Rules, Rules, Rules

One of the less-than-glamorous parts of my job includes enforcing library rules. As someone who dislikes conflict (that’s putting it mildly) and was raised to “go along to get along,” this can be a bit of a struggle. Okay, who am I kidding? It’s the worst part of my job. Even worse than unclogging the potty in the men’s room. That’s a story for another time.

But as a representative of the Library, it’s my responsibility to make the building safe for patrons and staff, and foster an equally welcoming environment for all comers. And if that means I occasionally need to put on the “authority figure” persona, then so be it. I can always go collapse in the office afterward.

Most folks genuinely don’t realize they’re doing something that goes against our policies. Sitting on the table instead of a chair? Not respecting the six-foot conversation rule? Settling in for a nice, cozy nap? Bringing a skunk into the library? Setting up a curling iron and doing your hair in the Nonfiction section?

(Yes, all of those have actually happened.)

Most of these are minor topics that a quick chat resolves about 95% of the time. They’re happy, I’m happy, and we get on with our lives. And we were all happy that the skunk didn’t become unhappy!

I try to be as low key as I can when I have to put on my big girl panties and speak to someone. If I’m reasonable, they tend to be reasonable. Or at least polite. I also try to give them options.

We had a group of teens from the local high school bring their lunches over to eat at the library. Pizza and chocolate milk (teenage stomachs are weird). They were perfectly polite, got a table in the back, and proceeded to chow down. Except…we have a no-food policy. After a brief check that they weren’t going to share their pizza with me, I told them it was cool that they wanted to hang out with us, and for future reference we had a no-food policy. I said I’d do another walk through in five minutes and expected not to see any food. When I swung back in seven minutes there wasn’t a crumb or a drop of milk in sight.

Sometimes, though, I need to just suck it up and be a hardass. Verbally abusing my coworkers? Defacing library property? Smacking around our computers or self-check stations? Harassing other patrons? Good-bye, get out, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Times like this make me very grateful that we have a lovely relationship with our local police, and their station is about two minutes away.

I’m never entirely sure if such people woke up in a bad mood, are dealing with a lot and we just happened to get the spillover, are permanently irritable, or came into the library specifically to shake things up. It doesn’t matter the reason. Sometimes basic human decency goes right out the window.

We temporarily banned a patron for verbal abuse to staff and other patrons. When his probation period was up, we asked the police to be on hand as witnesses when we reinstated his privileges and reviewed our behavior policies. Apparently this so infuriated the man that he started talking back to the police, took a swing at an officer, and ended up leaving in handcuffs. We were advised to make the ban permanent after that episode.

Since the mask law went into play we’ve had our share of complaints, as I’m sure every other public facility has. “It’s hard to breathe.” “My child doesn’t want to wear a mask.” “You’re all a bunch of sheeple. Wake up--it’s a hoax!!”

Informing the complainers that this is not some arbitrary whim on the part of our Library Board of Trustees usually has no effect. When the conversation reaches this point, we tell them they can put on a mask and stay…or remain maskless and leave. Usually they leave, and they make sure everyone in the library hears them leaving. This is often accompanied by repeated comments that we are being “ridiculous,” “fascists,” and--my personal favorite-- “I’m never coming back to this library again!”

My point is, I don’t expect everyone to magically know all the rules right off the bat. I’m happy to gently explain, instruct, and inform visitors. I’ll work with you, if you’ll work with me. When you deliberately flaunt them, or get uppity with me, well, then I’ll turn that right back on you. With all the crap going on right now in the world, why add to it?

Although…pizza never hurts.

Bucket Bathing

I had to wash my hair…and other important areas…in a bucket this morning. This was a new experience for me, and because it was new, it was actually rather fun. My roommate (aka my ex-boyfriend, for reasons too complicated to go into here) heated a pot of water on the stove, and I cut it with cold water from a jug until it was a more reasonable temperature. The worst moment came when I realized there were parts of my head that wouldn’t fit in the bucket to rinse off. Thank goodness there was a small bowl within reach for scooping purposes. Luckily, I only poured water into my ears once. 

So why did I take a bucket bath? No, I didn’t forget to pay the water bill. I have a fully-functional water heater. My pipes didn’t burst. My tap water is perfectly clean and potable. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I took a bucket bath because the roommate decided--after having the necessary supplies since August--this was the perfect time to repipe the entire basement.

Which translates into at least two days of the water being turned off. In the middle of my work week. In January. Did I mention my basement is unheated?

To be fair, he gave me plenty of warning before he turned everything off. And we have jugs, a couple of buckets, and a bathtub full of water for immediate usage. Which, incidentally, is very intriguing for the cats. They’ve sampled every bucket and I live in equal parts softhearted dread and sadistic hope that one of them will forget the bathtub is uncovered and fall in. Fubar had a close call yesterday. I could almost hear him swearing as he teetered riiiiiight at the edge after an ill-considered leap. 

Anyway, all water-related things are currently a lot more involved than usual. Cooking is a minor hassle. Cleaning up afterward, much more so. Brushing one’s teeth isn’t so bad. Cleaning the rest of one’s self requires a lot more forethought and really good aim. Or at least plenty of towels nearby. And don’t even get me started on going potty.

As I took my bucket bath this morning, a line from the book King Peggy by Eleanor Herman and Peggielene Bartels kept running through my mind. Peggy, an American secretary, is called back to Africa and crowned king (yes, “king”) of a village in Ghana. As she is preparing for her coronation, she’s taking a bucket bath and says, “All Africans know how to get very clean with a bucket of water.” I didn’t do half so well. I can’t wait to take a shower so I can feel my standard of “clean” again.

This experience made me realize how much I take such a basic thing as running water for granted. Turn a tap and, presto, as much clean water as I need. Hot or cold, on command. So many people around the world don’t have that. What I am fortunate enough to term a “temporary inconvenience” (and it damn well better be temporary) is a way of life for thousands. They start every day by heating up water so they can bathe. Or boiling and letting it cool enough to drink. Washing dishes. Doing laundry. Cooking. For some, the day starts even earlier with a trip to the communal water supply with a couple of empty containers.

Faced with that reality, I can definitely submit to bucket living for a few days. All the same, I probably should have laid down a second towel this morning. Oh, well. The floor needed a good rinse anyway.

The Quote Collector

I am an obsessive collector of quotes. This is, perhaps, unavoidable for anyone who devours the printed word like I do. When one averages a book every few days, finding and treasuring snippets of inspired prose becomes second nature. I don’t even know I’m doing it. I finish a book and when I look back I’ve dog-eared half a dozen pages.

I know, I know, but I can never find my bookmarks when I need them. Please don’t tell my library colleagues.

The first quote I actively remember treasuring enough to write down was from Shakespeare. Hey, you can’t do much better than the bard, right? The faculty advisor for our high school newspaper had inspirational quotes plastered on all four walls of the classroom, including “Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.” (Julius Caesar, act 2 scene 2). My only complaint with that quote is that it took me years to spell “valiant” correctly.

Things really took off when I started keeping a reading log. I’m not certain why I decided to include a favorite quote with each entry, but I’m so very glad I did. Every so often I go back and re-read some of my favorites. I realize that makes me sound even more overwhelmingly bookish than I already am, but think of it this way. Do you enjoy looking back at pictures from your vacation? For me, this is the same thing. A single shot of a particularly enjoyable moment during a terrific journey.

When I was going through breast cancer, the printed word became even more of a lifeline. I took both courage and comfort in quotes that reminded me to stay strong, to fight, and to never back down. Here are some of my favorites:

• Scars mean you were stronger than whatever tried to kill you.

• Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the decision to continue on in spite of the fear.

• Do not think of the scale of it, just attend to each task lying before you; keep your eyes on that. Focus only on what you know, on what you can do, on what you can command.

• Life is like a tapestry. And we’re looking at the back. We’re looking at the mess of tangled threads—knots and threads going every which way. It’s seemingly meaningless. Walk around that same tangled mess and on the other side is a breathtaking piece of art. We only get to look at the back of the tapestry most of the time. I know that one day I’ll get to look at the front and it’ll all make sense.

Books and quotes--words--have seen me through some of the worst experiences of my life. They distract me, comfort me, and sometimes act as a catalyst for my emotions. With a book, I never feel alone.

"The Homeless"

What do you think of when you hear the word “homeless?” Mental illness? Substance abuse? People too lazy to hold down a job? Body odor? Fear?

I think of crows.

What do you call birds that stick together?

Vel-crows.

Someone's whole world,
in a shopping cart

I heard this joke from one of my favorite patrons who I’ll call Tim. Tim has an endless supply of jokes that are so stupid they’re actually funny, and I always look forward to hearing his latest. But a lot of people don’t share my view. People give Tim dirty looks. They don’t return his smile, or even make eye contact. They move away from him when he sits down. 

Tim has three outfits, and depending on the weather he may be wearing all three at once. He’s scruffy looking and sometimes he doesn’t smell very good.  He always carries a large duffel bag and backpack. Because in addition to being a terrible joke teller and a genuinely nice guy, he’s also without a fixed permanent residence. And people see him not as “Tim” but as “just another homeless guy.”

Think about that for a minute.

How demeaning is it to be seen as merely part of a group instead of as an individual? To have unique aspects of what makes you, you…ignored? How would you feel, knowing you’re being judged not by that spark of you-ness, but by a stereotype? I wouldn’t be “Janet following in her librarian grandmother’s footsteps” I’d be just another librarian with glasses who shushes rowdy teenagers. 

I routinely field complaints about Tim (and his friends) from other patrons. The most frequent one being “Can’t you just ban them all? This is my library and I don’t want them here.” And my reply is always the same. 

“Yes, this is your library. And I’m glad you’re here. But you know what? This is their library too. And I’m glad they’re here.” 

Because here’s the thing. Public libraries are public places. We legally cannot--and will not--kick rule-abiding people out. And Tim and his friends rarely break library rules. In fact, they’re by and large the most well-behaved, kindest, and friendliest patrons I’ve interacted with. Yes, of course there are times when I’ve needed to ask Tim or one of his cohorts to leave because their current actions are going against library policy. But the rules apply equally to everyone. I’ve had to ask sweet little old ladies and businessmen to leave, too. 

I helped a woman obtain a computer pass last week. As I was talking her through how to log on to our system, she mentioned how grateful she was that the library was there to help her. I said that’s what I was here for. Because of course to me, this is just another part of my job. And she stopped me. “No, you don’t understand. This is my first day of homelessness. I didn’t know where to go. I came to the library because I knew you wouldn’t judge me."

Next time you see someone who looks like they may be experiencing homelessness, I’d like you to stop and think. See them as a person, not “the homeless.”

Remember, we're all human.  And we’re all in this together. And that person you’re looking at? She or he is human, too. The terrifying reality is that there is no guarantee that you won’t be on the other side someday. Homelessness can happen for many reasons. Especially in these times.  Job loss, medical bills, funding cuts for social programs. Any one of us can find ourselves without a roof over our heads. 

 

So see the faces and not the stereotype.  Acknowledge the individual, not the group.