Coffee Shop Librarianship

I am a Librarian. Apparently, that label applies, everywhere I go. Guess it's the same for all of us.

Yesterday, I was sitting in my local [CoffeeShop], enjoying a fine lovefest with a wonderfully seductive Guatemalan brew (is there any other?), when I overheard the following:

Waitress: What's new, dude?

Dude: I hate government websites. Ever try and use one?

Waitress: No ... why are they so awful?

Dude: I need to get a certain legal document, but I can't find it anywhere online. And really don't want to pay for some ripoff lawyer to find it for me. So much for easy access, huh? Bunch of pricks.

Something in that conversation made me spring into action. It was like I saw a beam of light in the sky, outlining the symbol of a question mark, which I suppose is the librarian's equivalent to the Bat Signal. Before I knew what was happening, I was on my feet and on my way to save an individual from the ever-dreaded Lack of Information.

G: Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Today's your lucky day; I might be able to help you out.

Dude: Huh? Who the fuck are you?

G: I ain't Alice, Smokie (he actually got the joke). What was it you needed, if you don't mind me asking?

Dude: Oh ... uh ... it was ... er ... I have a legal issue I'm dealing with, but the law was amended recently, and I need the old statute and summary of changes in order to make my case. Why, are you a lawyer or something?

G: Even better. I'm a librarian.

Dude: [blank stare]

G: Li-brar-i-an. I work downtown at [Library]. We have copies of every statute, and all the amendments, in our reference area. Won't cost you a dime ... well, other than the photocopier fee.

Dude: You guys have that stuff? I thought you were just books, you know, like romance novels and shit.

G: Most people do, dude. Most people do.

So, the dude thanked me and went on his merry way. It struck me, as I walked out of [CoffeeShop] to head into work, that librarianship doesn't really end when the refdesk shift is complete; our workplace duties become ingrained, and a part of our daily lives. This is frightening -- it might actually mean that I enjoy what I do for a living!

(Although, deep down, despite the occasional rant which may seem contrary, I actually do enjoy helping others learn -- including such idiots as FakeTits and The OWG. If I can somehow, in some way, aid in their development from Idiot to Less Of An Idiot, I figure I'll have done the planet a huge favor in the process.)

Later in the day, I asked the ref staff if anyone had come in for any legal documents, and they mentioned that some dude (yes, they called him "dude" also) had photocopied a number of statutes a couple hours earlier. Cool, another person who now knows the library is more than just books! One by one, we'll eventually convert them all.

(Geez, now I'm starting to sound like the government!)

So keep an eye out for that Bat Signal -- er, Lib Signal, that is -- you never know when you will see that giant question mark lit up in the sky, signalling your call to duty to inform a lost soul of the breadth of information available at the library.

Patrons in the New Year

Hmmm. Looks like our patrons have enacted some resolutions, also.

Mr. Pole is coming by more frequently. He's shaving more often, he's more sociable with staff, no longer smells bad, and even reads more than he sleeps -- at least, in the library, anyway. He even sets his pole (and the obligatory attached bags of clothes) down in a corner, asking staff to keep an eye on them, as opposed to hauling them throughout the building.

Either he's finally found himself a support worker, or he's just plain sick of living in the streets and is actively trying to better himself. Either way, it's nice to see him making an effort, as opposed to excuses.

FakeTits has taken it upon herself to actively flirt with me whenever she sees I'm on the desk. But that's a no-go zone -- G has respect issues with people whose insecurities dominate their lives to such a point they have to use foreign substances to sexualize themselves. She's a very nice girl, one who honestly doesn't need the silicone to attract a man. But. She chose to inject, so I choose to reject.

NapTime has also been more awake lately, and more talkative. Although I can't for the life of me understand what he says half the time - he's got a serious stutter happening. But he's a nice old man, and one of the few who we leave be when we catch him snoozing. We let him sleep because unlike the homeless, the sight of a sleeping elderly man does not offend the average patron.

As for the Overly White Gangsta, I haven't seen much of him lately. I miss him.

Although I do hear that he comes in looking at children's books every now and then. The staff in that department thought he was getting the books for his kid, but I know better. He let it slip once that he has actually managed to not impregnate any teenagers yet (which is truly amazing if you know the type), meaning the books are most likely for him. I'm guessing the pictures help him learn the words better.

And my coffee has been fine lately. I have discovered that if I hide it within an empty decaf container, it will remain completely untouched, for weeks at a time. Score!!!

Hmm

My coffee has been tampered with, once more. The sanctity of the tin, which holds specialty java from a remote part of the world, has been violated.

That coffee, that delicious, expensive, can't-be-bought-in-the-supermarket coffee is for me, and whomever I choose to share it with.

For me, and whomever I choose to share it with.

That means it is to be consumed by myself, and (upon my own personal approval) BigBoss, DistantRelative, TheCuteOne, and whomever else I happen to need a favor from at the given moment.

But it's not for you. It's not for just any librarian. It's not for lowly staff members lacking any professional designation, and it is most certainly not for the volunteers, who are once again the most likely culprit of this most brazen and gutless act of thievery.

Did you pay for it? Did they? We're not talking a large $7 tin of run-of-the-mill coffee-flavored powder from the local supermarket, or worse, the bulk store.

We're talking whole beans, necessitating a high-quality grinder, imported directly from across the globe. I spend the money because I love my coffee, I want to taste the coffee, rather than hot water with a hint of coffee flavoring.

If you didn't buy it, don't f**cking touch it. It should go without saying. The sign I taped to the tin, which reads "F**cking touch this and f**cking die" should be clear enough, or so you'd think. Apparently, it is not.

These fools thought they'd get away with it. Thought I wouldn't notice a slight drop in the level of coffee beans. But they forgot to clean the grinder. Idiots.

It looks as though I'm going to have to install a lock on the cabinet door. It's a shame to have to go to these lengths to keep my coffee - MY COFFEE - safe from those who are not worthy to bask in its flavorful glory. There is a reason why certain people are volunteers, and staff members, as opposed to being driven to greater achievement.

The excellence of my coffee is reserved for those who have pursued such excellence in their own lives, not for the miserable, frumpy, frizzy-haired, shabbily-dressed staff who settled on the $10 per hour job and a permanent bad mood because they were too lazy to put in the work necessary for a better standing in life. If they settled for that, they can settle for puddle water, also ... or as they call it, Instant.

In the meantime, my coffee, my beautiful, imported, reserved-for-kings, whole bean liquid java orgasm, will be kept safely behind lock and key, only to see the light of day in the presence of those whose standing in life dictates they have earned the privilege of its heavenly aroma.

Random

The photocopier/printer/fax/scanner unit has apparently been fixed. My department is taking bets on how long it takes for the next copier meltdown. My money is on Tuesday at the latest.

There's some meeting I'm supposed to attend today. Somehow, my uber-procedural supervisor managed to schedule it overtop of refdesk time. Lovely. So either the desk goes shorthanded because I'm in the meeting, or the meeting goes shorthanded because I'm at the desk. I think the smart money is on waiting to see how the meeting progresses before making any rash decisions.

The problem with a breakfast beer is it makes one crave a brunch beer shortly thereafter (e.g. mid-morning in the office while blogging).

Just now, I discovered that my friendly neighborhood [Coffeeshop] has such excellent coffee, it's even good cold. Helps with the brunch beer cravings, big-time.

The OWG with the chunk of metal thrust through his tongue was back today. The guy is like Sylvester The Cat when he speaks. Every time I see the guy I wonder two things simultaneously: (a) would the union protect me if I did our staff a favor by ripping it out of there ... isn't the spitting a health & safety violation? and (b) I wonder what the lead composition is in what looks to be no more than a ten-dollar pierce job?