|
Some Local Library:
Furious Champion Edition
Wednesday, May 14, 2003 - 11:42 a.m. - Defenestrator
I will forever fail to understand the need for some children who sign up for computers to get the card with the number that corresponds to his/her age. Here are some sample dialogues for you, the reader:
Sample 1
Defenestrator: Can I help you?
Child: I want a computer. I'm five years old!
Defenestrator: Okay. You can play on computer number one.
Child: But I'm five years old! (begins sobbing uncontrollably)
Parent of Child: (to child) Sweetie, someone else is playing with computer number five. You'll have to play on a different computer.
Child: (still sobbing uncontrollably) I don't want a different one!!!! I'm five years old!!!!
Moving on...
Sample 2
Defenestrator: Can I help you?
Child: I want a computer.
Defenestrator: Okay, I'll need your name to sign you up.
Child: Four.
Defenestrator: Excuse me?
Child: Four!
Defenestrator: No, I need your NAME.
Child: Four!
Defenestrator: Calgon, take me away!
Monday, May 12, 2003 - 12:29 p.m. - JackPot
So I have not been able to post about an really awesome event last week. On Thursday (I beleive) I received a phone call from a gentleman asking if we had phone books. I told him we did and asked him which phone book he was looking for. He told me Omaha, Nebraska. I put him on hold to have a look and see if we carried it (doubtable). Sure enough we did not. I returned to the phone to inform him that we don't carry that and he asked me "Do you carry it on tape?" I was a little confused at first, for a second I even thought that he meant book-on-tape, which wouldn't make a damn bit of sense. So I prodded for more info. "What do you mean?" I asked. "You know like one of those films..." Buzzers in my head went off...."oh, oh. You mean microfiche." "Yes that is it." "No I am afraid we don't. The only branch that has microfiche is the main branch. And they don't have phonebooks in microfiche. But I tell you what you might do. If you get on the internet you can try and use Anywho.com to find it." "Now wait a second. Say that again. An-ee-who dot com. ok and how do I get that?" "It is on the internet" I replied. Then our most awesome moment. He asked: "The internet, do they have that on tape?"
Don't we all wish.......
Sunday, May 11, 2003 - 12:07 a.m. - Defenestrator
Just for the record, I don't hate kids. If I did, there's no way that I would have stayed in the children's department for as long as I have. That being said, what I despise are the kids who come to the library just to use the computers just to play games. Even worse are the ones who come to the library to use the computers to play games who have no clue as to how to operate the damned machine. Of course, for my counterparts in the reference department, this also applies to the adults who come to the library simply to use the internet for inane purposes such as runescape or to locate available office spaces to start up a yoga class. So for those of you who don't have the joy of serving the idiotic public, here's a short foreign language lesson for you.
Patronese: "My computer's not working."
English proper: "I don't know how to use this thing, even though I've only been here all day, everyday for the past three years."
Patronese: "My website's not working."
English proper: "How do you get to the internet?"
Patronese: "My computer's slow."
English proper: "I have about 50 windows open because I do not know what a pop-up ad is."
So there you have it. A short sample of some of the idiocy that we deal with each and every day.
Thursday, May 8, 2003 - 03:40 p.m. - The Detective
Pity Us
To give a heads up to everyone, Doc and I have gotten e-mail addresses for our little weblog. We want JackPot and Defenestrator to sign up for some free email also. Now we know that the odds are against us when we think that people actually read this thing. But if anyone actually does read this, shoot us a line. We're desperate, and our egos need handjobs. Truthfully, we could do it ourselves, but that's basically just ego masturbation. I can tell you right now that I don't ego masturbate, because it's sinful and whatnot. Yep, not me. My ego is untouched by me.
Thursday, May 8, 2003 - 11:24 a.m. - The Detective
My Boss Is Sofa Kingdom
You know, I really don't like our branch manager. She can do things that are just...inane. Nobody in the library likes Mr. Blue, yet for some reason, she lets him volunteer here. He was able to go into the back work room, where we sit around and make fun of him and wish that he would leave and shrivel up and die. The back workroom is our inner sanctum, protected from the ignorant patrons by right, yet this assclown just signs a form and walks right on in, where he tried to strike up conversations with anyone probably. When is he going to get it through his fat, balding, pasty, non-Asian head that no one likes him and suspect him of being a pedophile?
Something else I despise about the manager. Last week, my supervisor, the Head of Circ, was written up by the manager because she went over the manager's head and gave her the phone number to the head of Acquisitions. The next day, Head of Circ recieved an email from the manager explaining why she was written up. In it, in the manager's little passive-aggressive way, she basically accussed Doc and me of stealing. But she'll let that asshole Mr. Blue take the software to "try-out?" It's not like we were going to sell it. And if we did, it wouldn't be to buy people food, it would be for us.
And congrats to Doc on his 25 cent discovery. All I tend to find are books and videos covered in human waste.
Wednesday, May 7, 2003 - 03:32 p.m. - Doc
VIOLENT WORLD
Background: Last Saturday – yes, that Saturday – I received yet another massive, almost entirely useless “donation” from one of our thoughtful, forward-thinking patrons. To their credit, they had phoned ahead; they said that they had the boxes’ worth of computer books and games to donate, and would we want them? Hell, yes, I thought to myself. I’m a big fan of abandonware, mostly due to my being a boring and typical guy in his mid-twenties too cheap and lazy to buy, learn, and play new games. So I thought it would be a real gas if we got a fuck-ton of cool old games I could scoop up for next-to-nothing.
The trouble was I didn’t realize just how old a lot of this stuff was. Uselessly old. One of the games was on a PCjr cartridge, for crying out loud – neat to look at and say, huh, I remember this, and that’s about it. Other donated gems included “Double Dragon” on 5¼” diskettes (OMG NO MORE QUARTERS), a video about Safe Driving For Teens put out by an insurance company (actually, that could have promise), a broken mobile phone, ca. 1992, and a belt. A big ol’ fuckin’ leather belt. Well hey, thanks, we’ll get right on that.
Cut forward to today. Mr. Blue comes into the library and is, as usual, loudly flailing (which you can’t spell without F-A-I-L) himself around and giving the gab to anyone within earshot and, apparently, himself. I watch him go in what I hope is quite obvious irritation and outright amazement - that a grown man who quite fancies himself, intellectually, would carry on like this in a public fucking library - because I’m working the reference desk with my boss and this is what we in the business call “dropping a hint”. He finishes harassing the circulation staff and then decides to toddle his stupid ass right over to our desk, announcing on arrival that he has nothing to do all day because he is, apparently, presently unwelcome at home. He then proceeds to tell some vague, possibly related story about his homelife – people getting hit? The fuck? Whatever. He tries to make eye contact with me, but I have a stack of stapled papers I am employing to Look Busy. Every time I do look up, he’s looking at me. Wonderful. It seems that he wants to be my Pal.
Then he launches into a completely unrelated story about some video hardware he was given by an dying man he knows. (Yes, really.) “Do you have any hardware experts here? You look like an expert,” he says maybe four times. I give in, finally. “I have my moments,” I say, shrugging. I look to my boss to salvage this situation, prevent it from escalating. She hands him a volunteer application. Good heavens. This, then, brings us full circle; she decides that he will “try out” any of the software from that last insane bulk donation that we may be able to keep and use. I, on the other hand, will be stuck in the back, sifting through it all, and putting all the unwanted shit into bags for him to tote off. “I know a place that can sell these; they use the money to buy people food,” he says. I fucking swear. Capping it all off, he asked me tech support questions about his home computer. Tech support questions about Windows XP and, get this, Grand Theft Auto 3. “I’ve been working with computers for forty years,” he reminded me for the ninetieth time, “but you look like a real expert.” That’ll teach me to wear an NTK t-shirt to work. I’m going to reward your curiosity with a refreshing vanilla crack on the noggin, cowboy. Oh, and despite his declared intention to “hang out and volunteer all day”, he left after something like ten minutes of more vague computer perfuckery.
Good news: I found a quarter at the bottom of one of those boxes.
Wednesday, May 7, 2003 - 01:03 p.m. - The Detective
You know, when Monsieur Jackpot mentioned the Cybrary, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I thought it was something like the Terminator, except for library use. You know, a cybernetic organism surrounded by living tissue sent from the future, to serve and protect the librarians of this time. That would have been awesome. But from what I hear, the Cybrary sounds pretty nifty, though I don't understand most of it.
Tuesday, May 6, 2003 - 08:17 p.m. - JackPot
May I be the first to say that when the Cybrary or SAM or SAMS goes online, I will do a little dance. I don't care how long you stay on a computer, but when you are loud or noisy I want you off. On top of that, when I ask you to get off a computer that is not an open invite for you to argue with me about how long you have "really been on." And if you tell me that you "didn't sign up for this computer" and that you "just sat down" then you better get up and go. Cybrarian, I welcome you with open arms.....
Don't get me wrong, I love signing up the same yahooligan day in and day out so they can search for personals or chat or be loud and piss me off or sit and play ruin-scape all damn day, but it gets old. I a little bit of change from time to time and this sounds like one I can enjoy. 40 minutes....almost there....
Tuesday, May 6, 2003 - 06:36 p.m. - JackPot
So I changed my name. Upon the advice of Doc, I have changed my monicker from plain brain to JackPot. I like it more already. It sounds more like 1940's name... and I am all about anytime but our own.
Now that that is out of the way, let's get down to the business. In an exclusive bit of info for reader's eyes only, by way of instant message, I have learned of an employee's departure. This was someone who was new to our fold and seemed to have potential. A little on the quiet side, they never had a chance to fully develop. And now it seems that as quickly as he has come, it is time for him to go. Evidently my supervisors are going to learn this info tomorrow in their email. Only time will tell. And just think, I am not in until Thursday. The raddest part was he said he was going to bring me a CD full of roms and give them to me. So when we were chatting back and forth he says out of no where "that rom disk is in my locker" and when I go there, the locker is completely empty....except the disk. It looked like something completely out of a work of fiction. So there you have it, breaking news for viewers eyes only. I, being the reporter that I am, have been more than happy to bring it you. When you do find out for yourself, try to act surprised.
Tuesday, May 6, 2003 - 01:31 p.m. - Defenestrator
It's funny that the Detective mentioned this particular kid, since I have a story of my own to tell. A few weeks ago, one evening, I was headed to dinner with family. Driving along the road, this teenager just rides his bike right into the middle of the street in front of my car, forcing an abrupt stop. I looked the kid right in the face, and it turned out to be the very same guy that the Detective was just writing about.
If only the brakes had malfunctioned...
Monday, May 5, 2003 - 07:30 p.m. - The Detective
Justice...Texas style
At our Super Lucky Library, there is this small group of punk teens that hang around and are either playing Runescape on the computers or playing Yu-Gi-Oh. I despise all the motherfuckers. But there's one that I hate...with a vengeance. Why? Because this asshole came into my house and home. Violated my sanctum domus. So this time...it's personal. If he steps one foot into my house again....well, mercy is for the weak.
Saturday, May 3, 2003 - 02:50 p.m. - Doc
ONE OH ONE
There's a weird thing about Saturdays at this local library - this is the day of the week that we are criminally understaffed. Two people on the reference desk, all day - and that's at the best of times. The trouble is, there are very rarely actually two people available on the desk. Here's why:
First of all, it has been decided that all of our free computer classes are to be taught on Saturdays, because more people are, apparently, able to attend on Saturdays. The computer classes are a fucking joke, mine most of all. I taught "Computers 101" (NB: not my title) this morning to a packed house of four students, two of which spoke very little English and therefore probably did not retain Fact One about "virtual memory" and "computer viruses" and "floppy discs". That's over an hour that (a) the eleven public computers in the lab were unavailable (b) I was unavailable and (c) I pretty much vomited up the first semester of my eighth grade Computer Literacy course ("RAM stands for Random Access Memory," Doc told a room full of people who neither comprehended nor would ever, ever need to know) for what feels like the millionth boring time. So whoop-de-fucking-doo, let's hear it for Computers 101. The upshot is that all the
people who attend these classes are, all other things aside, really nice folks; the time spent with them is time I'm not spending with your garden variety fuckwit that Can't PrintTM and, as a result, has suddenly and thoroughly borne the pain of the world.
Then, of course, each person on the desk has to take their lunch hour. That's two hours, smack in the middle of the day, during which there's one person on the desk. None of this would make one fucking bit of difference if Saturday wasn't, in fact, one of the busiest days of the week. Saturday is the day that we must hang out the "Free Day Care" sign; Saturday is the day everyone must skip bathing; Saturday is the day everyone simply must Get On A ComputerTM right fucking now; Saturday is the day the literal packs of idiots with Big Pressing Problems and chips on their shoulders to match come strolling in to sit around emitting odors in the study rooms for hours or scatter newspapers over sixty square feet or stare silently, dull-liddedly at you while you search for some ridiculously obscure shit relating to their big faggoty dreams of being a big faggoty entrepreneur. Do you have any idea how many completely wrong people want to start a fucking day care business? Go USA!
Today, we've been running our asses off trying to keep up with things. Some jackass wanted to "use" the computer lab to teach a computer class he had every intention of charging for. Today, two dough-faced white trash chrysalids, complete with wailing, flailing, fucking implacable
offspring, were desperate for information on a local pawn shop robbery from two nights ago. My non-violent methods of information extraction pretty much established that the robbers were the fathers of said offspring. Both these girls were younger than I. I couldn't find jack-shit; contrary to popular belief, dipshit little small-time pawn
shop robberies do not make the Internet - hell, they rarely make the fucking papers - with any sort of turnaround. I gave them the number for the police department. It's morning in America.
In two hours, I'm going back to my apartment. Saturday night is for crawling into a bottle of whiskey and playing Rolling Thunder and listening to some motherfucking Wagner.
Saturday, May 3, 2003 - 01:00 p.m. - Defenestrator
Okay, so I was having a pretty good day here at work...until he came. No, not Mr. Blue, thank God. But it's this kid who comes up to sign up for one of the computers. Which is fine. Until I ask him his name. He then says his name with the attitude and tone of voice of "Don't you know who I am?! I've been here before, so why don't you remember me, dammit?!" Maybe he should sue me for psychological damage while he's at it.
Granted, this kid HAS been here before. I know because he's got one of those weird names that you know that no one else has. But, he's not regular enough where I would remember his face with his name, and truth be told, excuse me if I don't sit down each evening looking over the computer logs committing each damned name to memory.
Oh, did I also mention that he had his computer volume SUPER LOUD (i.e., Spinal Tap volume level 11) and he just sat there not doing a damned thing about it? My desk mate finally yelled out his name (I know, this IS a library), and after the 3rd or 4th announcement he finally got the hint and turned the volume down. But guess what? It was still too loud, and I had to walk over myself and restore a semblance of serenity. If you want something done right...
Well, if this kid was worried about us forgetting him, he has nothing to fear. All he has to worry about now is the cart out back with his name on it...
Like I said, I WAS having a good day.
Saturday, May 3, 2003 - 01:00 a.m. - Defenestrator
Okay, so the circle is complete...for now...big celebration ensues.
Anyhow, the Detective and I (among others) saw X2 tonight. Not a bad movie. IF you could get past the cell phones ringing in the theater. Where are those damned ejector seats?? Oh yeah...that was Loews...we were at AMC.
That reminds me. Maybe we should have ejector seats on our public computers here at the library...perhaps for those patrons who don't understand the meaning of "Your time is up, it's time for the next patron to use this computer" or for those people whose favorite phrase is "I don't know how to spell cartoonnetworkdotcom". These people usually fall under the category of "I don't know a damned thing about the internet (except that it is one of the four basic food groups) but I can smell what the Rock is cooking"...look, I can do the eyebrow too!!! Look at me look at me!!!
Normally, I'd be opposed to genocide, but in this case, I just might have to make an exception.
Friday, May 2, 2003 - 12:44 p.m. - plain brain
Ladies and Gentlemen, Start Your Search Engines!
There is something about mornings here that is kinda funny. It didn't really happen today, but sometimes it does. Usually on Thursdays and Saturdays. And the Gate is up! and in rushes the people. Anxious to secure their "study room" or check their Yahoo. All rushing in like now is the time to go go go! I mean I don't frequent many libraries since I work at one, but I can't really ever see myself waiting outside for one to open. What could be so important? I think I have waited outside a resturant for it to open, but food is different than the web, you know?
One Sec......
Ok I am officially adding "camera operator/director/manager of stage production" to my resume. This lady with this video camera has come in for the last two days needing my assistance in setting up her camera. I can totally see the thought process behind this. "God, this is a really technical piece of equipment, I bet someone at a library will know how to set this up." Given, she is using it here. Given, I did know how to take care of the situation. But come on. I mean this lady seems to speak very broken english (which seems to be a recurring theme in all these stories), is a teacher (which also has me wondering) and yet she is counting on me to help her complete her job. I suppose next time I am having trouble finding a book I should give her a call and see if she can help me.
Friday, May 2, 2003 - 11:04 a.m. - Doc
I AM DAMO SUZUKI
One of the most baffling things about working in a public library is the porn. I suppose that it's really inevitable - wherever there is internet access, so shall there also be pornography, and literally scads of it - but I have tried, and failed, to put myself in the mens rae and retrace the steps of your typical porn consumer. So far as I can gather, it goes a little something like this:
Man sitting at home says to himself, "you know, I've got an itch only porn can scratch." He thinks for a moment or two. "Better go to the public library." It's that leap of logic there in the middle that I simply cannot fathom. I'm trying to imagine a scenario in which pornography could be properly enjoyed in the public fucking library, but again - no dice. "Well, now I've gotten my porn and here's this pesky hard-on and, huh, there are people all around me. I am truly a pathetic individual."
Since I've been here, I've only come across one guy who was sneakily diddling himself - but even then, he wasn't actually surfing for smut; he was sitting at a typewriter and double-plus creepily staring at a couple of teenaged girls trying to work on a project. I kicked him out, of course. Getting back on track -
One job we've got to do on a somewhat regular basis is go from one public internet computer to the next, deleting all the cookies and "Temporary Internet Files" that IE decides really need saving. It's always a special treat to visit computer number Eleven, as it's right in the back corner of the computer lab. Nice and private, oh yes indeed. The monitor is usually found wrenched off to one side, facing deliberately away from anyone else. The Plain Brain and I were cleaning out Eleven and reading the twisted and hilarious names of the porn sites our lovely and entitled patrons have visited. Apparently, one person has quite a taste for "incest", which confuses me just a little; you could in theory present any sort of garden-variety hardcore and then just caption it OMG THEY'RE TOTALLY RELATED and then, hey, it is now expensive premium fetish material. The next little interlude I'll present verbatim:
"What's this 'bukbuddies' thing? It's a safe bet that 'buk' doesn't stand for 'Bukowski', so - wait, hang on, all these files are the names of guys, holy god -"
The Plain Brain suggested that an excellent tagline for that site would be "Sixteen Million of Your Closest Friends". The Plain Brain is apparently a complete fucking deviant.
Friday, May 2, 2003 - 08:35 a.m. - The Detective
Doc and I tend to wonder if anyone else reads our weblog. Maybe we should setup an email address for our weblog. Get some feedback. That would be rad.
Since I don't have much to do for awhile, I've been getting my room ready for my new kitten and trying to fish in Dark Cloud 2. That game's a bitch sometimes.
Friday, May 2, 2003 - 08:27 a.m. - The Detective
Who knew you could put images up? I didn't. Well, this weekend is my three-day weekend, so I'm feeling a bit alright. That, and I get to watch X2 tonight.
I figure its time to bring the last into the fold. We would have brought him in earlier, but the shit started flying, so we went on the defense. If Doc or plain brain don't give him the rules to Library Fight Club, I can do it tonight.
Friday, May 2, 2003 - 08:31 a.m. - plain brain
Thursday, May 1, 2003 - 08:15 p.m. - Doc
CUE THE SILENT SCOPE V/O
It's him! It's Mumbles!
Ah, Mumbles. It's been a while since we've seen you around here. And he's even wearing a t-shirt that reads "Teamwork Into 2000", which would be wonderful and noteworthy enough were it not on the back of one of our truly legendary former regulars.
The deal with Mumbles: this guy used to come in all the time. Just about anytime we were open, this guy was on one of the public computers, somewhat pitifully hunt-and-pecking away at Microsoft Word, writing and re-writing his millionth variation on the same goddamned letter. Several of which, happily, I managed to, ahem, archive. The thing that made him so special - oh, "the thing" I say, as though I could really pick just one - was that despite literally months of hands-on experience with Microsoft Word, Mumbles was completely helpless. I'm talking helpless on a basic, primordial level; think skies full of nitrogen and methane and lightning strikes, roiling seas full of base organic material, massive volcanic upheaval, and, somewhere among it all, Mumbles sitting on a craggy upshoot of rock, staring at a monitor, completely lost.
So of course he'd come 'round to the Information desk to get help. Which is, technically, the right and acceptable thing to do - I wouldn't go so far as to say that any of us are outright geniuses with Word, but we can more or less dope or fake our way to a moderately acceptable solution. The only trouble here was that Mumbles was completely shut down at the I/O level. Not only was he unable to communicate his needs to use with, you know, human speech, but our requests for clarification (eg "You want to do what? No, really, show me what is wrong here") were always - always - met with... oh, lord. He'd shrug and screw up his droopy little face all squinty-sadly and just shake his head, occasionally punctuating it with an aw-shucks grin. A row of teeth like a picket fence after a force four hurricane. Shocking.
The letter itself was really something special, too. It was a request for a business grant, which is in and of itself nothing terribly remarkable. The Featured Attractions were:
(a) his wonderful mudhole-stomping of written English
(b) his use of the phrase "american dreams", always in parentheses
and (c) the fact that the name and function of his business changed from letter to letter. Which of course led me to suspect that he's yet another Nigerian con artist.
Literally mere feet from where I presently sit, teenaged Runescape faggots are playing Yu-Gi-Oh. In these all-too-audible tones of hushed intent. Par for the goddamned course.
Thursday, May 1, 2003 - 04:58 p.m. - Doc
... -. .- ..- ... .- --. . ...
Library patrons come and go, as they do - most of which, honestly, I don't ever give a second thought. It's the regulars that really provide something of the spice in library employment. In Adult Reference, we have something of a new regular - "new" being a relative term, here; I think that he's only been around for a couple of months, as opposed to patrons like the Big Winners, who have been throwing their sowwy widdle lives away on Runescape and / or the latest Tetris knock-off on Yahoo! for almost a year. To the surprise of everyone involved, the Big Winners have not dragged their ridiculous selves into the library for the past couple of days. Of course, the theories on their absence are running thick and fast around here: have they gotten jobs? Real lives that provide them with the earnest and sincere sense of fulfillment one doesn't get, necessarily, from trading magical faggoty battleaxes with spoilt twelve-year-olds calling themselves "Bl00dSl@y3R"? Naturally, I'm leaning towards my own: a nightmare come true in which hubby and wifey find themselves Mysteriously Trapped in Mom's Basement / Attic / Garage / wherever that undeserving, stained mattress of theirs pulls its tour of duty. Going for literally hours without access to their precious Internet and fatty snacks drives them slowly mad, and some sort of deeply weird mutual cannibalism pact develops. I mean, really, if you'd ever seen the size of this girl, you would agree that this is a Viable Scenario.
I wanted to talk about the new regular, though - he is a real piece of work. At first, he was remarkable only for being the Nigerian that waited until one minute before Literal and Final Closing (8:59 PM, for example) before trying to save / print / orally violate his resume or red hot e-job e-prospects. And every night, I would say to him, look, you should really think about doing this sooner. No dice. Same stupid fucking ballcap, same stupid fucking knit polo shirt, same stupid fucking squinty little bloodshot eyes peering at Monster.com or whatever. I'm talking almost a complete flattening of affect, here, except for the occasional little toothy smirk. What's so ticklish, my mysterious hunk of Nigerian man-meat? Porn, probably.
He's been broadening his horizons lately. Oh yes. You see, he's now on the search for some red-hot all-righteous e-lovin'. This we know through subtle and persistent observation - he sits, now, using the scanner for literally hours and hours, scanning in various pictures of himself to e-mail to his Hot Local Prospects. Did I manage to save a few of these scans onto a floppy one morning? Yes, oh yes. The picture he's sending out of himself is a goddamned riot. It's clearly ripped directly from the Sears Portrait Studio highlight album; that inoffensively bland "blue wash" backdrop, the "get to know me!" smile, the sunglasses. "Hello, ladies. I'm a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. Could that mean... you?" Pray it doesn't. I printed it out, drew a big heart around it in pink highlighting pen, captioned it "CALL ME!" in an exuberant hand, and stuck it up in a female co-worker's cubicle.
She took it down, but I am certain that it's like framed on her bedside table, or taped up to the bathroom mirror or something.
Plain Brain spotted him a couple of nights ago putting the Match.com personals through their paces. Last Saturday (during our self-imposed defensive hiatus), some girl wanted to use the scanner. Heavens forfend - but instead of getting up and clearing out, he hung around, teaching her all the finer points of image acquistion and manipulation. They seemed to be having quite the fine time together. Fuck it; they could only deserve each other.
Thursday, May 1, 2003 - 04:58 p.m. - plain brain
Quote of the Day:
"This is not available for check out, right?" asks patron
"No," replies plain brain
"Well where can I get my own copy of Entrepreneur Magazine's how to start a freight brokerage business: a step-by-step guide to success?"
"Well it is part of a series, so it might be a little hard to buy individual volumes."
plain brain opens the volume and in no more than five pages finds the phone number, fax number and internet address through which additional copies are available.
patron's response: "Oh, I guess I should have opened it and looked for that myself, huh?"
I guess you should have sir. If we work in a library, why does it seem so many people are illiterate?
|
