To People in General

If a card reader rejects your card, it may not be the card's fault. You possibly inserted it the wrong way.

I thought everyone knew this, but events of the past couple days have proven me wrong.

Halfway Through the Afternoon on Memorial Day Weekend Saturday:

I think I remember finding a book for a patron a half hour ago.
I remember I handed out a pencil.
Oh, I had to refill the toilet paper in the men's room because I was the only man around.
The phone just rang! He wants Rocky Balboa.
Librarian M has vanished.
Don't run (I whisper)!
Pen and Printer advice, within one minute. It's a rush!
He calls about three movies, but as usual doesn't want us to put holds on them.
Two people to a machine, kids.
Suddenly everyone wants printer advice at once.
Eldest, by Christopher Paolini.
How to search the net for a Greek food item when she can't spell it.
"Dream ___" (she can't remember) by somebody. She comes back repeatedly to ask about fantasy authors she can't remember the names of, e.g. "A Black Canadian Christian author with dreadlocks."
No food, kid. (He gives me a look of death)
We close at five, ma'am.
How to put holds on books.
Bad luck and Trouble, by Lee Child and Simple genius, by David Baldacci.
The tipping point, by Malcolm Gladwell and Who moved my cheese, by Spencer Johnson.
A last minute rush. Just what I wanted ...
"You have books from ancient Rome? How about ancient Greece? Spain?"

In the Evening:

The hug therapy book, by Kathleen Keating.
Confucius and Zoraster.
The kid is genuinely perplexed. Why can't he run?
The computer reservation printer jams.
Fax.
Sorry, ma'am. June's computer class schedule isn't available yet. That girl has got to shut up ...
Francesca's kitchen, by Peter Pezzelli.
Can I help you? (click)
I tell the girl's mother to shut the kid up.
We're getting a whole bunch of requests by middle schoolers for information on WWII veterans. Not famous ones, just ones who once lived around here. They (or their teacher) seem to think we have deep archival information about every local person who ever served in the military.
Another shouting child.
Yes, ma'am, the computers are up (they were down over the weekend).
Hamlet lit crit.
A Taking sides book on crime.
Now the first loud child is back.
They'll renew your card over there, kid.
This side of paradise, by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
"A book with all the states in it."
Yes, ma'am, the computers have CD-ROM drives.
Genshiken 8, rapidly becoming my favorite series.
No cellphones, ma'am.
A couple in search of a library catalog.
Real estate.
The painted veil and The Queen.
Just sit down at an open terminal, ma'am.
Jack the Ripper. It's his senior thesis.
Dictionaries.
Never eat alone, by Keith Ferrazzi.and The secret, ed. Rhonda Byrne.
How to do a resume.
Jack the Ripper movies (same kid).
I show someone where the resume templates are.
The first Sunrise Home in Illinois.
Eldest, by Christopher Paolini.

Librarian K's last day here, with punch, cookies, handshakes, etc, was interrupted by his wife going into labor.

No sense of timing.

It's unnaturally quiet here tonight. I mentioned this to Librarian C, and she replied that it's "Prom Week."

Huh? A whole week?

"They take it seriously."

Later:

ME: It takes a whole week to get your dress fitted and your nails done?
TEENAGE GIRL: Sometimes.

In the Afternoon:

Sigh, a few days off isn't enough.
Saturday's paper.
No cell phones, sir.
Printer advice.
No cell phones, sir.
The copiers right over there, kid.
The paper is returned completely messed up.
If I'm going to notarize this I need your husband to come in so I can see him do it, ma'am.
Catalog computers are over there, sir, where they've always been.
The Godfather returns, by Mike Winegardner.
How to attach a file to an email.
A patron and I discuss Genshiken, Mercedes Lackey and other things.
The notary needers are back, with the right people and forms.
No cell phones, ma'am.
Bathroom's over there, sir.
There are pencils over there, sir.
Printer advice.
Teacher certification exams.
Computer class signup.
Someone keeps calling for Librarian M, but she's not around today.
Where the hell are all the ACT exam guides?
Night, by Elie Wiesel.
Two people to a terminal, kids.
Pen.
The third time she's called asking for Librarian M.
Scrap paper's up there, sir.
It's a wonderful life and Strangers on a train.
She has a list of two dozen different composers. The teacher wants her to choose one, choose a piece, and write about it. She has no clue whatsoever. And however I help her I'm afraid I'll have helped her hate classical music for the rest of her life. ... In the end I find her a Debussy greatest hits collection and one for Copland. Hopefully she'll at least recogize some of the melodies.
Where's my replacement?
Books on murals and graffiti.
A child called it, by David Pelzer.
She calls AGAIN for Librarian M. Happily, she's right here now.
A policeman comes by looking for a kid.
Georges Seurat.
Restrooms are over there, kid.
Guitar instruction.
Two kids to a machine!
Copier advice.
No running in the stacks!
Reading comprehension.
Where's my damn replacement?
Shut up, kids!
Printer advice.
Finally, my replacement.