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.

Dis/Order

- Crumbs reside on the table.

- Dishes are piling in the sink.

- The coffee maker hasn't been cleaned since perhaps 1994.

- Dust bunnies are breeding rampantly in the corners, not unlike real bunnies.

- The food in the fridge no longer qualifies as food.


No, this is not a description of my house. This is worse; this is ...

... The Staff Kitchen.

You know, you'd think that librarians, of all people, whose entire profession rests on the merits of precision and order, would be able to keep a kitchen relatively clean.

This must be some sort of a private taboo, the one area of their lives where disorder and chaos can reign, where they can forgo their focus on order and just let the mess pile up. Where they can let someone else take care of establishing order, for once.

Problem is, when everyone starts thinking "someone else", there is suddenly no one left to do it. Hence the sorry state of the Staff Kitchen.

Librarians and disorder? Quite the irony, isn't it?

It's a good thing I don't eat in there. Otherwise I'd feel guilty, and perhaps inclined to do my part. Fact is, rarely do I ever step foot in that room, unless The Hot Girl happens to be there; which, of course, goes without saying. Otherwise, I make an active point to stay the hell away from that germfest.**

(** The kitchen, not the Hot Girl. Or so I hope.)

More Committee BS

"Are we a committee? Or is this just one person running the show?"

That's a paraphrase of a question raised at my last committee meeting. The question, which I was expecting, was raised immediately after I detailed to the committee, in as P.C. of a manner possible, that a key decision had been made for us by the higher-than-thous, and we would have to sit still and take it.

It was a good question.

How does one answer it, without throwing one side, or the other, under the figurative bus?

Quick answer: You can't. Heave away and hope it's a heavy bus.

The background:

[Committee] has worked steadfastly on planning multiple options for [Project]. All options have been completed, save for some minor tweaking, and are to be soon compared against each other, in the hopes that the best elements of all will be merged into what will become the course of action. Cool.

As the head of the committee, I keep all of these options stored in a location where only members of the committee have access.

[LittleBoss], who also happens to be my supervisor (and thus has access to the files), saw an opportunity to impress [BigBoss]. When [BigBoss] asked how the project was coming along, [LittleBoss] decided a game of show-and-tell was in order, despite the fact that none of these options were official, or complete, or available for anyone outside the committee to view!

So what happened? Take a guess.

[BigBoss] hated them all. [BigBoss] decided to merge the best aspects of all of the options, into one course of action. Sound familiar?

Naturally I freaked when I got wind of this. Remember, few have as much disdain for committee work as I. If these types of decisions are to be made for us, then why have the committee at all? What's the point of it? I have better things to do with my time.

With that in mind, I tore a strip off [LittleBoss], who has kept some distance since. Apparently they could hear me a floor above. Too bad [BigBoss] took the day off.

(As I've noted previously, you can't get fired in public service. Might as well take advantage of that to call out the boss every now and then.)

Back to the future:

In the committee meeting I had a decision to make. What do I tell them? Do I tell them we've been castrated, or do I pretend nothing happened, and bias the voting in favor of [BigBoss]?

I finally agreed with [LittleBoss] that it would be best if the committee did not lose faith in the administrative powers-that-be, and that a little white lie about the decision -- e.g. have our vote but strongly urge the decision that has already been made for us, without letting them know what took place -- would be the best approach to keep everyone happy.

Immediately following that discussion, I walked into my committee meeting and told them what had happened, in full detail.

Sorry, [LittleBoss], but I lost too much respect for your management style today to want to aid you sticking your nose any further up [BigBoss'] ass. You do that well enough on your own, as it is.

Of course, the natural result, from the committee, was The Question.

And I was honest. I have no answer for it. I don't know. All I could tell them was, you've all heard the stories by now of me screaming at [LittleBoss] for 15 minutes straight. I have yet to be disciplined for such an egregious act of insubordination, and you can bet that none is forthcoming.

Because I knew what [LittleBoss] was doing; stepping on the committee's purpose and autonomy in order to impress [BigBoss]. So [LittleBoss] brokered a deal with me to cover her motives. Too bad no deal was made about how long I'd keep my mouth shut.

Like I said, I won't get in any trouble for being honest. But I can guaran-damn-tee you, [LittleBoss] is going to think twice about ever fu**ing with anything I'm in charge of, ever again. This kid don't roll over that easy.

And people wonder why I hate committee work ...

... oy.

Things I'd Like To See In 2008

It's a new year, and as I gaze into the crystal ball of my dreams, I see:

[Cue the music]
In the year 2008 ... in the year 2008 ...

1.
Unusable corporate ILS systems will be replaced with user-friendly OpenSource ILS software. Library efficiency, and available budget, will skyrocket in the process.

2.
Libraries will finally realize the importance of hiring actual web developers, as opposed to high school interns, to design aesthetically-pleasing and easy-to-navigate websites. Laughter at the state of so-called information professionals' own inabilities to organize online information will dissipate substantially.

3.
In a related development, the newly-hired web developers will make library catalogues, specifically catalogue records, aesthetically-pleasing and easy-to-read.

4.
Libraries will reserve specified groups of computers for gaming, thus eliminating the utter crime of serious researchers with something to contribute to society being deprived of computers after 3pm by lazy, whiny preteens, for whom Second Life = Social Life.

5.
A rigorous intolerance for patron misbehaviour will be adopted, with penalties for policy-breaking ranging from suspension to expulsion to physical beatings. Noise levels will be drastically reduced as sales of inanimate carbon rods dramatically rise.

6.
All existing shelving will be replaced by movable stacks, allowing allocating collection space to finally coincide with actual collection size.

7.
E-books will die a quick and deservedly-painful death, as library managers finally catch on that small text on computer screens is impossible to read for more than a couple minutes. Companies which build e-book readers will subsequently collapse, for the same reason.

8.
New studies will reveal audiobooks to be as deadly as cellphones in causing automobile accidents.

9.
Social networking sites will link further into library catalogues than ever before, causing new security headaches for IT professionals everywhere, and loan policy headaches for administrative staff. By the end of the year, more books will be lent out via InterLoan than community borrowing, leaving librarians everywhere to wonder if they will ever see their books again.

10.
Parking for public library staff, working in libraries using city-owned parking lots, will be at long last free of charge. Indirect employees of the city will finally enjoy the same benefits as direct employees of the city, putting an end to terrible injustice that has gone on for far too long.

In the year 2008 ... in the year 2008 ...

[End Music. Exeunt omnes. Wake up.]

Dammit! It was all a dream.

Oh well, there's always 2009 ... and 10 ... and forever more.

Mister Pole

Mr. Pole has been seen in the library much more than usual, lately.

Mr. Pole is one of our many homeless patrons. He's very tall, very scruffy, and comes fully equipped with a foul odor which fills a ten-foot radius around his person. He carries a large knapsack of (presumably) clothes with him, along with another bag (also clothes?) which is tied directly to the end of - you guessed it - a pole.

But it's not just any pole. This thing is solid oak, and stands a good 6 feet tall. He threatened to beat me over the head with it when I woke him up in the lounge last week. I wasn't sure which would kill me first - the pole, or the smell?

Luckily, his alternative personality kicked in, and he became very apologetic and left the library. Either that or he took a look at my spindly librarian arms and crapped his pants. Can't be sure which it was, since he smells so bad to begin with.

But you know, carrying all those books around does make a librarian strong. Not to mention pissed-off. You don't want to go round-and-round with a dude -- a DUDE -- who's been burdened with armfuls of New Age self-help guides and romance novels all morning. You DO NOT want to set that time bomb a-ticking.

I saw Mr. Pole again this morning. He was talking to the computer, and then went into the washroom where I presume he carried on a fascinating conversation with the sink. But hey, at least the talking drowned out his usual sounds ... namely, the echoing reverb of him taking a dump.

Who decides to put the refdesk next to the public restrooms, honestly?

But that's another story for another day. Got another pile of Harlequin's to haul back into the stacks. How can people read that crap, anyway? No wonder our patrons are so f**cked up.

The Frustration

Pleasing people.

That's the frustration. But not in the way you would think it would be.

The natural inclination would be to assume that I'm saying it's difficult to please people.

Nope.

That part is easy. Too easy. And therein lies the problem.

Background: I hold a specialty role at [Library]. My job description suggests that I am the resident specialist, or expert, in this particular area within the library. My job is almost solely built around this particular area of interest.

I do what I do well, namely because I've been doing it my entire professional life, and for many years prior.

Since no one else at [Library] is an expert in this particular area, their expectations are quite low, compared to the Standard of Expectation within other organizations more familiar with what I do than the staff of [Library].

Thing is, because I've been doing this pretty much exclusively for the last decade or so, I've become somewhat of a perfectionist. The longer you do something, the better you want to be at it, and the more you expect of yourself.

But that's the problem.

[Supervisor] is very happy what I am producing. [Big Boss] likes it even more. I think it's crap.

This is my life, people. I'm producing what I think is a piece of shit, and everyone else seems to love it because they don't know any better, having not worked with this stuff to the extent that I have.

I suppose I should embrace their ignorance, and be happy that they are satisfied, but my professional pride keeps getting in the way. I can satisfy their expectations, but not my own ... believe me, it's much more frustrating than it sounds.

Your inclination right now is to probably ask me why I'm complaining about what, on the surface, appears to be a good thing.

All I can say to that is, borrow my shoes and see for yourself. As much as I like the notion of getting more for less (in this case, compliments and high standing for what I know to be a low-quality output), I still want to be able to be proud of the output, rather than the views of those who have no frame of reference regarding the output.

Does this make me a purist, anal, or an egomaniac? Or am I simply dedicated to my craft?

At the moment, I'm really not sure which it is.

How I Came To Be + A Bonus Rant

I get asked this all the time:

"G, why did you become a librarian?"

First off, no one becomes anything. You choose to do things. There's no sudden transformation from "human being" to "librarian", although I understand how people might think there is.

Anyway, here's the story:

(a) I was 19 and had no idea what I wanted to do, so I picked an easy media arts major at [University] because it looked like fun.

(b) Finished near the top, but was getting concerned about the rumours that people with media arts degrees don't get jobs.

(c) Worked in the tech sector for a while, then quit to go back to school, after realizing that people with media arts degrees indeed do not get jobs. At least, not of the "pays the loans and has a future" variety.

(d) Picked Library and Information Sciences because it was the only professional degree for which I had an appropriate background. That and I personally knew over half the selection committee at [University]. Never underestimate the importance of networking, at any juncture, at any time. You just never know when it's going to pay off.

(e) Finished near the top, then realized that people with MLIS degrees also do not get jobs because no one wants to pay the going rate for a professional degree.

(f) Did some short-term library contracts, but found that Tech work with a MLIS degree is both bogus and sad.

(g) Got out of the field altogether and into the corporate world, which actually made use of my background in a job that I could have done out of high school. The job was amazing, the company was great, my future growth looked good, but the immediate contract renewal (specifically the $$$) did not. Made a tough call and left for greener pastures. Damned student loans.

(h) Got hired by [Library], in a rare capacity requiring, and paying the going rate for, the MLIS degree, for a job I could have done out of high school.

(i) I have yet to use anything learned in the MLIS program within any librarian capacity, including former library contracts. In other words, the piece of paper opened the door, but has been collecting dust since.

Do I love what I do? Some days, yeah, especially when I get to treat stupid people the way they should be treated: as stupid people. Those days are fun.

But most days, I only like what I do (very big difference) ... namely because there's simply far too much petty BS that goes on around libraries. Way too clique-y for my tastes. And no one is under the gun. No one gets fired. Which means nobody is productive, because there is no substantial - or potential - threat of action against them for sitting on their collective asses.

[I FEEL A BONUS RANT COMING ON ...]

I miss the corporate world, so much, if for no other reason than people are fired on a regular basis for not performing at the rate they are being paid to perform. The figurative gun is always pressed against the back of your skull, and if you don't live up to your hype, you're gone. Productivity is buoyed by fear; it always has been and it always will be.

But in public libraries there is zero productivity, zero efficiency, and zero initiative to develop new services and improve existing standards. Nobody cares, because no one is going to do anything to them if they sit on their hands.

Seriously, I could do lines of coke off my desk, right in front of the Big Boss, and you know what would happen? I'd be put in a six-week rehab program and my job would be waiting for me when I got back. That's complete and utter BS, but that's the way it is when the library does not want to have to explain to its taxpayer patrons why their money is paying the salary (severance) of someone who no longer works there.

In the corporate world, this isn't an issue because shareholders are interested in the productivity of the company, and a firing usually indicates that productivity is about to skyrocket due to (a) the replacement hire and (b) the fear factor among the rest of the employees. Productivity = profit in the private sector; in the public sector it equals progressive service development. In other words, tangible versus intangible changes. Take a guess which of the two the public gives a rip about: the one that pays out, or the one that makes their lives more efficient for the fifteen minutes they're using the service?

If you picked the intangible (service development), smack yourself upside the head for me, will you?

Until libraries start running more as a business, and measuring profit in terms of service efficiency, usage increases, and feedback on new service developments (not to mention firing people), staff lethargy will continue its alarming rate of growth and no progression will occur within the field. And do you know the result of nothing? Irrelevance. In other words, libraries will die, and the field eventually will disappear, all because a bunch of managers didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by actually doing their jobs and ensuring the highest levels of productivity.

So here I am, liking this field but not certainly not loving it (at least, not all of it), for all those reasons mentioned above. The freedom to be an asshole without reprimand is really the only thing keeping me around - even I admit there are some benefits to the inability to get fired - that, and the knowledge that I'd have a hard time matching the pay anywhere else.

Yes, a part of it does come down to money; we all have bills to pay and I'm no exception to that. However, I am unashamed to admit that I am grossly overpaid for what I do at [Library] ... as are most professional-category librarians out there. But at least some of us care about the future of the profession and keep actively butting our heads against the Great Wall of Indifference. What else are we going to do? Nothing? Hey, the ship may be sinking, but this kid's not going down without a fight.

Because at the end of the day, you've got to either shit or get off the pot. And sitting on your hands all day counting the members of your clique is better suited to filling in the time in the Unemployment line, than it is to a an organization with an active interest in its own long-term growth and viability.

If only the powers-that-be in the public sector understood that, and were willing do something about it to ensure the future relevance of our services. It's a damn shame.

Question

Why do so many librarians love cats?

Is it because most librarians are female? You know, the whole women-and-cats thing?

No, that can't be; most of the men in libraries seem to love cats, too.

Then again, most men who choose to work in libraries are rather effeminate to begin with. Comes with the territory, I suppose. Sort of like working in fashion.

As a decidedly non-effeminate dog owner, I swear, I must be in the wrong profession.

How To Pick Up A Librarian

Ever hear of the Librarian Fetish?

The tightly buttoned-up attire, the perma-scowl, the hair in the bun. And the cateyes. There's just something about those specs.

Nobody can be so repressed all the time, can they? Hence the genesis of the fetish: anybody that repressed must be equally wild behind the scenes, or so the fantasy goes.

Well then, for all you people out there who suffer the Librarian Fetish and dream of what happens when the bun comes down ...

... this is the post for you.

How To Pick Up A Librarian

Don't try to pick them up in the library. Big no-no. Most are so focussed on the heavy workload of checkins/checkouts, reorganizing books in return carts, and reading Hollywood gossip online, that they more than likely won't recognize what it is you are trying to do.

Do get yourself over to an off-site librarian hangout. Skip the local bars, you won't find any librarians there. The surplus of exposed cleavage which has made the club scene famous tends to intimidate the buttoned-up librarian types. Instead, head to a Librarian Bar ... otherwise known as a bookstore with a Starbucks inside.

Don't try the usual pickup lines. If you've ever been in a library, you will know that librarians generally do not care about their outward appearance and make minimal effort to look pretty. Ergo, any lines formulated around the concept of their physical appearance will go relatively unnoticed.

Do compliment their tastes, be it the books they have in hand, or the equisite detail on the rims of their cateye spectacles. But be warned: librarians are behind the times and still see themselves as the gatekeepers of the world's information access, Internet be damned. By extension, they love knowledgable people. If you don't know your books, your MARC, or your Hollywood gossip, better luck next time, pal.

Don't be "all that". Librarians don't care how much money you make, largely because we don't make enough to really care about it ourselves. That and a large percentage of librarians live inside the Great Bubble of Altruism, believing in what they do above all else. In their minds, your six-figure Executive VP CEO-track position is nothing compared to their for-the-betterment-of-society responsibilities.

Do speak highly of as many non-profit organizations as you can, especially those centred around literacy and children's education. If you drop the props at the right time, and in the right amount, you will see that bun begin to slip.

Don't mention how much you love the convenience of the Internet, or the thought of a paperless (and therefore bookless) society. In fact, if your job is based around making information more accessible to the average person (rendering librarians redundant in the process), you may as well head home now and start looking for a new fetish.

Do mention your strong hatred of Everything Google, even if this is a flat-out lie. Hey, we all lie when we're trying to pick up anyway, so what's the difference? For some odd reason, librarians get really excited whenever something bad is said about Google. It's the librarian's equivalent to Spanish Fly. Seriously.

Don't mention the overdues you have at your library, or the time you were kicked out for screaming at staff over the $2 per day DVD fines. This should go without saying.

Do speak in code, wherever possible. In other words, learn a little LC or Dewey, same as you would learn a little French if you were going to Quebec with the intention of picking up. If you can manage to successfully work a little 821.008 in there, you're golden, baby.

A final tip:
If you look like Johnny Depp, even just a little bit, you won't have to do a thing; the librarians will come to you. This is a truism across the board. Don't ask me why - it just is.

So if you find yourself feeling that Bunhead itch, hit up your nearest bookstore/coffeeshop mashup, stake out the Reference, Mystery, and Romance aisles, and get ready to rip that juke joint in two.

Use these tips properly, and you will see for yourself the freaky-deeky hiding beneath the bun.

The Rule Of Order

Any idea why Robert's Rules Of Order were created, other than to drive those of us attending the meeting utterly insane?

And on a related note, why do people insist on following them as if they are The Penultimate Commandments handed down to The Great Administropoles by Moses himself?

Last I checked, God's last name wasn't Roberts ... the dude's God, what the hell does he need a last name for?

"How're you doing? I'm Gabriel, your new Messenger angel."

"Hey, what's up guy. My name's Jehovah. Jehovah Roberts."

Just doesn't quite work, does it?

Although I've got to admit, it would be pretty funky if ancient scriptures were to be recovered stating that God's actual name was something as innocuous as Mervin Watley. Then again, it would take away a fair bit of the mystique surrounding the religion, and let's face it, mystique and fear are really the only drawing power religion has anymore.

I mean, who's afraid of a dude named Merv, anyway? ***

In the meantime, I'm stuck listening to the proud Chair of [SomeRandomCommittee] prattle on about the proper process in which to conduct a meeting where very huge important decisions - with [Library's] ultimate success or peril at stake - will be made regarding whether procedures for roving reference should be revisited.

Are you there, Merv? It's me, G. Forget the lifeline; throw these people a life.

(*** with apologies - and sympathies - to any of the Merv Watley's out there.)