Are your books overdue?!

When I was a kid, we had this librarian who scared the shit out of little kids. We'd walk in with our classes, and there was this old woman with round glasses and badly-dyed yellow hair, sticking out of her head like curly fries. She'd lean over her desk and literally bark at us, "Are your books overdue?" in this horrible menacing voice. Like nails on a chalkboard. She'd have fourth graders shaking in their little boots, and they hadn't even checked out a book. (We also had this wicked mean cafeteria lady. Everyone was like, "Wow, I hope Mrs. Bird has recess duty, because if it's the other lady, we're all gonna sit on the bench for timeouts and be screamed at and possible killed." You think I'm kidding, but this woman was equivalent with the Wicked Witch of the West.)

Then there was the book-checkout's sidekick, the real librarian. She came to my elementary school when I was in third grade or so, and there was this huge deal made about the fact that we had a new librarian who had a foreign accent. Clearly this was way before any political correctness came into play. She was from Norway, I think, and suddenly it was like we were such a hip place because we had this fat old lady from Norway who could teach us about books in a foreign accent. This lady was also deaf. (Which, as one teacher pointed out, "Also contributes to her accent, children." NIiiiiiice.) She pretty much made it her business to educate us not only on the Dewey Decimal system, but also on the lives of deaf people. Whenever you had a question, she'd yell back at you, "Excuuuuse me, you have to speak in my riiiiiiight ear, into hearinnnnng aid." It was ridiculous.

Not that I have anything against deaf people (I don't), but the combination of this dynamic duo pretty much gave me a poor impression of librarians. It didn't get much better in high school. We had this one old bag librarian who used to yell at everyone to shut up. She was also a total moron. Once, she told me my book was way overdue, but I told her I had returned it. I spent my entire lunch period - like 45 minutes - going back and forth with her on this. I showed her the book, in the library. She would not be reasoned with. It said it was overdue on the computer, it was overdue. Logic didn't matter to this idiot. Finally, with like 5 minutes left in the period, she gave up and said okay to me. So I went to leave to eat my lunch in the cafeteria, and she said, "No no, you can't leave in the last five minutes." So I took out my sandwich and started to eat it, and she said, "No no, you can't eat in the library." Total twit. (In a shocking turn of events, this woman also had short hair that was like gray curly fries. Is it taught in all librarian schools that you have to have huge moles on your chin and curly-que short hair and horrible knit sweater cardigans in order to be thought of as a real librarian? I would put money on this that it is.)

The other librarian in the library had an English accent (similar to the Norwegian accent of my elementary school librarian). This woman once had made a disparaging remark about my father, not realizing that my dad was, like, right behind her when she said it. It turned out that the remark she had made - basically telling people he wasn't committed to the organization because he had just left (when he had just gone out to the car for a second to call home and say he was going to be way late because the meeting was going to run long) - was total bullshit and she felt like a moron. It was the textbook example of ownership. Whenever I walked by, she wouldn't say shit to me. Scaredy English cat. Another twit though.

Pretty much, I haven't had good experiences with librarians.

Then, a few Saturdays ago, I had the ultimate librarian experience. I got thrown out of the library. (By the way, when you tell people you got thrown out of the library, people think something's probably wrong with you.)

Here's what happened. I went in, prepared. I had the call numbers written down. I got information on where to find my two books. Then I could only find one. The other one wasn't where it said it would be, even though the computer said that it was in the library. So, I made a pretty outrageous move by going to this librarian behind the desk.

"Excuse me," I said to the guy sitting behind a computer at a desk in the middle of the room. (The guy, by the way, looked like the last time he saw daylight was approximately 1978). "Could you help me find a book?"

Now, look, I think that's a pretty normal question to ask a librarian. I would think that's like, Librarians 101 standard information or something. Apparently not.

The guy didn't even look up from his screen. So I asked again.

"Did you look it up already?" was his response.

"Yes," I told him. "It just wasn't where the call number said it would be."

"Did you look it up wrong?"

"I might have. Maybe you could double-check."

"No, I can't do that."

"Don't you work here?" I realize this probably didn't sound too nice, but at this point, it was an honest question. For all I knew, some homeless guy had taken over the librarian's seat.

But that wasn't the case. "Yes," the guy said, "I do work here. I'm the librarian."

"Oh. Well, isn't it your job then, like, as the librarian, to help me find a book? I mean, isn't that the original job description?" I chuckled here - yes, chuckled - kinda get on his good side. Turned out, that was as bad a move as I could have made.

"My job isn't to look up other people's book numbers."

This pretty much shocked me. I mean, what is his job, to bring about world peace? I get that in the workplace, a lot of times jobs aren't exactly how they're advertised and people do a lot of different things than you think they really do. But a librarian? Come on. It doesn't get much more specific than that. Gross looking sweater, nasty hair plastered down, general lack of social skills and pleasant demeanor, ability to help people find books. Check, check, check, and not so fast, apparently.

"I thought the Dewey Decimal System was your thing, though," I continued, not getting that my sense of humor was about as funny as a carwreck to this dry wall. "And wasn't there this huge celebration when the Dewey Decimal system went to the computer system, so you guys don't have to get up and go through those huge card catalogs? I mean, isn't the whole thing now that you get to just click click click and find a book?"

"I don't think you're treating the Dewey Decimal system with much respect," he said. Challenged.

"Well, I don't think you're being very helpful."

"I think you need to leave."

"Excuse me?"

And then, out of nowhere, this guy shows up. A security guy. He says to me, "Ma'am, if the librarian has asked you to leave, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for now."

I have to say, I was pretty shocked. I've never been thrown out of anywhere. And I was being tossed out of a library? A public library? You've got to be kidding me. And for what?

"I feel threatened," the librarian said, like a stupid coward behind his computer. I love how his desk is located in the middle of a bunch of bums, and yet, me asking him to locate a book on Disney customer service gets him to wet his pants. What a baby. Only a librarian. See, this is what's wrong with society. Behind me, like four scary looking guys are trying to find books on mailbox bombmaking, and they're worried about me telling off a librarian.

Anyway, after that, it was all pretty much downhill fast. I let a comment slip about how he had confirmed the stereotype of librarians being unable to deal effectively with people and have real social skills, and at that point, I was pretty much done. Plus, I told him he could go back to playing Solitaire, and that got me a swift, "Okay, let's go," from the scary gentleman on my right.

Then, the librarian had the audacity to say to me, "Please be sure to put back the book where you got it."

Riiiight. I slapped the one book I had found right on his desk. When he gave me a look, I said, "I'm just treating the Dewey Decimal system with respect. I'm sure there's a whole system for where it goes exactly, and I wouldn't want to put it out of order." Ha, asshole. Try to do anything about THAT one.

Even the security guy was like, "Well, that's very nice of you." He was a good guy. As he walked (okay, escorted) me out, he said that the librarian has a history of being a total freak and that I should just come back in a few minutes and not worry about it. He was like, "You seem like a nice girl, normal, who just got in the wrong place at the wrong time." Hmm. That sounds like something I want to hear from a security officer. In a library. As he's telling me this, I hear this woman, in front of a group of girls about age 8, say, "Look, girls, that's what happens if you misbehave in the library." She points at me and then says to the girls, "Keep your hands to yourself!"

I think that was the lowest point. Some Girl Scout troop thinking that I was a child molester or something. "Keep my hands to myself." Good God. I had to restrain myself from yelling out, "Hey! I used to be one of you when I was a kid! Watch out!" just for fun, but I thought better of it.

So anyway, I left the library. I went back a few hours later and got out the one book I had found. I didn't see my nemesis, but just knowing he's there makes me never want to go back.

And I know that it's unfair to be stereotypical, but I've had too many experiences with grouchy, nasty librarians to think anything good of any librarian.

It's like this. I once had an English teacher who was a slimy moron. He made gross comments about the female leads in movies, he'd make obnoxious sexual references, and he looked like a squirrel on crack. He taught eighth grade English. A few years back, I was talking to someone, and they told me that he had moved on from teaching. "Good," I said. "The guy was a crackpot."

"Yeah," the person said. "Now he's the librarian for the school."

And you know what? It didn't surprise me in the least.

Update-ish

I'm in Connecticut right now, watching a syndicated episode of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." This is sad on many accounts: one, because I'm watching a game show that reached its peak about two years ago; two, because I'm enjoying it; three, because all the ads during the commercials are for old-people or people on disability who have no jobs and need to call for the services of sketchy lawyers; and four, because I answered "yes" outloud when I saw the show title (not out of excitement, but as though I was answering the question about whether I wanted to be a millionaire).

What's scarier (and scarier is past more pathetic) is that recently, I've been watching TV game shows thinking about how much money I could make if I applied and went on them. I have to stop myself from seriously considering trying to earn my next year's income from being a game show contestant. The Price is Right was even eliminated because I don't want to win prizes; I just want cash. I thought about Wheel of Fortune, because that's my (not-so) secret talent, but then this week, I settled on the "Deal...or No Deal" show. "Deal or No Deal" is great because you are guaranteed to win at least $1.00, but you're really guaranteed to walk away with at least about $10,000 if you're not greedy or stupid. If my goal was to get $10,000, I could go on that show and win. It's when I have these thoughts that I have to consciously tell myself to stop, for two main reasons: first, because taxes will take about half of my winnings (don't even get me started on taxes), and also, because I cannot have any respect for myself if I pursue game show contestant applications while my friends work on their resumes. It's just not open for discussion.

Anyway, I haven't updated in a while. So ther's a lot to catch up on. A list:

- Last week, I had a major case of the Grumps. For the record, I had written an entry but I never posted it because I forgot. I wrote it on Monday, after watching Oprah, where I saw that Jimmy Choo's founder, a billionaire, was being called an "inspiration" for getting through her drug addiction and founding this billion dollar company. That was the final straw for me on a day where I had woken up after a night with no water or heat, got dirt on my newly-washed khakis, realized my light in my room was broken, slammed my finger in a drawer, broke a favorite necklace, saw a silverfish, and realized that even if the apartment we had wanted had been available, I'd have to pay for it. (I know the last part might seem obvious, but when you see the actual apartment and the actual numbers, it's still scary.) So seeing all of this, and then seeing that some loser is an inspiration because she battled a cocaine addiction wasn't what I wanted to see. And it's not that I think I'm an inspiration for dealing with no water, heat, a silverfish, and an apartment downpayment, but it's that I don't think it's fair that I go around trying to deal with all of the above, plus find a job, and someone else gets to have a cocaine addiction and a billion dollars. No matter how many times I think about it, I don't think it's fair. I'm writing up resumes,she's going through rehab. I'll hopefully get a job to just pay my bills, and she'll get a billion dollar shoe empire. And she'll be called an inspiration on Oprah. Oprah's a moron.

- I was watching "The Upside of Anger" the other night. I think it's a pretty good movie, but that's not the point. In one scene, the daughter yells, "Fuck you" at her mother, and her mother looks like she's going to either kill her daughter or kill herself. It got me thinking about swearing. Obviously, saying "fuck you" to a parent won't get you very far, but in general, I think that swearing has become sort of accepted, and nobody's as affected as they once were by swears. So yesterday, I asked my sister and brother about this. They are the ultimate authority on this stuff for me, because we have a long history of laughing at people who think they're being really offensive or offended when we think they're being ridiculous. Some hall-of-fame moments include Simon on 7th Heaven freaking out because his mother yelled at his father/her husband, "Talk to your son!" thus apparently renouncing Simon as her own and Ramona Quimby crying to her mother that her sister Beezus called her "stupid." These two always stuck us as hilarious, because Simon was a moron and in our house, if you were called stupid, you pretty much laughed/ignored the person and went on with your day. You didn't stop for a second to consider the implications of being called "stupid" or of your mother telling your father to deal with his daughter or son. But this "fuck you" business was another story. I mean, you couldn't imagine Stephanie Tanner saying "fuck you." And even at her worst, Mary Camden wasn't saying "fuck you" to her parents. So this was a bigger thing.

So my sister, brother and I discussed it for a few minutes and agreed that saying "fuck you" to a person really wasn't guaranteed to get the intended reaction of outrage and anger. We thought for a few minutes about possible replacements, until my brother (were there any doubts that this was a challenge he could handle?) said, " 'Burn in hell' usually gets people."
Nicely done.

- Is there a better weekday afternoon movie than "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead"?

- I just realized that my afternoon has consisted of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" followed by "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead." Either this is a horribly pathetic example of why all functional people get jobs, or I've discovered why it takes people so long to call that Trantolo & Trantolo/Salamone & Morelli lawyers to get back on their feet.

- A few months ago, in early November, I got my right index finger slammed in a door. The whole thing was black and blue for about four months. It looked like my finger was growing mold, but it wasn't. Finally, on Wednesday, the rest of the black and blue disappeared,and my finger is back to normal. If you look really closely, you can see a few dots of an outline, where it used to be. But pretty much, it was completely better. That is, until Thursday night, when I got a huge paper cut right on the edge of my nail and it ripped through and now I have a mess on my right index finger. It looked normal for less than twenty-four hours! I was so angry. Plus, it's wicked painful. The whole combination is just a nightmare.

Asan interesting sidenote, karma kicked me in the ass this week. My boss got a papercut and I was laughing at his adamance about getting a bandaid and some stuff to clean the cut. Then, I saw the cut and realized the guy knew what he was talking about - it was pretty monstrous. But I didn't really say I was sorry at all. Well, later that night, I got a paper cut of my own. And then a day later, this index finger shenanigan. I'm never making fun of any time he gets injured, ever again.

I say that now, of course, but if you ask my friends, I have a horrible history of laughing at people who get hurt. A few years ago, I slipped and fell on some ice, and my knee got pretty banged up, so I walked with a slight (SLIGHT!) limp for a couple of days. I got absoultely no sympathy, but what really killed me, is that more than one person had this exact reaction: "I'm not going to feel bad for you, because when I hurt my leg, you called me Gimp!" Whoops. But this time, I'm really going to try.

- One of the best scenes in the entire "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead" movie: when Christina Applegate comes home three hours late and Kenny reams her out over not calling first, ruining his dinner he planned. He talks about how he's underappreciated, basically doing the whole "wife at home" rant. She apologizes, but in the end, Kenny just lashes out and yells, "Eat shit!" in her face. It's quite an ending.