Busy Afternoon

Friday afternoon was tough. Not only were we working with the local community college's new influx of naive students, new to serious research and often new to computers, but the schools had a half-day so loud kids were filling the place up early. And it was raining, so people who might have wanted to leave chose not to. We were running all over the place.

At 3:15, a surprise: the Head Techie came out and told us that we have a major network issue, so we'd be shutting down the public computers in fifteen minutes. No news on whether we'd be back up soon. We went to each table and told everyone, apologizing, "Save your work," etc., and the computers went down at 3:30.

The library emptied out. What had been an annoying, humid stressful afternoon turned quiet and peaceful. Big noise to near silence, except from the cries of disappointment when newcomers came in and found us down. I tracked down the occasional book. Dark fantasy stuff. Gang stuff. That was about all.

It was a relief, especially since I was on my seventh straight day of work! But I feel kind of bad for being happy. Yes, it could not be avoided and we still helped people, but we might have screwed over someone's work big time, though no patron had a crisis I know of.

Hell with it. I was relieved. Sorry if some patrons weren't.

In the Afternoon

Salesmanship books.
Crying baby.
"From rage to reason," by Janet Langhart Cohen. (Over the phone. "I ... just ... can't ... find ... my ... card ... anywhere ...")
Computers are over there, sir.
She calls back with her barcode, but I've already found it.
"Yes, or no," by Spencer Johnson.
Some year's best horror anthology series.
I can't notarize that, sir.
Coworker: "My husband started making fun of me because I hit like a girl. So I kicked him in the nuts."
She has a lot of bees in her backyard, and she wants to "contain" them.
His computer froze.
"We are not forgotten," by Joel Martin.

In the Evening

Kama Sutra.
How we do faxes.
Community service.
Dog breeds.
I replace printer toner.
She gets upset because I won't let her jump in the Internet queue.
Bathroom's over there, sir.
And another one gets upset because her reservation expired.
A third one wants a specific machine.
A fourth one begs for more time so she can finish filling out a form, but her machine crashes anyway.
Copier's over there, ma'am.
A child screaming in the stone stairwell resonates and sounds like a bad horror movie.
The first Chronicles of Narnia movie.
The Bluford High series.
Bachata.
Printer jam.
Get off that machine, kid.
"Exit here," by Jason Myers.
Sure you can use the computer, kid. Just get a library card.
Chicken soup for some kind of soul or another.
Click, don't double-click, kid.
I clear up a half-dozen computer problems.
Our computer class schedule doesn't fit his, and it's our fault.
And a half-dozen more.
"I STILL can't log in."
Purple Loosestrife, killer bees, European black currents and some species of moth that hung out with Mennonites.
Sorry, I don't know how to download music to your MP3 player.
That's a library catalog, kid, not a place to visit Myspace.
Magnifying glass.
"Chocolate chip cookie murder," by Joanne Fluke.
The kid is BACK on the catalog trying to get to Myspace.
I let a guy use my machine to get his school notes off email.