. Not what they did. Not what they looked like or where they lived. The only person anyone's life is interesting to is that person.

Everyone will forget about you when you are dead, just as we all forgot about Uncle Ted and Aunt Myra who was born in Cornwall, which is in England, but when she was a girl her dad caught the Wasting and his head fell off. Then they moved to Ohio and she married a guy named Alton, who might have been a Methodist minister or a serial rapist. I'm not sure. Anyway, they died. Here's a pretty yellow picture of them frowning in front of a house. I visited it once. It wasn't really yellow. I think that's just the picture.

5 hours? Our policy & software allows 3 log ins per patron per day. oops. i logged off.

yer down to two log ins. for one hour.

but now people steal peoples cards, and kids use their parents cards. ahh. ingenuity meets crime.

We don't get a lot of professors, but the teachers are just as bad.

Personal Ad Dude: Fucker! He STILL owes me $150 for the toilet I paid for in his trailer. Tell him my new boyfriend is going to kick his ass. When he visits from Tennessee. Or so he said in the email.

Donations: personal fave is the incomplete encyclopedia that was sold at grocery stores for a nominal charge, one volume per week with $50 purchase. And their kids cut the animal pictures out. And they dog peed on them. And they were used for placemats for 15 years.

Genealogists: they're just trying desperately to try to find some value in their lives, even if it means living vicariously through their boring dead ancestors. This is the crowd who 20 years ago thought they were the reincarnation of Cleopatra. And they're still wrong.
We have no reservation system, which works fine the rest of the time. Except for Personals Ads Guy, who is not breaking any rules. The rule-abiding bastard.
Chuck, where'd you go? I need more Pink Collar posts!
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