Fines, fines, everywhere fines

I finally had my chance to set a patron straight, and with heaps of justification. On Saturday some foolish girl tried to charge out several books, and the card she gave me was expired. She then pointed out that that was her sister's card she was using because she had left hers at home. I asked for some ID so that I could charge the books out on her account. Her library account was expired as well because she isn't in school at the moment. Not only that, but she had an $1872 fine on some books she hasn't returned. Naturally, I was floored by the amount, but didn't make a big deal about it. I told her there was no way she was going to get any books out with a fine like that, never mind her card being expired.

A little later on the girl reappeared at the circulation desk. I was in the middle of trying to solve a problem with another patron, and she got tired of waiting. So she asked if there was any way she could sign out the books she wanted. I looked at her and said flat out, "you have almost $2000 worth of fines. There is no way in hell you'll be taking out books with a fine like that". The guy I was helping out gasped at the amount, then shook his head, laughing quietly. She then asked if the fine could be waived because she still had the books she was being fined for, which are three years overdue, at home. She thought that returning them would remove the fines. I wondered to myself what planet this girl was hatched on. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I then told her that she had books that didn't belong to her, that she had no right to keep them, that other people have needed those items over the last three years, and that they were costing her 50 cents a day each in late dues. After telling me that she had simply forgotten about them, she claimed that she had had a serious, near-death health crisis that had kept her from returning the books. I said that she would need to provide extensive documentation to prove that she had been so ill, and the other patron, who felt sorry for the maroon, agreed with me. He then turned to me and said that illness should be considered a good excuse, and I said for illness to account for a three-year delay in the returning of books she had better have been in a coma. He laughed again, still disbelieving what was going on.

The clincher came when we found out which library the books belonged to, and the other patron and I both laughed out loud when the girl told us. As it turned out, her overdue books were from the strictest, most red-China-run library on campus. I said to her that she could try to argue her case to the people at that library, but if the way they treat their employees is any indication of how they treat their library users, she was in big trouble. I said that if they didn't shoot her on the spot, they'd definitely expect full payment of that hefty fine she owed them, on top of demanding an immediate return of their books; she had done herself in big time.

The twit finally resigned herself to the fact that there was no way she was leaving my library with the books she wanted to sign out. She walked away, and I turned to the other patron and said, "so, what was that little problem of yours...?". He smiled and said "'little' is right!".

I made sure to write a note in the girl's account about her telling me that she still had the books that were so grossly overdue. You see, it would save her money if she were to say that she had lost the books and then paid the $145 fee (per book) to replace them. I don't want her to get away with doing that, not on my watch. Maybe I take this job too damned seriously sometimes, but that kind of extraordinary selfishness is just not acceptable to me, especially when we're all so fortunate to have the opportunities that we do in this place.

Next, please.

Bon Voyage laptop, wallet, and purse...

We've been experiencing a rash of thefts in the library lately, and that's one thing that really gets my goat. Wallets have been taken out of jackets, purses have been grabbed and computers have been carefully removed from the bags of sleeping students. The worst of the problem is that the thieves have a clear target: foreign students. The perps know that most foreign students come from wealthy families, and I guess they feel a little less scummy taking from the rich. More likely, they know the shit will be worth more. It's so sad, because most of the time I have an Asian student who can barely speak English standing at the desk trying to tell me that his computer was taken out of his bag, or attempting to explain how her wallet was taken when she happened to look away for half a second. Welcome to Toronto!

The security guard told me yesterday that they caught a guy recently who had been grabbing laptops. Someone caught him red-handed, and he was turned in. Unfortunately, these thieves are really good at what they do, and our patrons are a little too trusting in leaving their stuff alone, so it's really hard to catch the bums. A wallet is easily concealed by a thief, so he can get a few before retiring for the evening. Just last week a man ran through the exit, sending the sensors ringing, and a woman chased him shortly afterwards having just had her purse stolen. It's so frustrating, but there's nothing any of us can do about it. We certainly can't chase them, hell, we're lucky if we get a vague idea of what the bastards look like. They probably make return trips without anyone ever knowing, even if they've once drawn attention to themselves. Very sad, really.

The other part about pick-pocketing in the library that I really hate is that I start to size people up, and unfairly. Perfectly innocent people walk by, and I wonder if they're guilty of taking our patrons' stuff. I don't like sending off such negative vibes to people who don't deserve it, yet I'd like to catch the jerks who are stealing from our patrons. It's a difficult situation, and it looks like things will only get worse, especially now, only a month and a half before Christmas. Some people are such creeps. Blech!

One of my co-workers had a good idea about theft prevention. She suggested we walk around with flyers that say something like, "your stuff could have been stolen in the time it took to put this piece of paper on it. Be more vigilant!". We could put an image of a bullseye target in the middle of the page, to really send the message home. I think it would work, and would be fun for us to do to help clueless patrons out. We gotta do somethin'!

Next, please.

The Alarm Virgin

The shock and fear that travels across a patron's face when he or she sets off the alarm upon entering or exiting the library is really a funny sight. Most libraries have some kind of security alarm that makes a loud, annoying sound when it detects a book that hasn't been properly desensitized. Most people take the cumbersome barricades located just inside the doors for granted until they set the things off, and then they're suddenly awoken out of their own little worlds and sent into a panic, wondering whom they've murdered.

One woman went through the security barricades today and off the sirens went. Caught completely off guard, she searched for what was making the high-pitched racket and stopped to stare in awe at the small flashing light atop the structure. I had to interrupt her insta-trance with a, "Helloooo? Do you have books from another library? Any DVDs? CDs? Textbooks? Uncharged books from this library... ?". She needed me to repeat my series of inane questions when she finally came over to the desk. I don't think this woman will ever be the same again. Hopefully the new habit she'll suffer of flinching every time she walks through the sensors will slowly wane over time.

This patron has indeed lost her library alarm virginity. Those clumsy-looking fences that obscure the exit are not seen for what they really are until they stop you in your tracks and alert the authorities. You come to understand their significance differently once you've set those babies off, and you never forget what they've put you through. The next time you want to leave the library you'll be a little more conscious of what you might have to face, especially after becoming wise to the library's odd dual personality as a place of privilege and of punishment. Its two-faced demeanour makes us slightly uncomfortable when we enter it, and attracts the strangest people to its shelves and study spaces. A place where you get books for free (oh fortunate souls!) and where you're deemed guilty of theft until proven innocent makes for a conflicted dwelling place. And yet we are all card-carrying pigeons. We're all willing to lose our virginity some time. Those of us who don't, well, they're just plain lucky... or know how to the rip the tattle tape out of the books.

Next, please.

Encounters of the periodical kind

A co-worker came into the office this afternoon saying that she found a used condom on the floor of the journal section of the library. I asked her how she got rid of it, and she said she used a bottle to move it into the garbage. It's no one's business what goes in between the sheets, but in between the shelves? I wonder where "the act" took place... we have carrels (small study rooms) on another floor, and I wouldn't be surprised to find prophylactics inside one of those places, which has happened to some of my co-workers at another library. We do have larger rooms on the journal floor, but all of those have windows looking into the room. I know the whole thing is pretty grody, but I also kind of understand the sexual mystique of libraries.

I've worked at a library since I was a teenager. I worked a few hours a week at the library in my high school for a couple of years. When I got to university I got a job at the main campus library, eventually working in two departments at the same time until I dropped out of school. I then got a full time job at the same library, and worked there for seven years while I went back to school part time. I've since graduated and moved to another library, but I'm still working on-campus. It's in my blood, I guess. My mother worked at the same university library as I did for almost 35 years, and my sister is a supervisor at another on-campus library. I'll never become a librarian, though; I've got to do something much more creative with my life.

I'm getting off track, however, because I was talking about the sexiness of libraries. Even in high school I was attracted to the ideal "hide and seek" layout of the library, and how fun it would be to have a game of kissing tag while scurrying on tiptoe along the book shelves. I think the quietness adds to the taboo quality of a library; not only are there tonnes of hiding places to find that are never completely out of view, but one has to repress all sound, which adds to the excitement that emanates from any room laden with rows of book shelves. It's like the amusement kids derive from doing something they're not supposed to do heightened by the adult anticipation of sexual activity. I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel this way, which is obvious, I guess, by the repeatedly found used condoms. I don't think I would dare do anything so... public, but if you're into it, I'm sure it's pretty effin gratifying. I think hide-and-go-seek just on its own would get me giddy. Now if only I could get my mitts on a key to the library for after-hours play.... hee hee hee.

Next, please.

For godsakes say something!

Just after I arrived at the loans desk today I had to waste my time on one of the most vacant patrons. Generally, when people put books down in front of me without saying a word, it means they want to sign them out. This one patron put a pile of books down and said nothing, so I assumed (I know, I know) that she wanted to sign them out. She asked if I needed her card (which a few people have asked me in the past, as though I would somehow just know the name to which I should be signing out the books), and I told her 'yes'. I proceeded to desensitize the books (which means to demagnetize the 'tattle' strip inside), and once I wanded her card through and attempted to sign out the first book, I got a pop-up window that told me they were already checked out to this patron. I told her what was going on, and proceeded to wand a couple more books, with the same outcome, and she finally spoke up and said that she was returning them, not checking them out. I explained somewhat impatiently that people who put books down in front of me are signing them out unless they say otherwise. I also pointed out the dropboxes located inside and outside the library. Do people not use libraries until they get to university? I remember going to the public library when I was a kid, and using dropboxes to return my books. Why is that a new concept for so many people? There are also dropboxes at video rental stores. In this patron's defense, however, she was very apologetic, and I could tell she really felt bad about the confusion.

I think the reason I'm so shocked at how helpless some people are when it comes to using the library is that I expect everyone to be able to survive basic book-finding-and-signing-out drills, and believe or not that's often too much to ask. I'm pretty hard on myself when I can't figure out the simplest of tasks, but up until recently I didn't realize that I'm not the dumbest kid on the block. I guess I should feel a little encouraged by the simpleness, even if it means I secretly roll my eyes a lot more often during the day. I've just got to remember to be patient, no matter how weirdly idiotic the guy on the other side of the desk.

And then there are the patrons who are really friendly, who make jokes about their own pathetic library skills or about life in general. They make things fun, and I do my best to help them out, even if it means overriding system rules. The library world is like any other place; it all balances itself out somehow.

Next, please.

J is for Journal

I have a story that took place a couple of weeks ago, and I still find it funny. There was this patron who was causing us a lot of grief. Not only did she not listen to our answers to her questions, she interrupted the answers by trying to answer for us. Sure, it's rude to interupt someone when he or she is trying to help you out, but when you interupt with illogical babble, the situation is made all the more frustrating.

Anyway, in the library I work for we have a floor that carries only bound academic journals, which are journals that are a little bit older and have been bound together into volumes of books. So this patron comes up to the loans desk and says that she can't find the journal she's been looking for, and knows it's in our collection. I tell her that the journals are shelved alphabetically, according to the first letter of the journal. So if the journal is called "American Education", for instance, it would be located under the 'A' section. Sometimes a journal is called something like "Journal of American Education", in which case it would be located under the 'J' section. I explained this system to her, and she went back to the journal floor. She re-emerged with continued confusion, and I sent one of our student employees to accompany her back to the journals. My co-worker informed me later that the woman had been persistent about looking for her journal under 'J' for journal, despite the fact that the title she was searching for did not begin with Journal or with a 'J'. Her logic is that all journals would be classified under 'J' because they are all journals. I wonder how confused she would have been had the floor been called "The 'J' Floor". How would she have gone about locating her journal then?

Imagine someone telling you that he couldn't find a book because it wasn't under 'B' for book. It was the same nonsense here. What's scariest of all is that the patron in this story is working on her master of education degree; kiddies beware!

Next, please.