Ding-Dongs

Marina: Sorry

I had a rather demanding patron

Me: Did you ding-dong for help? Is that why [coworker] was out there?

Marina: yes

Me: Oh my, whatever did she want?

Marina: I needed him to help the other woman while I scrolled through page after page of abuse memoirs.

Only like 3 were of any interest to her and then we didn't have them.

Me: Figures.

Sheesh.

Marina: yeah

I think she's coming back when she’s done on the express computers.

Me: Of course. Why would she bug only one staff member?!

Marina: What I don't get is why I'm going through this when she doesn't even have a card to check the books out on

This is when I realized the patron Marina was talking about was the one Circ had told me about, who came in with no money, no wallet, no ID, and had a story about how she just left her boyfriend with only the clothes she was wearing. She wanted a library card, but without any proof of who she was, saying that her boyfriend was possessive of her ID and wouldn’t let her have it. Odd story. But the woman was odder still.

Me: Ugh.

Yesterday I had a lady get really pissed because she wanted Chicago museum passes, and I said we didn't have any for the Shedd Aquarium or other museums she wanted, that the Chicago Public Libraries had some kind of program, but it could be exclusive to their patrons, and she threw a tantrum.

Insisted Brookfield Zoo was in Chicago and I was lying about the Chicago museums.

And WHEN would they be available and WHO could she talk to about getting them.

Because having Brookfield Zoo passes meant they all should be in there.

Marina: wow

I hate our patrons somedays

Me: Uh huh

Marina: it drives me CRAZY when people stalk me in the stacks while I'm helping someone else to ask me questions

Me: Oh yes

That creeps me out totally

Marina: I have to refrain from spinning around and screaming "back the f%&* off" at people

Me: Patron paparazzi.

Marina: I would recommend going home sick

You don't want to be out here tonight

Me: Hmm, I'm eating cheese.

That could parlay into digestive problems.

Marina: close down the whole desk and go to a bar with [coworker]

Me: Oh, you are sounding wiser and wiser with every sentence.

Marina: :)

Me: [Coworker] will love you for it too

AND it's payday

So that means I can afford a drink and not a water at a bar.

but sadly, only one drink.

Marina: aww :(

Me: baby needs an oil change

Marina: but you have heirloom tomatoes instead

is that expensive?

Me: I do have tomatoes, and oil changes are not expensive, but drinks are. The ones I like, anyway.

Marina: me too :(

Me: Fruit, frozen, gigantic glasses, umbrellas... pricey.

Marina: damn my girlie taste buds

Me: MINE TOO!

Damn them!

Marina: :)

Me: A friend of mine started calling me Malibu Barbie. Fucker.

Marina: stab him

with an umbrella :)

Me: I shall. With my high heel.

Marina: ooh even better

Me: So, shall we compose our stabbing list?

Patrons who stalk and paparazzi us.

Marina: patrons who can't use Google Maps.

Me: Grrrr.

Marina: Patrons who don't know how to turn off mute.

Me: Being made fun of for being girlie girls.

Not enough cheese in your pasta.

Not enough money for all the drinks your job makes you need.

Marina: Patrons who don't realize that minimize just minimizes their screen.

Calories.

Me: OOOR, patrons who you tell to minimize their screen and instead they hit the restore size button and it just makes the window smaller.

Marina: Oh god! I HATE that!

Me: NUMLOCKS!

Marina: I had to explain links to that woman at least 3 or 4 times today

Me: She is so dense.

Marina: yeah :(

Me: HOH, and yesterday, here's a new one. Woman wanted us to show her how to put her picture up on YouTube (which she called YouToo) so she could be rich and famous too. What? It's for videos? You have to have a video camera? You have to upload? Oh, I can't do that. I'll have to find another way to get rich and famous.

Marina: OMG

I think the shorter list might be the non-stabbing list

Me: Sigh...

True.

This could go on all night.

Marina: it really could

And it did. The woman whose boyfriend is possessive of her ID was very nearly as irritatingly needy as Needy Betty. She went outside to smoke and stood right at the front door, so a non-smoking patron yelled at her that he couldn’t even walk to his car without having to breathe in her smoke, and she was so upset by his statement that she came in and told everyone how hurtful he was. I thought about telling her about the Illinois law that requires people to be at least a certain distance from the front door of businesses if they’re smoking, but she stunk so badly that I didn’t want to talk to her for any longer.

Somehow, she had enough money to be carrying around a big cup of gas station coffee and she purchased headphones from Circ, so she did have cash on her, despite her claims. And she struck another of my pet peeves by carrying around this coffee cup that was actually three coffee cups stacked inside one another. Look, folks, I understand that two cups together help insulate, but I still see it as a waste, and the “green” girl inside me wants to smack you silly. Bring your own damn travel mug and gas stations will let you “refill” it for a fraction of the cost. Anyway, this woman had THREE cups sleeved together, and that irritated me even more! On top of that, she kept leaving her garbage wherever she went. I found that stupid three-tiered coffee cup sitting on the counter in the washroom, right by the garbage can. The patron (who was as odd, or odder) who used her computer after her stood by it, mouth agape, horrified, saying that there was garbage all over the computer and he didn’t want to use it. It was the packaging from this woman’s headphones, that’s all. I heard him whisper to his girlfriend, “There could be DRUGS in there or something. Did you SEE that lady? Ick.” Sometimes I feel like it might be best to let the patrons kill each other and solve many of my problems for me.

Later on, when she couldn’t use one of the computers because they were all taken, she asked to use my phone and proceeded to start calling people to come and pick her up, but no one could. That’s when the neediness got REALLY irritating.

Lady: No one can come and get me.

Me: Oh really?

Lady: And I have to walk all the way by the Walgreens. Can you tell me how far that is? Because I think it’s really far.

I looked it up. It was 2.5 miles.

Lady: *gasp* That’s a LONG way. And it’s COLD outside! Can you tell me what the temperature is?

Me: It’s 67º.

Lady: That’s way too cold to walk almost three miles.

Seriously? To me, that’s just the right temperature to go on a walk, but then again, I haven’t been raising my body temperature all afternoon by whining and drinking a well-insulated coffee either.

Me: Is there anyone else you can call?

Lady: Nooooooo, I don’t have my address book, and I don’t know anyone’s phone number.

Me: You can look it up online, or look it up in the phone book.

Lady: Noooo, I don’t think I could find anyone.

Me: Okay, well, you can call a cab.

Lady: I don’t have any money.

I should mention that all of these sentences she uttered were in the most annoying whine I think I’ve ever heard. The last word of ever sentence dragged out painfully until I cut her off and began speaking over it. I was waiting for her to employ some vibrato for added punch.

Me: Hmmm, I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to suggest.

Lady: It’s so COLD outside. I don’t think I can walk that far.

Me: Well, it’s 6:00. The sun is going down and it’s only going to get colder.

Lady: *gasp* Noooooooo. Can I use the computer again?

Then she plopped her butt down in front of the computer for another hour, blasting music into her headphones, watching videos online. At 7 she simply slipped out, no more whining, no words to anyone.

I thought the weirdness had left with her when another young woman walked up to me and asked why her money wasn’t coming out of the change machine.

I said, “Um, we don’t have a change machine. I think you put your money in the copier.”

Copier? What copier? She was so clueless, she didn’t realize the big machine she leaned over to put the money in the “change machine” was in fact the copier that the machine was accepting money for. I suggested she either hit the print button and get a piece of white paper and 90¢ change, or she talk to Circ about possibly getting a refund. She nodded and kept walking past me.

Incredulously, I shouted to her, “Ma’am, your dollar is in the machine still, right? You’re going to want to go over and take care of that now, otherwise someone might think that’s $1 in free copies for them, and then there’s nothing we’re going to be able to do to get your money back.”

She looked at me blankly, said, “Reeeaaly?” and I nodded and told her to go get her money.

Marina was right. We should’ve closed down the reference desk and gone for drinks. We should’ve continued making our list of people to stab. Which would’ve gotten too big and then we would’ve switched and made lists of people not to stab.

That would’ve been a short list.

It might have only had our own names on it.

Out of Office

For the next two weeks I will be on vacation at Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, possibly also Badlands and any other National Parks I can hit en route to or from.

Have a good two weeks and I will be back in June. Wheeeeeee!

Replies

Microsoft Outlook should be sued for putting the Reply to All button next to the Reply button, in an easy to find, accessible place. Assholes set us up! If you click on Reply to All, a loud buzzer should sound and a neon orange pop-up should appear on your screen asking if you are a totally reckless lunatic who wants to make enemies, or if you really think the All recipients are interested in your reply. If you answer yes to either of these questions, another pop-up should appear and ask you if you’re on any medications, suffering from delusions of grandeur, or just stupid. Answers of “no” should then require a special series of math questions (like Gmail labs instituted) that you have to answer correctly to prove you are smart enough to decide and cogent enough to include pertinent information for your All group, and only then can you actually Reply to All. If Microsoft really cared about their customers, this is what Outlook would do.

Additionally, people who misuse the Reply to All button should be flogged and whipped in public for their indiscretion. By their boss. And then docked a day’s pay. And this should be a global law. Screw off, Amnesty International! There are some instances of torture that are worthy!

Yesterday, a very sad email went out to thousands and thousands of employees who are part of our library system, self-defined in the following paragraph:

...is a consortium of over 650 academic, public, school, and special libraries in [4 counties of Illinois]. It is one of nine multi-type Illinois library systems funded by yearly grants from the Illinois General Assembly and the office of Jesse White, the Secretary of State and State Librarian.

The email explained how little funding the State has doled out, how desperate things are in the system, and how they are all but shutting down at the end of June, running barely a skeleton crew for minimal services, which are also in jeopardy.

We all saw this letter and sighed heavily. They do so many things for the libraries in my neck of the woods that losing them would be devastating. Not only do they run the van service for our Interlibrary Loan, but our health insurance is administered through them, so we’re terrified what kind of implications this will have on our functionality as a reciprocating library, and how it’s going to impact our health care. This doesn’t even touch on many of the other services it offers, including the entertaining continuing education seminars/classes we often attend, where we laugh and shudder at the weirdos in our field.

So, none of us is sure where the mailing list came from. Perhaps anyone who has ever taken a course through the system and registered their email address was a recipient. Regardless, once the email went out, many others assumed they were special, had received this email from the director of the library system personally, and then forwarded it on as well. Many of us received the initial letter, somberly read it, and then continued receiving it from others through forwards for the remainder of the evening.

Sigh...

Okay, that’s bad enough, but today started the replies to all (meaning all the staff members in all the libraries in four counties, I should remind you) from various recipients that went on and on about how sad they were about the losses.

Lovely. Thanks. We’re all sad. Glad you felt the need to share it with every-fucking-one, but whatever. That’s part of why we laugh at you in the classes, you nitwits. Reply to sender only, please!

After a few hours of monotonous, repetitive letters of sorrow being emailed out to every-fucking-one on the list by Repliers to All, the hostile remove-me-from-your-listers started hitting Reply to All as well. So now, I’m in the middle of a shitstorm of idiots who were pissed to be receiving the heartfelt letters of sorrow, and are now Replying to All to be removed from the list because of the abusers of the Reply to All.

Seriously?! You do NOT need to hit Reply to All when you are asking to be removed from future Reply to All notifications.
GAH!

Now, I’m not going to reveal my font snobbery and complain that the director of the consortium sent out this email in Comic Sans, because that would be petty. I am also not going to comment on the long-winded explanations about why some of these people are baffled as to how they got on this list because I quit reading them. What I’m amazed with is the fact that 27 have arrived in my Inbox thus far, a few in my spam, some surely pre-filtered before they even reach me, and then there was someone who used the opportunity to forward their own professional agenda to this list. WTF, people? If you’re the director of a huge consortium and you’re sending out a massive email to thousands and thousands of people, filter the list so that it’s not reusable by every moron who receives it! Maybe everyone who knows how to do this was already laid off. I don’t know. But goddammit, this is getting ridiculous. And it wouldn’t be ridiculous if people weren’t booger-eating morons! Or as Arms likes to say, “window-lickers on the short bus”.

So, while I’m at work and I’m dealing with the neanderthals who can’t enter their computer reservation number because they don’t know about the Num Lock key, or the folks who can’t figure out how to scan their barcode using a scanner (holding anything but the barcode up to the scanner), I’m going to say they’re less infuriating today than the people who work in my field.

And as if to top it all off with an even bigger irritation, someone just Replied to All to stop sending out Replies to All about wanting to be removed from the list because this is a serious situation we’re talking about here. As if this serious situation warranted thousands of respondents to clutter my inbox with identical emails of woe. Shut the fuck up, people!

Aaaaaaand, now people are Replying to All in support of the whiner who wants people to stop whining in their Replies to All.

Sigh... these are not my people.

The bottom line here is, it’s not going to change. Why does our library system deserve money the state doesn’t have more so than the schools? More so than any other organization they owe? My local school system is owed $1.5 million. There are school systems doing mass layoffs in anticipation of not receiving any state funding next year and trying to stay afloat. Fundraising has become essential for organizations like ours. We have to learn to adapt and survive any way we can, and writing our politicians, buying T-shirts, and singing Kumbaya around a bonfire (funded by donations and not the state) is not going to save anything. Despite what the idiots who are Replying to All think, this is not exclusive to Illinois. Get over yourself, folks. And quit using my Inbox as your soapbox! Frankly, if the Powers That Be came to me and asked if $2 million should be paid to our public schools or our library consortium, I’m going to be hard-pressed not to say the schools. While I think this is all quite sad, mainly the loss of jobs in this terrible market, I really don’t understand why so many people would rather whine about it en masse than pick ourselves back up and figure out a way to subsidize.

If we could sue Microsoft for putting together Outlook without all of the pitfalls attached to the Reply to All button as there should have been, we could solve many of these problems.

Wisdom In the Stacks

Marina: I can’t find a shallow little divided dish for under my monitor to put my rubber bands and paper clips in. You know? They’re all these big things with pen holders attached, and I don’t want that.

Me: Hmmm, maybe a little baby food divider dish?

Marina: I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe.

Me: Where did you look?

Marina: Target. I went to MULTIPLE Targets.

Me: Try Office Max. Or, of course, Amazon.

Marina: Yeah, I SHOULD try Amazon. Amazon has everything!

Me: You know, yesterday I had a woman come in and she insisted there was this book, by this author, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. I suggested the title was wrong, the author was wrong, etc., and she swore up and down that it was all right. I checked Amazon and there was no such creature, so I said to her, “Ma’am, Amazon doesn’t have it listed so it’s pretty much not out there.”

Marina: I know! What did we do before Amazon?

Me: We wasted all our life looking for stuff all over the place and overpaying!

Marina: That’s right! If it’s not on Amazon, you’re just out of luck, lady.

Me: Exactly! AA! MUH! ZON! C’mon, people. There is nothing more definitive. Have you not heard of Amazon? Have you not used Amazon? Sit down. I will show you the way to enlightenment.

Marina: I have a friend who is waiting for the day when he can order all his groceries from Amazon and they’ll just show up automatically every month and charge his credit card.

Me: That is probably not too far off.

Marina: You can already do it with some things.

Me: That’s right. Because it’s Amazon. AA! MUH! ZON! Get with it.

* * *

Last night I had the following conversation with my coworker.

Me: Oh, all that drilling in Circ is them putting up the AED device on the wall. I forgot to mention.

Coworker: The what?

Me: AED. You know? With the paddles? CLEAR! [holding hands like the paddles] Ka-chunk! A defibrillator.

Coworker: Hahaha, ka-chunk! Sounds scary.

Me: Oh, it is!

Coworker: Hey, did you see the pictures of the people who won the Ugly Shirt Contest?

Me: Yeah.

Coworker: They weren’t that ugly!

Last week the Sunshine Committee sponsored an Ugly Shirt Contest, and being the Gloomy Committee, I wore a plain, nondescript coral shirt and didn’t participate. There weren’t many participants, and when the winners were announced with a photo accompanyment, we all scratched out heads because the ugly shirts weren’t so ugly after all. Well, one one heinous, but that’s because it was her husband’s shirt.

Me: I think a lack of participants kinda guaranteed that whatever these people wore, they were going to win.

Coworker: Well, that makes more sense. What did they win?

Me: I... I don’t remember. Maybe they won a free Jeans Day pass. Or a restaurant gift card. Something like that.

Coworker: So, speaking of which, this policy on wearing jeans on Friday, is that for real?

Me: Yeah, I hate it. I worked a Friday recently and was going out after, so I didn’t want to have to change, and I paid the $1 to be able to wear jeans on Friday. Sigh...

Coworker: OHMYGOD, I would never pay a buck to be able to wear jeans to work! Is anyone else doing this?

Me: Yeah, that’s what got me. I paid my $1 and [clerk] took my cash, and she too was wearing jeans, and had paid her dollar. Marina did the same. I was really hoping I’d be the only one stupid enough to do it so after a month or two they’d scrap the $1 charge because no one was paying it. But, dammit, people are paying it!

Coworker: What would they do if I wore jeans and didn’t pay my $1?

Me: Well, that’s part of the dress code. You’d be considered insubordinate then.

Coworker: Are they going to write me up?

Me: Maybe they’ll send you home and make you change! WOOHOO!

Coworker: Maybe they’ll hit me with the paddles -- KA-CHUNK -- knock me out, and I’ll wake up a while later and my jeans will be gone. Instead I’ll have on someone else’s ugly pants.

Me: Maybe you’ll win for Ugly Pants Day then!

Coworker: Maybe I’ll just pay my dollar.

Dear Patrons

Thank you for redeeming yourselves.

Sometimes I have no idea why you do what you do, where you hide your values, and why you bother with a library at all. Sometimes I wish you'd spend less time complaining about things that can't be changed (fines, rules, etc.) and put a little effort into using all the free services we offer so that you see where your money goes. Sometimes I wish you all just wouldn't come in at all.

We have awesome programs, some of which cost a lot of money, and no matter how much we hype it and how much support the public shows, you often just don't come to the program itself. We put up heart-felt, elaborate displays to help you realize just how many useful and entertaining items we have just for you, and you ignore them all. We give ourselves near aneurysms trying to concoct ways to appease you, to serve you, to provide you with material, information and tools you need, and you destroy or scoff at them. It gets discouraging. It wears on the soul. I frequently am asked by coworkers if this idea or that idea will fly around here and I inevitably answer, "I have no idea what these people want." This isn't always true, of course. Sometimes I, like everyone else here, hit the nail on the head, but we have no clue as to why often. It's a crap shoot. We try so hard to bring you the The Goods, and frequently we are left feeling like you think it's The Shit.

My recent displays included genealogy, foods to improve your health, crafts, DIY home improvements, job searching online, and Darwin/evolution. You checked out nearly nothing on any of them, leaving me feeling a lot like nothing I do is worthwhile to you. It's depressing.

But, as I said in my opening, you have been redeemed.

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, dear patrons. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for raiding and emptying my Memorial Day display. I have no idea if it was one person or a smattering of people, but walking in today and finding my display nearly empty of books makes me feel like you are decent folks worthy of my efforts. Good job checking out those books! I hope they bring you the emotions you expect and then some. I hope you are as proud of yourselves as I am of you. And mostly, I'm thankful that we share one value in common, and that is a reverence for those who have served.

Now I can go on working here, giving you my best, because if nothing else, I know we see eye-to-eye on one issue and that will be enough to carry me for a bit. So, thanks for that.

Much Love,
Happy Villain

Twizzler Update

Under the strictest, most scientific of conditions, Ann and I conducted experiments at Applebee's on Friday night and have the following to report on the Twizzler Straw issue:

• Long Island iced teas are marvelous sipped through a Twizzler.

• Frozen strawberry daiquiris are impossible to sip through a Twizzler, as it is too narrow and the end with the daiquiri plugs instantly, causing the center of the Twizzler to collapse and the sucker's head to implode. Tried repeatedly, this failed every time. Additionally, the frozen drink rendered the Twizzler inedible as it was far too hard to chew, despite animated faces and slightly-inebriated gusto.

Thankfully, I have a brilliant brother who has suggested the best possible solution to the Twizzler Straw problem: Red Vines.

Red Vines are an alternate brand to Twizzlers, and though their consistency is slightly different and they have a mellower, less licorice-y taste, they are much larger and have a wider hole in the center.

A large package of Red Vines was purchased by this scientist and three Mike's Hard Berry wine coolers are chilling at the moment. If Red Vines serve well with Mike's magical drinks of happiness, I will dare to give the daiquiri another shot.

Anyone else conducting experiments of this type are encouraged to report their findings herein.

Carry on with your straw experimentation.

Oddities

Tuesday, Marina had a problem patron.

First he insisted he did not have time to obtain a library card, but then insisted that he needed more time than the 20 minutes allotted to folks without cards at the Express computers. Already she had a rash from him, and then he sat at a computer asking her inane questions and talking loudly into his cell phone. He was driving her nuts and I suggested she tell him to take his call outside, but she said the person was helping him with his computer issue, and better that person than her because she was sick of him. Two hours passed and he was still sitting there, still talking loudly into his cell phone, and still struggling with whatever he was working on. I asked Marina why she didn’t just kick him off the computer and she said he was filling out an application online and she just wanted him to finish and go. Turns out, he was filling out an application to the University of Phoenix, purveyor of online degrees.

It made us feel SOOOOOO much better knowing that this obnoxious jerk couldn’t even fill out an application online, so he was surely not going to get a degree that way. It’s little moments of other people’s fails that sometimes give us a moment of win.

* * *

Yesterday, I had a splitting headache from a week of sleep deprivation, and when I opened the first aid kit to grab some ibuprofen, a cold pack clobbered me on the head as it fell out. Irony tastes so much better when it happens to other people.

* * *

Also, I received an email Monday night from the director inviting me to join a three-person Green Team (I would be the third person), knowing how leery I am of committees but that going green is a personal passion of mine. We emailed back and forth about my concerns about committees, he assured me it would not be like that, and I said I’d speak with my supervisor about the time that would be required for it, and if he would grant me permission. Before I got into work yesterday to discuss it with him, the director had sent out an Outlook invite for a meeting with me and my supervisor to discuss whether I’d have time for future meetings. A meeting to talk about whether we have time for more meetings. A meeting to discuss meetings. A meeting meeting. Lovely. Fortunately, logic (my supervisor) prevailed and the meeting meeting was canceled when he walked into the director’s office and said, yeah, it’s okay, and then it was over. No need for a meeting meeting. Seriously, you’d think we worked in a gigantic corporation and never communicated with one another or passed each other 10 times a day. It’s laughable. A meeting meeting?

* * *

Today, when I arrived, I walked casually over to the computer where we punch in, sunglasses still on, hands full of stuff, and as I leaned down to input my name, I saw a 2-inch cockroach on the keyboard. I gasped and felt my heart stop momentarily, then restart at a pace that was too fast for speed metal. Someone chuckled. It was a plastic cockroach. I looked around and asked who’d done it. No one was talking. I punched in and walked off, eyes rolling, knowing that other staff members (namely Briana) would likely die if it happened to them, and I stomped angrily to my office. Once inside the confines and safety of the office, I asked who among them knew about the cockroach and its master, but there were no takers. Two of my officemates were also “gotten” by the fake bug trick and equally irritated.

I left mid-afternoon to go to the gym and run an errand, and when I returned the bug was gone. Good. Good riddance.

I overheard someone telling the director she removed said fake cockroach from the sign-in computer because Briana had a strong reaction.

You must understand that the grossest cockroach event at our library happened to Bri when she opened up a DVD case and three came crawling out of the case. She screamed like a banshee and ran, but by the time anyone brave enough to take care of the cockroaches arrived, they were long gone. At the Circ desk. Where we worked. For hours. In constant danger of them crawling up our legs. We were uneasy for weeks after, and Briana never opened a DVD case the same way again.

And today Briana spotted a spider in her car on her drive in, was unable to smoosh the spider and it scurried off somewhere not to be found. A good case of the heebie-jeebies in your own car while driving is bad enough, but when she got out and felt safer, particularly in her workplace that should be mostly heebie-jeebie-free (save for a few creepy patrons... and coworkers), she found the plastic cockroach on the keyboard and screamed.

Evidently, she screamed bloody murder! People came running! RUNNING! It was blood-curdling!

And as instincts go, when she stopped screaming, she then dropped the F-bomb.

Oh, if I could’ve been there, I might have died laughing! GOOD FOR HER!

Bri doesn’t use the F-word very often, but when she does, it’s more obscene than when normal people use it. This must have been, historically speaking, the best Bri reaction to have been privvy to, and I missed it. Not that I condone idiotic fake bug placement, but the thrill of hearing her get so angry that she used the F-word would’ve been awesome.

Someone on staff grabbed the bug and threw it away, deciding wisely that enough was enough and we didn’t need to put our coworkers through this for some ridiculous laugh. Briana nearly died AND she dropped the F-bomb! Clearly the prank had gone way too far.

I heard of the event from others, and then from Briana herself, and still giggling a bit I returned to the office and shared with my supervisor that the bug was gone, thanks to Bri’s strong reaction and the beautiful little F-bomb she dropped.

Perhaps the only truly intelligent person in the entire library, he said, “Why didn’t someone get rid of it sooner? Why didn’t the first person get startled, take the fake bug, and throw it out? Why leave it there to scare everyone else? That’s what I don’t understand Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

I nodded. He was right. The voice of reason, the one who saved me from a meeting meeting just yesterday, pointed out something I hadn’t considered and that was WHY did we all leave the stupid bug there after it scared the crap out of each of us?

So, while it was cruel and poor Briana didn’t deserve to lose 10 years off her life, the F-bomb was deserved and I hope everyone was horrified to have heard it, particularly since it was uttered by Bri, but we also learn a little about our human nature, to leave irritating things alone because we don’t want to be the one to party-poop, even though the party is shitty to begin with.

Just odd.

Makes Mouths Happy

Via IM today

Leelu: Water is better when you drink it through a Twizzler.

Me: But Twizzlers are not better when they've been submerged in water.
Me: They get slimy on the outsides.

Leelu: That's why you drink a little, eat a little, and repeat until the straw is pointless.

Me: I see.
Me: Very cold drinks tend to melt the licorice slower.
Me: Ice, for example, seems to prolong the life of the Twizzler.

Leelu: And I'm drinking heavily iced water.
Leelu: It actually made the Twizzler tougher to eat.

Me: Then you are maximizing your Twizzler/water experience.

Leelu: I am.

Me: Yes, that's true too, but then you can refill the water and enjoy longer.
Me: You know what's good?! Jell-O through a straw. And now that you mention this, I'm wondering if Jell-O through a Twizzler would be awesome.

Leelu: Twizzler openings are so small, though. I don't know if you'd be able to do it.

Me: Don't they make big ones?
Me: Size queen, you know.

Leelu: Do they?
Leelu: I'm not a Twizzler fan, so I'm uncertain.
Leelu: (I do know. And I love you for it.)

Me: I dunno.
Me: You do, and you do?
Me: Oh, size queeniness.

Leelu: Yus.

Me: Well, it seems we need to do some Twizzler experimentation.
Me: I could pose the question on FB.
Me: See if we have experienced friends.
Me: Or the blog.

Leelu: (lol)

Me: (more readers)
Me: :)
Me: We need to know the extents and limitations of using Twizzlers as straws for food items.
Me: NEED TO KNOW

Leelu: Ask away, my love! I eagerly await the collective voice of your experienced readership.

Me: I shall. I'm sending myself an email reminder to post it tonight.

Leelu: Hehe.

Me: And...
Me: no one will respond.
Me: :(

Leelu: :(
Leelu: *hugs*

Me: Heh, thanks.
Me: The only time I ever got lots of good feedback was when I posed a question and asked people how they met and came to love someone.
Me: Those were good.

Leelu: Those were good.

Me: Otherwise... much silence from the peanut gallery.

Leelu: I think you have to ask questions people are willing to answer.

Me: Sigh
Me: Twizzlers should be one of those questions!
Me: *slams fist*
Me: It's important!

Leelu: But others don't realize that; they're so absorbed in the trivialities of life that they miss the genuinely meaningful things.

Me: So true.
Me: Sigh.
Me: What's with people talking about politics, religion, natural disasters, hunger, etc.?!
Me: TWIZZLERS!
Me: C'mon!
Me: Priorities, people!

Leelu: Well, Twizzlers and hunger are related...

Me: Oooh
Me: Good tie-in.
Me: It can be a religion for some

Leelu: And they should be a religion...
Leelu: (lol)
Leelu: Clone!

Me: :D
Me: Politics of proper licorice usage is up.
Me: For discussion, that is.
Me: And it could be a natural disaster if you used it for, say, coffee!
Me: OMG.
Me: I hit them all!
Me: People HAVE to respond.

Leelu: I don't know. Coffee needs sugar. I can only see Twizzlers helping coffee.

Me: Coffee would eat it quicker.
Me: And warm Twizzler in coffee would be kinda gross, I'd think.

Leelu: Twizzler milk!

Me: OOOOOOOOOOOOOH MILK!
Me: Oh, man, you have just created a delightful goal for me.
Me: And you know, licorice comes in many flavors now.
Me: Imagine a nice orange Twizzler with milk would almost be like a creamsicle.
Me: DUDE, I WANT ONE!
Me: (You know I'm going to have to c&p this verbatim to the blog, because we rock like that)

Leelu: Iced coffee.
Leelu: Don't you love it when we write your blog posts together?

Me: It's always better with a partner.
Me: Sometimes my fingers get tired alone.

Leelu: Sometimes more than one.

Me: I need to try that.

Leelu: I highly recommend it at least once.

Me: How many times would you recommend it if you weren't limiting yourself?

Leelu: As many as you wished.

Me: Heh. So, collaborating on blog posts is something you would like to do more often?

Leelu: (lol)
Leelu: Only when/if I have something to say.

Me: Do you have people you PREFER to collaborate with?

Leelu: (I completely forgot what we were talking about, too.)

Me: I know. We derail into our metaphors and then it becomes about the other thing.
Me: I was trying to drag them both into it parallelly.
Me: Is parallelly a word?
Me: I like it.
Me: Anything that says lelly sounds happy.
Me: genocidelelly.
Me: See?!

Leelu: Happy happy genocide!

Me: WHEEEEEEEEE!

Leelu: Should we start a kickline?
Leelu: "It's springtime for Hitler and Germany!"

Me: My skirt is too short.

Leelu: Isn't that how they're supposed to be?

Me: But I have on my plain-jane panties. I only kickline in short skirts when I wear the frilly stuff.
Me: Frilillelly.
Me: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Leelu: Oodelolly oodelolly golly what a day!

Me: Beck?
Me: A Beck kickline? With frilly panties and genocide?
Me: WE SHOULD WRITE A MUSICAL!
Me: OMG, can you tell I've had caffeine for the first time in months?

Leelu: Beck?
Leelu: I was going for Disney Robin Hood.

Me: Beck's album was Odeley.
Me: Odelay
Me: Oops.
Me: Oopsililly.

Leelu: I'm sure it's a word in the Becktionary.

Me: Disney Robin Hood, huh? You're such a mom.

Leelu: Haven't seen it in years.
Leelu: Lummox likes it, though.

Me: I'm looking forward to the new Robin Hood.

Leelu: Any reason in particular?

Me: RUSSELL CROWE!
Me: *slurp*
Me: I'd suck him through a Twizzler.
Me: Hmm, that doesn't sound flattering to him.
Me: Maybe I should take that back.

Leelu: (lol)

Me: I do so love that man in period piece movies looking tough.
Me: Although he was super-dee-duper hot in the other one, where he played the gay son.

Leelu: Which one was that?

Me: The Sum of Us.
Me: OMG, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT!
Me: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0111309/.

Leelu: Wow. That totally looks like not my kind of movie.

Me: But, but, but.
Me: Gay love story!

Leelu: Mushy family flick.

Me: Sigh...
Me: Hot guys kissing!

Leelu: Romance, not porn.

Me: Okay, if you're not going to see it, I'll ruin it for you.

Leelu: Okay.

Here I blather about the movie, which I won't ruin for you, so watch it!

Me: It's really sad. You get the thoughts of both characters.
Me: And Russell Crowe plays this bumbling, love-sick, awkward guy.
Me: It's totally out of his usual roles.

Leelu: That's always nice.
Leelu: It's good to see actors stretch themselves.

Me: He did it after he played a ruthless skinhead, because he felt so awful about that horrible character.
Me: He felt it was redeeming.
Me: *swoon*

Leelu: Heh.

Me: So, I'm hoping they put him in leather miniskirts again for Robin Hood, like Gladiator.

Leelu: (lol)
Leelu: You delightful perv!
Leelu: We're totally clones.

Me: HORRAY!

Leelu: Why won't they leave me alone?
Leelu: Patrons won't let me have fiend time!

Me: Beat them with a frozen Twizzler!
Me: Whip!
Me: Send them home with Twizzled lashes on their foreheads!
Me: Dear FSM, that makes me laugh.

Leelu: Foreheads?
Leelu: I'll get them on their legs.

Me: Okay then. I just thought it would be more humiliating.
Me: Like a mushroom stamp.

Leelu: Leave marks where they don't show. It's the only way to abuse.

Me: You can abuse better with words then.
Me: The point of Twizzling someone is to leave a Twizzled mark.

Leelu: What a waste of Twizzle.

Me: How so?
Me: By exposing it to the germy flesh of your enemies?
Me: Making it inedible?

Leelu: Yes.

Me: Hmmm.
Me: Buy in bulk.

Leelu: I hate to waste food, regardless.

Me: Okay. So can we design Twizzler whips that aren't food?

Leelu: Then they aren't Twizzlers, are they?

Me: Should we just be using regular whips? Do Twizzlers add to anything?
Me: So, Twizzlers are food, not weapons. Weapons are weapons, not food.

Leelu: Except in food fights.
Leelu: Hot mashed potatoes are organic napalm.

Me: A vegetable defoliant. Interesting.
Me: Full Metal Jacket: I love the smell of hot mashed potatoes in the morning.
Me: Yes, perfect substitute.
Me: Wait, that was Platoon.
Me: Sorry.

Leelu: Apocalypse Now, wasn't it?

Me: OH YEAH!
Me: Thanks.

Leelu: I'm awesome at quoting movies I've never seen.

Me: LOL
Me: That takes talent.

Leelu: I do try.

So, the question remains and we pose it to you. Twizzlers as straws for what? What can we suck through a Twizzler? I'm serious. I need info.

Watch It Wiggle

Patron: Can you tell me where your Jell-O section is?

Now, despite having worked here just short of 18 years, and knowing my patrons as well as I do, I also know myself better, and I know that I do not know everything. In fact, I feel quite often that I know so little, it makes me feel shamefully inadequate, so I go read another book about something that has no relevance in my life, wherein I collect more useless information that could help one random person if they happen to cross my path before I forget what I read, and thus the attempt is futile. So, you see, my brain gnaws on my indigestible pulp of ignorance all day long, and when a patron comes up to me and asks a question that hurts my brain, I assume they are knowledgeable and I am not.

For instance, the Jell-O query made me question my very existence. Have I been living a lie, concocting an environment of books and library-ish items that surround me, while all along I have actually been working in a grocery store? Have people been asking me grocery questions all this time and I've been telling them Dewey locations of items in aisles at Jewel?! I looked around. I pinched myself. I tried to grasp this total mental FUBAR situation I was in, mind racing with thoughts of electro-shock therapy and a cupful of pills a day just to keep me in this world, dingy and gray, in paper slippers and a hospital gown that doesn't close all the way in the back. Have I been working in a grocery store all these years?

NO! The answer is no! I have not. SOMEONE would've told me. Somehow I would've figured it out. I'm not THAT clueless.

So, back on Earth, I comprehend that the question asked of me, which sent me on that spiraling quest for reality, was weird and I needed clarity.

Me: The Jell-O section? As in...Jell-O recipes? Science projects? What are you looking for specifically?

Patron: Jell-O art. Jell-O sculptures. Things like that.

And here is where my 18 years of experience working in this library, not a grocery store, came in handy.

Me: We do not have a Jell-O art section. There MIGHT be a reference to some kind of food art in a modern art book, but that's something you're going to have to sift through. I can show you where the art books are. Or, if you want to do some online researching and you have an artist or a known book I can look up, but we don't have a Jell-O art section.

Patron: No?

Me: No.

Patron: Never mind then.

Indeed. Never mind.

Bicycle

When I bought my bicycle, I was very enthusiastic about this new addition to my greener/healthier lifestyle, that is, until I rode it and realized how ill-prepared my legs and rear end were for such an abrupt change. I had no idea going greener was going to be such a literal pain in the ass.

It started off a grandiose rude awakening as I struggled to make the 2.5-mile distance around my favorite forest preserve. The pain in my tush from an uncomfortable seat sent me straight to the bike shop for a decent gel seat, which helped, but did not empower my legs, nor did it stop the burning and trembling after a short jaunt around my subdivision.

Also I learned you have to tighten that seat really well before going on a ride away from your car and toolbox.

My brother sent me this email right after I put the new seat on and he found the old one in the garage.

Hey, I was in the garage tossin' some trash and saw you have a new seat for your bike. Did you want me to throw it on for you? It's been a while but I've changed about 2 thousand bike seats so it would only take me 5 minutes. Seeing it made me nostalgic for the old bike riding days and it is oddly mind blowing that as a kid I could ride a bike for 4-5 hours straight and now I don't even like going downstairs. Time is just rude.

This was my response.

Thanks for the offer, but that's the old seat I put on the thingy for the new one. I have a 90-day warranty on the new one and didn't want to throw away the packaging, so I threw the old seat back on it so no one would throw it away. See, I was thinking all smart and stuff! Thanks for the offer, but I already did it. And, of course, having never done it before, I put it on too loose and half-way through the trail at the forest preserve it started slipping, and I had to ride 1½ miles back to my car to get the socket wrench with the seat standing straight up between my legs, like some naughty toy. Very humiliating. BUTT, I tightened it and it's been okay since. Still, I need the packaging because I think I'm going to take it back and get the wider seat. My butt still hurts.

You're right about time. I do 2 laps around the subdivision and fall off the bike trying to get up the driveway at the end because my legs can't hold me up. Sucks to get old.

Later on we were discussing it and he asked me where I liked to ride.

Me: Well, I had been doing the forest preserve, but that's too hard because it's a 3-6 mile loop, depending on the route, and so much can happen, as I learned with my seat, and bad things only happen when you're at the farthest distance from your car.

Bro: OHMYGOD, I hadn't even thought about that. What if you have to pee? What if you get hungry? GASP!

Me: Well, I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking more serious. Like, what if I take a dive over the handlebars and break my face? Or what if a coyote jumps out and bites my leg? Or what if I have to...poop?

Bro: Wow, I hadn't thought about the serious stuff. I was focused on peeing and being hungry, but you're right.

Me: Yeah, now I just ride around the subdivision because at any point I can cut across the field in the middle and get home a lot quicker, or if I feel up to it, do another lap. Or if I get marauded by a low-flying flock of geese, I can get home to get the dog and sic him on them right away. The subdivision is a lot safer to me. And I'm all about safety. I even carry ID with me when I bike and I take my cell phone. I don't trust myself not to get killed.

Bro: I just never thought about it! You COULD get killed! Riding a bike when you're grown up is so different from riding when you're a kid. Wow.

Me: Tell me about it! It's not only worse because I have no strength or endurance, but I'm all wigged out about dying on my bike from a freak accident and being far from home or unidentifiable. It really sucks being a grown-up biker. God, I should get a helmet. And pads. And prescription pain-killers.

At some point, I posted on my Facebook page that my thighs and ass were aflame, or something less offensive. Best Friend Extraordinaire saw the post and commented that we should go biking together, which sounded novel, but then I realized just how stupid that idea was for me. It's one thing to be out in the middle of a forest preserve alone, or riding around my subdivision, huffing and puffing, sweating like a pig, eyes watering from the wind, nose running from looking down, still trying to figure out the complicated gear shifting (which is why I drive an automatic!), and I certainly don't need an experienced rider alongside making fun of me the entire time.

We went out to eat together over the weekend and had the following conversation:

Me: So, I read your comment on my FB page about biking together, and while that's a nice idea...um...no. Not going to happen.

Her: WHY?!

Me: Because I can barely ride.

She laughed.

Me: No, seriously, I'm not as wobbly as I was the first week, thankfully, but I can't shift gears. At all. Or I'll shift, and it makes this terrible noise like grinding the engine and then two blocks later, when the landscape has changed again, it shifts to what I wanted two blocks ago. I'm a mess. I'm dangerous. I can't ride straight or even shift gears.

Her: Shift gears? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooo, I don't do that. I just ride in whatever gear it's in. I don't do the gear-shifting.

Me: No? Whew. Okay. But then I have this strength problem. You'd think that a year of working out multiple times a week would prepare my legs and ass for the ability to bike, but nuh-uh! I ride around my subdivision twice and by the time I get off the bike to put it in the garage, my legs are so weak they can't hold me up and my knees buckle.

Her: What?! You ride around your subdivision TWICE? I don't do that! I ride with my son and we only go 3 blocks at a time. I don't do subdivisions!

Me: Okay, that's good to know. But I also can't do uphill. Maybe it's the whole gear-changing problem, but I can't propel myself up the slightest incline yet. It's strictly flat surfaces for me.

Her: Ohhhhhh yeah, I don't do uphill either.

Me: You don't?

Her: Nope. Why would I do something stupid like that? That takes more effort.

Me: I like your style. We can go biking anytime you want!

And so I have faith again that BFE and I can renew our friendship, despite how our lives have gone in such different directions this last decade. And it was a bike that brought us together.

The funny thing is, we'll make plans to bike together and never do it, which is also fine by me. It's the thought that counts, and the knowledge that we are equals when it comes to biking, and that alone is enough to bond us together once more: sisters in infirmity.