Those Days

It's days like today that something inspires me, so I feel compelled to write about it. Today, it's the bra strap I found on the floor at work by the public computers.

Being a librarian sounds like the easiest, most laid-back job ever, and often is. But then there are those days.

I don't blog about work very much, because I'm more inspired to blog about life as a mom or an LEO wife, but today's the day. Don't get me wrong- I totally love my job! I enjoy helping people, working with the public, my preschool story time every week, summer reading programs, etc. It's awesome. But then every once in a while I'm confused about what my job even is. So let me write out a librarian's job description. And I'll briefly explain each role, to help paint the picture for you.

Book checker-outer/finder/looker-upper.
           * No, I don't know what book that was that you saw in here a few days (months) ago with the green on it and the yellow writing, that you thought you saw on that shelf with the blue sign. I have no idea what you're talking about. (Meanwhile, I wonder, 'when has there ever been a shelf with a blue sign?')

Fax machine operator.
           * Yes, I can fax those papers for you. You and your freshly manicured nails digging around your Michael Kors handbag, looking for your iPhone 6 so you can find the fax number..... to the food stamp office. Then complain because it cost a dollar per page. ('Get in your Mercedes and go home.')

Computer operator/teacher/and apparently super hacker, too.
           * Yes, I can let you get on a computer. No, I can't log into your email and print out your flight itinerary for you. Nor can I log on to your work website to help you find your pay stubs.
           Side Note: You wouldn't believe the people who yell at me because they can't log into their email. The problem? The email/password don't match or the password is incorrect. Hang on while I look in my big book of passwords that has ALL PASSWORDS EVER USED EVER. Sadly, we don't have that book in circulation.

Cashier.
            * If you owe money in fines or for copies you made, please pay me in cash you pull out of your wallet. When you pull that damp $5 bill straight from your mid-day August bosom, girl please. A bra is no place for bills... or nickels (YES, I SAID NICKELS). Girls, please.

Therapist.
            * I'm very grateful to (apparently) have this demeanor where complete strangers feel like they can tell me anything. I try my best to smile a lot, and offer encouragement when I feel people may need it. But I really don't need to know why you're printing out pictures of women off of your 'Tagged' account. That's your business, And don't tell me where you're meeting them later. I don't want that on my conscience. And no, I don't know where you should go for dinner.

Then there are some that don't fall under any category. The ones that leave you a tad perplexed.

Like when a man asked me, "How do you get upstairs? The stairs?" Yes, that's correct.

Or, "I'm looking for that book 'Tequila Mockingbird' by Maya Angelou." WHAT.

Or when a patron runs up to the counter from the computers and asks me to spell the word 'uncensored." (?!)

And when patrons ask for our WiFi password, and I have to spell 'l-i-b-r-a-r-y' for them because that first 'R' never seems to find its way in there.

Or when a patron decides a used feminine product would make a good bookmark. USED.

And then there are those days each week when Story Time rolls around, and I'm reminded why I enjoy my job so much. Those smiling faces of kiddos eager to read a book, learn Spanish words, sing songs, play with puzzles and make a craft with me.. the best.