Toto, I don't think we're in Borders Anymore
Stewdog is ashamed to admit that he has been without library card for many, many years. Today, I decided to do something about it. The Stewdoghouse is one mile east of the drek surrounding the Van Nuys Courthouse, but since the Civic Center also features the nearest public library, I ventured over there.
My first adventure was being accosted by a burly homeless guy who demanded to know my name and swore that he 'didn't do it'. He followed me to the door of the library, his bellowing voice carrying through the rows of the Dewey Decimeled. I asked at the desk if there was security here and was assured that the kind gentleman was harmless, he just gets this way when he is off his meds.
Then, after seaching some stacks, I realized that my wallet and I had parted company. In near panic, I returned to my car (the long way around to avoid my new buddy) to find that it wasn't there.
"Oh my God, I've lost my wallet". I returned to the library frantically retracing my steps. I was then accosted by a more benign crazy guy who asked me 'Do I know you from a meeting?' "Uh. . NO I confidently replied". Luckily I remembered that I had placed some books on top of the stacks and THERE IT WAS, thank God. I've been singing "Me and My Wallet" ever since.
But all of the above pales in comparison to my final encouter with a librarian:
"If I wanted to find a biography of Stalin, where would I find it?"
Going to the computer, she asked, "Stalin. . is that S-t-a-l-l-i-n?"
My jaw started to drop. . . This is a librarian and she doesn't know how to spell 'Stalin'.
Her next question was the clincher:
"First name"?
I ran screaming from the library, hoping I could find a trace of normality in my new found bipolar friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably sent off to a "Goolog".
My first adventure was being accosted by a burly homeless guy who demanded to know my name and swore that he 'didn't do it'. He followed me to the door of the library, his bellowing voice carrying through the rows of the Dewey Decimeled. I asked at the desk if there was security here and was assured that the kind gentleman was harmless, he just gets this way when he is off his meds.
Then, after seaching some stacks, I realized that my wallet and I had parted company. In near panic, I returned to my car (the long way around to avoid my new buddy) to find that it wasn't there.
"Oh my God, I've lost my wallet". I returned to the library frantically retracing my steps. I was then accosted by a more benign crazy guy who asked me 'Do I know you from a meeting?' "Uh. . NO I confidently replied". Luckily I remembered that I had placed some books on top of the stacks and THERE IT WAS, thank God. I've been singing "Me and My Wallet" ever since.
But all of the above pales in comparison to my final encouter with a librarian:
"If I wanted to find a biography of Stalin, where would I find it?"
Going to the computer, she asked, "Stalin. . is that S-t-a-l-l-i-n?"
My jaw started to drop. . . This is a librarian and she doesn't know how to spell 'Stalin'.
Her next question was the clincher:
"First name"?
I ran screaming from the library, hoping I could find a trace of normality in my new found bipolar friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably sent off to a "Goolog".
posted by stewdog | 3:45 PM | Permalink
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9 comments
9 Comments:
I don't even know what to say to that. It actually makes me kind of sick to the stomach with that "we're going to hell in a handbasket" feeling. The thing is, I've had two many encounters like that to believe it's a significant aberration. I ran into a Senior in high school recently who had never heard of Auschwitz.
Auschwitz is irrelevant to the modern American teenager's world. Ebonics will help them get interested in education.
Those who do not learn history. . don't know s**t about history.
You wanna know how long it's been since I've entered a public library? Somewhere at the bottom of a box in some black storage space lies a book that is so overdue that I'm sure my name is on the ten most wanted list of the underground librarian spy network. The name of the book? "Better Boxing For Boys".
Here's one.
A few years ago while I was teaching a 6th grade Reading class I decided to have my students read The Miracle Worker as well as watch the movie. I wanted to have as much information on Helen Keller as possible so I decided to go to the book store (I won't name names here) to pick up a copy of Helen Keller's autobiography. I didn't know what it was called so I went to the information desk and said, "Hi. I'm looking for Helen Keller's autobiography." The nice lady behind the computer said politely, "Okay, and who's the author?"
That's a great one, Scotty. But who am I to talk? I just spelled "too many encounters" as "two many encounters" in the above comment.
Spelin is errelevant in this moderne age.
WD, good thing you didn't tell me about that stolen library book BEFORE I sent in that questionaire about your supposed good moral character.
I took back two lessons from yesterday. . The second is the homeless problem in libraries. They have simply taken over many of them and the cities have had to go along.
Stewdog, it is lawyers you can blame for crazies walking the streets. CIV has a crazy relative. It was hard for his family to get him help because lawyers would go through the hospital advising all the crazies that they had the right to sign themselves out. Yeesh. Thank goodness, in his middle age, he mostly stays on his meds and at his "home."
Oops. The dogs are lawyers, aren't they? Um, nevermind.
BTW, CIV always carries a library card. Call me cheap, but I only buy what I can't borrow or need to keep for reference.
Rarely run into the crazies here in Virginia, though I used to have to weave my way through them in DC.
CIV, it doesn't work to blame the lawyers, since lawyers are behind anything to do with law. It is because of liberal activist lawyers and the liberal activist judges to agree with their arguments. The public libraries should be a refuge from the darker side of society. . a place to go and read in a sanctuary. Now. . . it is the mean streets taken indoors.
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