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Some Local Library:
Furious Champion Edition
Wednesday, April 30, 2003 - 02:13 p.m. - The Detective
911 Dispatch:911. What is your emergency?
The Library: You gotta help us. The library's overrun by idiots. They're everywhere!!
In the last 3 work days, we have received 3 calls from the 911 operators, telling us that they have received four 911 calls originating from our payphones. On Saturday, we were told that there were two calls from our payphones. Monday, there was one call, and that a female had said that she needed help. Luckily, through the keen observational skills of my supervisor, she was able to point out the perp to the officer that had come to the library. And then on Tuesday, we were told that someone called 911 and told them that the Library was on fire. News of our place of work engulfed in flames was rather shocking, since no one had come into the back workroom and tell us of the blaze. You know what the cop should have done to the kid that got caught? She should have beat him to send a message to the other punks. You don't fuck with the police.
Wednesday, April 30, 2003 - 12:27 p.m. - The Detective
THIS JUST IN: MR. BLUE HAS SIGNED UP TO VOLUNTEER!!!
What in the fuck is our manager thinking about? No one on the staff likes this guy! This is just some fucked up shit that needs to be fixed, post haste. Information on this SNAFUBAR as I learn more.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003 - 10:22 a.m. - Doc
BRUCE WAYNE'S BATPHONE PRIVILEGES
Welcome back. The morning of April 24, I got a call from the Detective. He was already at work - I wasn't scheduled to come in until noon - and he informed me, quickly and efficiently, that a shitstorm was brewing. After I got the lowdown, I decided to bring the weblog offline for a while. Without getting too terribly specific, I'll say that I had felt the climate among our superiors had suddenly changed - it was an erratic, uncharacteristic shift in behavior, and it put the Fear into me.
The chances of this site's discovery were, probably, no greater or lesser as a result, but the potential smackdown that would result became one hell of a lot more intimidating. Certainly, I've heard of people getting sent through the wringer for worse than our project, what more or less amounts to an electrical, goofy little slam book.
Things seem to have swung back into balance, more or less. Healthy paranoia can be tedious work. Now, I need to figure out how to archive this thing, month-by-month, as we have turned out to be entirely more active than I'd ever imagined.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 09:54 p.m. - The Detective
The Library isn't for the Illiterate
It's amazing how people seem to not see that sign in the library that says we don't allow food or drinks in the library. I don't mind if they make a simple mistake and are kind about it, but if we tell you once and then you try to sneak it back in, the line must be drawn here!
This punk was enjoying some McD's vaule meal in the children's area, positioned in a way that niether the folks at Children's or Circulation could see them. What he didn't count on was another person, as the Hip-Hoptionary might say, "narced" on him, so he got booted out.
But he came back in, thinking he was slick. He made it into a study room with his tutor, but that was when I stepped in.
DUN-DUNN
The Library, 5:00 PM
So there he was, sitting in the study room chatting with his tutor. Did he think we were stupid? He had it sitting on the table. And the doors have a big window in them. And as far as I know, none of the staff are blind. The goddamn sign was right in front of his face.
I barged in, not caring to knock, and told him to throw his drink away. He took a sip, so I said to the bastard, "I said throw it away, not to take a drink." So he did.
I also got them kicked out of the study room that they were in, so he couldn't retrieve his drink from the trash. Then I went into the backroom, knowing that there was only 55 minutes until my retirement. In the end, I learned the truth; There is no justice, only me.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 04:35 p.m. - The Detective
I swear, if that guy didn't have a goatee, he could have passed himself off as an ugly girl, with the ponytail and all. And Jesus Christe! What's up with the dude with that loud Hawaiian shirt?
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 03:28 p.m. - Doc
ABSENCE OF MALICE
Everyone today has been fucked up. Full moon or swamp gas or MK ULTRA's back to their tampering national security at the local reservoir.
"Excuse me," said the guy. He was clearly pissed off, one of those champion specimens of humanity in a constant snit and ready to give anyone that seems like a captive audience - service personnel are usually this type's bread and butter - the fucking business. "Do these computers have Yahoo?"
Okay. What the fuck.
"What do you mean, 'do they have Yahoo'?" This is what's called the "reference interview"; asking questions to find out exactly what the patron wants. So you can better assist them. Even if they are fuckheads.
He sighs and rolls his eyes - I can just see him tense up. Having worked in a service capacity for entirely too many years, I have a sort of sense for interpersonal tension. I brace myself to either get yelled at or attacked. Both have happened more than once in my illustrious career, and I believe I've already established somewhere along the line that the people that come here are by and large fucking crazy. "Do you have" - oh my children, he is just a paragon of restraint - "the Yahoo. Software. Resource." A daydream of knocking his teeth clean out of his dumb fucking skull with one clean swipe of a fire extinguisher unreels in my head. Does he not even realize how retarded he sounds? Why is it that the people with no clue about computers are the most vehement about their NEED for them? COMPUTERS CAN HELP ME FIND A JOB AND LOVE AND A BIGGER PRICK WHAT TO USE IT ON, AND IF THEY DON'T, I'M BLAMING THE WHOLE LIBRARY
"You can open up your browser and type double-u double-u double-u dot yahoo dot com into the address bar," I say. No response. "That'll get you to Yahoo." I've said "Yahoo" three fucking times now; this is just surreal. I am some sort of horrible poisoned dancing clown and cheap FREE tech support is my tiny unicycle. The guy walks off muttering angrily "to himself" - he's doing it loudly enough so I'll be sure and hear it, but not so that I can actually make anything out. This is motherfucking amateur passive-aggression.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 02:38 p.m. - The Detective
In the library system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: Reference, who investigate books and videos; and Circulation, who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories.
Law & Order:
Library Strike Force
PRODUCED BY DICK WOLF
Ever wonder why we hate Mr. Blue? Then you kiddies better buckle up, and keep your hands and feet inside the car. And don't eat the yellow snow.
Mr. Blue likes to talk. He likes to talk a lot. We think he loves the sound of his own voice. In fact, we know it. This man will just go on and on on some stupid things, like how Invasion of the Body Snatcher starring Donald Sutherland isn't actually the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Who the fuck cares?
He's also the man that asked whether or not The Princess Diaries was smut.
He spoke to me three times today, and that's 100 times to many. A few weeks ago, he donated a few CD-ROMS, like Daikatana and whatnot. Well, today, he asked me how long it would take before those items are put on our shelves. I told him that everything has to go up to the main branch, which is where they make the decisions. He told me that he didn't care about the main branch, and that he wanted his stuff to be for our branch. I said to him that the Acquisitions office is up there. I even offered to send our branch manager his way if he wanted some answers. No, he just walked off.
While he's looking at our music cd collection, he pops up and asks me how the cds are shelved. Simple question. They're grouped together by genre. He asked me if I would know where Dean Martin might be. I had no clue. Then he starts asking me about trucking music. I haven't the faintest idea as to what the hell trucking music is.
A third time he came up, I was luckily unavailable. I was helping out someone that we didn't hate. As someone else was helping him check out, the circulation manager came up and he started talking to her. And he's still complaining over the fact that items that he donates might not even be used at our library. He was even more shocked when he learned that items that he might donate may end up being used at the library book sale. He was appalled at the notion that his "gifts" may be sold for a small amount of money that would benefit the library. If he was going to donate things to the library, those things had better go out on to our library shelves so the whole world would be able to share them. He ended his little diatribe by saying that he thinks that we just don't want to listen to him. Hey assclown, guess what? We don't want to listen to a single muthafuckin word that you say. We all hate you.
Whenever he comes into the library, the whole staff goes into panic mode. If there was a red button that launched nuclear warheads, that button would have been pressed by now. We would have gone into Defcon 5. Nuclear winter and all that jazz. One can only hope...
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 12:07 p.m. - Doc
THERE GOES MY GUN
Oh, Christ. It’s like the Shitstorm Olympics in here this morning – where everyone’s a big fat fucking loser. Let me begin with the aforementioned Big Winners in the Game of Life, since I have a special and powerful hate in my heart for them.
Starting from the start: there is a stupid fucking little online role-playing game called “Runescape”, in which you wander around an immersive graphical environment apparently designed by third-graders armed with MS Paint and a willful ignorance of things like anatomy, perspective, &c. Much to our collective delight, this massively multiplayer bowel movement is F-R-E-E, which means that every no-hoper dipshit with a yen to throw away their lives baking virtual bread and making virtual leggings and taking it directly up the virtual ass from a virtual goblin or what-the-fuck-have-you can Get On Board And Enjoy The Fun. Unsurprisingly, this game is popular with pre-teens that somehow feel themselves too mature and sophisticated for games like “Neopets” and “Let’s All Go And Get A Fucking Life, 3rd Remix”.
It is also inexplicably popular with a married couple in their early twenties that come into the library, every goddamned day, for the sole purpose of occupying two public computers and playing this game for hours and hours. (Fun Fact! I happen to know that they are married because on one memorable occasion, the male came swooping down on the information desk, looking like nothing so much as “Columbine: The Burnout Years” and announced that he needed two computers for himself and his wife. Well, whoopty-fucking-doo, you’re married. We’re all really impressed, cowboy.) The male is this lanky, squinty-eyed motherfucker whose attitude combines the taste sensations of arrogance and entitlement; if, for some reason, he can’t get on a computer that runs his precious faggotry, he comes within inches of throwing a literal fit, pacing and sulking and asking every two minutes if “one of the computers with Java” is available.
The wife is a train wreck in and of herself. If you stay within fifty feet of her for any period of time, you can actually hear her getting wider. The fact that she remains largely quiet (in opposition to her husband, who has appointed himself Runescape Mentor to the Universe) is counter-balanced by the fact that she feels the need to fucking eavesdrop on the information desk. Constantly. You can do it yourself – just lower your voice and start talking to someone, and watch her crane that neck-mounted pseudopod around and take careful notice. EVERY BOY MUST HAVE A CRUSH ON ME!!! I’LL TAKE “PORK RINDS” FOR $600, ALEX
Need I mention that they’re both unemployed, and live in her mother’s basement? Need I mention that they have a sticker on their car that reads “This is What a Princess Looks Like”? Like I said: BIG WINNERS.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 11:27 a.m. - The Detective
God's decided to punish me by sending in a plague of Mr. Blue. He's the reason librarians become alcoholics. And as someone else just said, he doesn't own an inside voice.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003 - 11:05 a.m. - The Detective
Oh crap. Mr. Blue is here. I'm fighting the urge to murder and the urge to commit suicide. Oh please God, be merciful. Strike him down.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003 - 10:26 p.m. - The Detective
Wow, the Brain actually preferred the Inspector to the Detective. Who knew? Well, it seems I may be getting that kitten. Geez, I try to get a kitten, and now everyone's trying to get a kitten. What a trendsetter I am. And remember, have your pets spayed or neutered. Goodnight folks!
Tuesday, April 22, 2003 - 08:22 p.m. - plain brain
What a day today. I don't have enough time for intros, but I am the plain brain. I work alongside Doc handling the world's burning questions ("I can't print", "The internet is not working" "how do I play ruinscape?"). Today's entry is one of the lowest acts I have ever seen. This gentleman came in claiming he was relocating and would no longer be using this library. He then asked if there was any way we would buy back his print card. The card had a $4.40 value.
Come on....
I was about to handle this in the only fashion I knew how, begging him to exercise some common sense, when higher powers arrived to defuse the situation. This guy argued for 20 mins with the higher power. In that time, I nearly made as much money on the desk as this guy was arguing for. I would have told him to contact the suppliers of our print cards. I would have told him to contact the highest of the high in the county library. I would have found a way to kindly tell this guy to go screw himself. But he was reimbursed. To take matters worse, he made off with the card. What a jackass. This guy probably drives a Lexus and lives in some gated community in some Swanky Locality and yet he comes to the library to rip us off. Is there some sort of instant Karma button I can trigger?
On another note, our favorite patrons who rolled "Big Winner" in the Game of Life have been here since I got to the library at 12. With all that time on their hands they could have solved the AIDS virus and made tons of money and bought their own computer and could then play all the online games they want. One of them could even buy as much food as necessary to continue that "girth acquistion" project she seems to be working on. Nothing says "productivity" like topping off your fourth chin.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003 - 03:05 p.m. - The Detective
It seems our nemesis, Mr. Blue, is a bit of a penny-pincher. I was checking out some books to him when he asked me if we had a courtesy phone. I told him no. He said that we should really think about getting one, because there's no way he's going to be using a payphone. And on and on and on. That asshole.
Monday, April 21, 2003 - 05:09 p.m. - The Detective
The Detective wants a kitten. He demands a kitten!! Please? I hope my potential future roommates don't mind cats and aren't allergic to them.
Monday, April 21, 2003 - 01:30 p.m. - The Detective
Why the hell do people get the day off from school but we don't? That's just not right.
Monday, April 21, 2003 - 01:18 p.m. - The Detective
There's nothing like a 3-day weekend to make you feel better. But then you get to work and that feeling just goes away. Two of our co-workers have seen this site, and wanted to get in on the fun. Of course, Doc and I are a bit discreet about it, always clearing the internet history after we're done, but that's because Doc's paranoid. Don't want to lose the job. Whenever I talk about it to the other two guys, I refer to it as Library Fight Club. First rule of Library Fight Club? You do not talk about Library Fight Club. Second rule of Library Fight Club? No specific references to the Library or to the people that work here. We need to keep these jobs. Unfortunately.
Thursday, April 17, 2003 - 06:20 p.m. - Doc
FRY ME TO THE MOON
Some amazing people to be seen in this modern world.
Instance One: An enormously fat man - okay, I realize very well that I have absolutely no sense of scale when it comes to modifiers. I'm like a child; everything is either the best or the worst ever, etc etc. Seriously, though, this man is a literal mass of humanity, and making this even more bizarre is the fact that his legs seem to be the correct size and circumference for a man of his height and non-life threatening weight. Anyway. That's not even the most amazing thing about it - he's got this walking stick, right? Only it's not, by any means, the bland, defensible sort of walking stick you might buy from a crafty Boy Scout - this is a gnarled, polished, Frazetta affair that he probably got from a fucking Renaissance Festival. MORE TURKEY LEGS AND TANKARDS OF ALE? HUZZAH
Yeah. And he's docked himself into one of our rolling chairs, and is using the stick to propel himself down the aisles of videos and audiobooks, like a Venetian gondolier. No shit. Seemed like a pretty nice guy, actually; I'm just saying it was a very interesting sight.
Then you've got Generic Late-Middle-Aged Perpetually-Pissed-Off Hindu Man, standing in line to be checked out. His cell phone starts chirping, so he whips it off of his belt and starts yammering into it, loudly, breaking several common-sense rules of etiquette and sounding like nothing so much as fucking Twiki. BEEDEE BEEDEE BEEDEE JOO GIB ME GOOD DEAL
Topping off this evening's trifecta of my fascination with humanity is the Mexican guy - a regular patron with a weird little mustache that falls somewhere in between "NASCAR" and "riot cop" - wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. A t-shirt featuring a bunch of lightning and the fucking Confederate flag. This shirt is tucked into his pants.
Thursday, April 17, 2003 - 12:20 p.m. - Doc
LOVE IS ALL AROUND
Well, I never thought I'd sit here at this desk and carry on a conversation about the pros and cons of drinking urine with other allegedly grown adults. Which just goes to show you. Myself, I'm all for it, under the appropriate circumstances. I mean, you'd want it over ice or at least room temperature, otherwise, Jesus, that's just sick.
As regards bare feet; I just can't fathom some of these goofy motherfuckers that come in here. It's as though they think that this is some sort of magical pirate ship with newspapers and comfy chairs; they just plop right down and slip off their shoes and socks - as though wearing socks and sandals isn't wretched enough, in its own precious little way - and proceed to put their filthy feet, covered in thick crusty ringlets of black hair, right up on the table. These are invariably the same people that will absolutely fucking autopsy several newspapers in one sitting and leave the scattered random remains all over the damn library two minutes before closing. HOORAY FOR THEIR TAX DOLLARS, ETC ETC.
I honestly don't know why anyone would want to walk barefoot in a public place, especially a Crazy Magnet like the public library. With all the soiled children and mumbling hebephrenics and inveterate masturbators that trapse through here, it's a wonder that we employees don't run home, desperately scraping our tongues between our teeth, and plunge into a fresh fucking vat of H2O2.
Quote of the moment: "Where's the Internet?" (I suppose it does lose something if you don't immediately realize that the speaker is staring right at an open browser window.)
Thursday, April 17, 2003 - 11:26 a.m. - The Detective
Kids, hell, everyone, needs to leave their shoes on when they come to library. I don't know where you crusty ass feet have been, and I don't want to know where they've been. So don't get your crusty ass feet on the library carpet. Besides, the carpet is dirty enough. Do you really want your kid or anybody for that matter to be getting their feet or even their faces in a carpet stained with urine or that fungus that causes jock itch?
Thursday, April 17, 2003 - 11:12 a.m. - The Detective
I'm going to pontificate for a little bit here. There is a time when little kids need to stop sucking on pacifiers and riding in strollers. When you're 5 years old, you're too old for pacifiers and strollers. When you can walk of your own accord, you're too old. When you're over half as tall as your mom, you're too old. But every three weeks the same kid comes in here with a pacifier in his mouth and his ass in a stroller. And another thing, I don't care what you do at your own house, but if your kid is three years old, I don't want to see their head up your shirt. That's a little old to be breast feeding. Three year olds do not need to be sucking on their mother's teat.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 09:59 p.m. - The Detective
Well duh, the boss of the next level is Anthrax Annie and her sidekick Bio Bob. With super secret boss, SARS Saddam! We're sorry, but our secret cache of weapons of mass destruction is in another presidential palace!
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 04:03 p.m. - Doc
OK: so the USA (Player 1, our team) already blew up a character called "Chemical Ali". Now, according to today's hottt-off-the-presses headlines, "U.S. raids home of 'Dr. Germ'".
USA PATRIOT Act? Chemical Ali? Dr. Fucking Germ? Is this war being fought by fucking ten-year-olds?
WHO WILL BE THE BOSS OF THE NEXT LEVEL???
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 03:55 p.m. - The Detective
Oh yes, I do hate little brats and the parents that do nothing. Just thought everyone should hear that again. This kid starts rolling around on the floor, and his mom won't do anything until I tell her that he needs to get up. Unless she wants her kid to roll around in piss, it's fine by me. And then this kid and his older brother start messing with the printer card dispenser. Their mom still won't do anything until I tell her. The older one gets pulled back to the front counter and keeps on asking, "What did I do? What did I do?" You got on my nerves punk. The other one didn't get pulled back until later, but at least he kept his mouth shut.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 03:33 p.m. - The Detective
I will have to agree with Herr Doktor and say that I don't hate every small child. Believe or not, I have met some pleasent children during my days at the library. I've also met some very pleasent grown-ups at the library. Like the Ideal Patron. He fucking rocks. The lady that I can talk sci-fi books with. The other lady that tries to flash me to get out of paying a 30 cent fine. All good people. But we have our bad ones too...
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 02:29 p.m. - Doc
STOOL SAMPLE
No kid-sized turds in sight from where I'm sitting; it looks as though the Detective lucked out. Still, though - I don't have as much of an animus against small children as I do their reckless and oblivious parents. Apparently, in this neck of the woods, the number of little miracles (it's so nice to know that the word "miracle" has been defanged and rendered completely subjective by people too stupid or lazy to keep their goddamned knees together) one squeezes out on one's womb and into a pair of tatty Power Rangers pajamas is in inverse proportion to their fitness as parents. The ones who let their children run wild are, more often than not, the same ones that have more than one screaming mouth to ignore / occasionally smack. And lord, don't get me started on the ones that translate the word "library" into their own little leper language as "drop-and-forget, totally free day care".
I heard the story from another one of the circulation people. The kid in question kept telling his mother that he needed to go potty. Over and over. By the time Mom stopped ignoring him, it was just too late. Way to potty train, there, lady.
I've got a staple remover and a vague knowledge of internal human anatomy. Tubal ligations and / or vasectomies are being performed at the Reference Desk for the low low never-to-be-repeated cost of FREE, so drag your weird old ass on over.
Confidential to the dipshit in the Slipknot shirt that reads "Do Not Ever Judge Me": TOO LATE
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 12:27 p.m. - The Detective
You want to know who else I hate? I hate little children. Want to know why? Because my desk area, the front counter, now smells like urine. FUCKING URINE!! Some kid couldn't hold it in, so he let loose a torrent of piss into his shorts. I just pray that he didn't drop a load in his shorts either.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 10:54 a.m. - The Detective
"Sup, dawg. I was chillin in Space City, down in the sticks, when this ig'nant Oreo came up to me and wanted to knuckle up. I was about to pull out my double-deuce when some eyegasms started walkin' by. But as soon as they left, I iced the bee-yotch. But a betty had called the po-po, so I split. No diggity."
Now if you want to speak as dope as I do, then I suggest you pick up the Hip Hoptionary by Alonzo Westbrook, available at your local bookstore or library. Peace out.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 10:45 a.m. - Doc
HOME OF THE BRAVE
Two people that Needed to Use the Internet this morning:
A guy in a ballcap and gray t-shirt that read, simply, "mr. big". Capitalization as found. I wonder if he's a fan of the band - because, frankly, I didn't know that there were any more Mr. Big fans to be found, much less go out in public with a t-shirt that basically suggests "Ask me about Mr. Big!" - or if it's some sort of private joke between him and his friends, like they all call him Mr. Big for some reason and then, you know, one birthday they all chipped in and got him the shirt. Laffs ensue.
Or maybe he just thinks he's that kind of guy. I don't know. He seemed nice enough.
Then there's the bearded, intense dude with the huge bald eagle tattoo splattered all over his right forearm and the deep, hacking, persistent, from-the-soul cough that wants to, you guessed it, Type Up His Resume.
I'm not passing judgment. I'm just saying.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 10:27 a.m. - The Detective
We get some weird ass donations at this library. It seems we received a children's paperback from the Full House Sisters series. A Dog's Life is about how Michelle enters Comet into a dog show and Stephanie finding a boyfriend. Or some crap like that. My question is where is Dj, cool Uncle Jesse, wacky surrogate uncle Joey, and clean freak Danny Tanner? Oh, and Jesse's wife Rebecca and his twins, whatever their names were.
About my change from Inspector to Detective. I found it sounded like I inspected things. The Detective sounds cooler.
As the Inspector: "I find....that this dry wall meets safety standards. Good day."
As the Detective: "It was YOU that murdered Mr. Boddy in the Billiards Room with the candlestick! Arrest that man! Good day."
So that's basically it. I lack self-confidence. Come Herr Doktor, we must solve the Mystery of the Lost Books. Good day.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003 - 09:20 a.m. - Doc
Working a morning shift is the best part of an already pretty damned good job. I'm on my third cup of coffee, I've got some old Boards of Canada clattering away in the background, and I'm working on non-critical paperwork. That's the sort of shit that I love - I got into this business because I want to end up as a Kafkaesque drone in shirtsleeves working silently with paperwork. Cataloguing, acquisitions, whatever. Processing patron requests isn't so bad - at first, I was a bit of an elitist fuckhead about it, looking down my nose at the people ordering literal armfuls of Nora Roberts et al or, no shit, Christian romance fiction. CUE THE CAR CRASH - CUT TO THE HOSPITAL ROOM HAND-HOLDING AND CONVERSION - PUT A BUN IN HER CHASTE LITTLE OVER AND LET'S CALL THIS A WRAP.
It didn't take me very long to realize that those patrons are actually pretty much my ideal public library user - they're enthusiastic, friendly, and reasonable. And they read, you know, books, as opposed to beating their pointy little heads against OOOOH FREE HIGH-SPEED INTERNET ALL GODDAMNED DAY etc. The pathetic thing - well, one of them - is that we're forty minutes from opening our doors and I'd bet you five dollars cash money that the usual cast of miserable, intent Internet junkies are sitting out there, in their cars, staring at their hands and dreaming of Tiny Wireless Video Cameras that Go Anywhere. Some mornings,I suppose when the weather is nicer, they stand and stare through the glass doors, looking like nothing so much as one of those gay old Mervyn's commercials. Someone really ought to stage an intervention.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 - 06:55 a.m. - The Detective
I actually work today, so that's why I have so many posts. But anyways, I had to do the People Count during my last hour at work. It's surprising how many people don't know how to use the doors. They're either lazy or just plain stupid. Most of the people press the handicapped button, and every once in a while, I see some chump push the doors to go in, even though they're pull. They continue to push, never learning the truth. How sad.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 - 02:05 p.m. - The Detective
I showed this "blog" to someone that worked in the children's section, and he suggested that we place some Links to where the punk kids go when they sign up for the computer, ex: www.CartoonNetwork.com. I forgot the other ones he suggested. They would be placed under the heading of links that should never be clicked. I'm placing it here because Doc will see this before he sees me.
This is something that I believe bears mentioning. I fucking hate teens, preteens, "tweens," any of those assholes. I shouldn't forget those idiots that play Runescape on the Library computers. I'll let Herr Doctor tell you about it.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 - 12:50 p.m. - The Detective
I've decided to leave the world of inspecting behind, so I've dropped the name the Inspector. It sounds really lame for one thing. So I have now become....the Detective. Oh, something was said today at the Library, and I am going to have to agree with what was said. Someone said that there seems to be a better mood around the Library ever since Mr. Hot Shit left. And there truly is a better mood. His replacement is much better. Someone thought that Mr. Hot Shit and I were friends, but nope, I ended that by telling her that I hated him with a passion.
I HOPE THE FUCKING ASSHOLE ROTS IN HELL.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 - 09:27 a.m. - Doc
SUCKED IT DOWN: A REPORT FROM THE FIELD
Strangely enough, I just got finished trying out Daikatana - I felt morally obligated to experience for myself this pop culture punchline. What can I say about this game that hasn't been said before? It's dark - we're talking self-parody dark, dark to the point of being laughably unplayable. The controls are sloppy, so it's all HOLY SHIT THOSE ARE FROGS AND FLIES AND THEY ARE KILLING ME.
The moral to this story is that Mr. Blue hates us. My guess, of course, is that he bought that Super Value Fun Pack Featuring Daikatana for Daikatana, as a cheap and quick way of scratching that "my God, I dearly wish I was Asian" itch. Hell, at least he doesn't come to the library in a vinyl Sailor Mercury costume. Yet.
AOL KEYWORD: UNINSTALLING
Tuesday, April 15, 2003 - 07:32 a.m. - The Inspector
Before I forget, the Princess Diaries Smut Man came in and donated some CD-ROMS to us. He donated The Sting, Streets of Sim City, Myst, Sierra's Complete Land Designer, and the best of the bunch, fucking Daikatana. DAIKATANA. So he basically gave us the gaming equivalent of a cow turd. Bastard. As if we didn't hate him enough. Herr Doctor took Daikatana to play for some reason, probably to experience the full craptitude of Mr. John Romero's opus. Pray for Doc. Pray that he doesn't become John Romero's bitch.
Monday, April 14, 2003 - 10:47 p.m. - The Inspector
Yes, I, the Inspector, do indeed work the Circulation desk. And yes, most of the patrons that come in tend to be dumb shits. "But I turned in all my books in time." "May I use the phone, even though the library announced that it was closed 10 minutes ago?" "I hear the Princess Diaries is smut. Can I check it out?"
By the way, if I haven't mentioned it, I believe God created patrons to punish sinful librarians and to test the faith of the good librarians.
Monday, April 14, 2003 - 10:34 p.m. - Doc
Another brilliant FIRST POST from the people who brought you Electric Sexified Library School 2: The Quickening. Hi. I'm Doc, and I've spent all of ten goddamned minutes setting up this Pita as an outlet for the employees of Some Local Library. If all goes according to plan, we'll be updating this in real time, from our terminals - here you, the taxpayer, will assume that we're hard at work, when in fact we are sharing with the whole wide Internet something vaguely insulting about that giant mole on your shoulder, your six screaming, unwashed children, and the stabbing, stabbing pain.
I work in Reference, also known as Information, also known as WHERE'S THE BATHROOM / CAN I USE THE INTERNET / WHERE ARE THE GED TEST PREP BOOKS. The Inspector works in Circulation, about which I know nothing, apart from the fact that ordinarily kind, sympathetic, and generous people in that department go home seething. The blame for this, of course, lands squarely on the shoulders on you, The Public.
Try not to be such fucking idiots. Reading is FUN-DA-MENTAL
Monday, April 14, 2003 - 10:28 p.m. - The Inspector
Howdy to the one person that knows of this weblog and who understands the pain that we public servants must endure from the unwashed. Those assholes. We might as well try to get other people from the Library to add to this thing. Perhaps Herr Doctor or Chuddy can add some of their thoughts. As for me, I call myself the Inspector. Or maybe the Detective. I'm not sure yet.
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