Tales from Library Land

IT GETS WORSE

bitchylibrarian — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 15:23:31 +0000

This blog entry is a joint production between myself and @amandamcneil. When we get together, we rant. A lot.

Sometimes (ahem, we mean ALMOST ALL THE TIME) our fellow librarians do things the embarrass the crap out of us. You know, like that Librarians Do Gaga video. We’re still washing the bleach out of our eyes from that one. Or the campaign to get a library themed flavor of Ben and Jerry’s (You know, the brand that just came out with Schweddy Balls). And someone, who shall remain nameless *cough* wawoodworth *cough* got a Mover and Shaker Award for that. This is what is wrong with the profession!

But we digress. The most important part of NOT embarrassing yourself in the library world is, well, not taking your clothes off for a calendar, or for ANYTHING for the profession, but it seems that even THAT cardinal rule can’t be followed. Oh, so it’s for a good cause? Well, try selling candy bars door to door to little old ladies if you think you’re so hot. Or, you know, you’re librarians. Set up a book display on anti-bullying and acceptance books you have. Oh, but no. That wouldn’t draw attention to you from the fawning masses of librarians online, would it? Oh sure you CLAIM the attention is for the cause, but *snort*. Sure, ok. And streakers streak to protest anti-nudity laws. Attention for the cause or for yourselves? Which is it, really?

In case you’re blissfully oblivious and don’t know why we’re ranting, a bunch of male librarians decided it’d be awesome to do a sexy male librarian calendar in order to raise money for the It Gets Better program. Which is a noble cause to support, but couldn’t they have done something other than remove their clothes? Like, say, gather GLBTQ librarians together and have classy photo-shoots done with quotes on how their lives got better after being bullied in middle and/or highschool? Or well, ANYTHING that didn’t involve the removal of clothing? For a cause largely involving MINORS? The target audience for this calendar is clear: lonely female librarians who sit at home, surrounded by their 20 cats and their hundreds of knitting projects and their cans of flat coke because god forbid they ever drink a glass of wine or a beer. So maybe they get bullied? We’re not certain what the correlation is here, possibly because there IS NO correlation. Let’s face it. The library profession’s presence online is batshit full of ATTENTION WHORES. Ok. You want attention? We’ll give it to you.

JANUARY
WHY ARE YOU PUTTING YOUR PENIS IN A BOOK. You are a librarian. You are aware that people TOUCH THAT, right?! This is not sexy. This is shudder-inducing. Also, the shushing of the lips? YOU ARE NAKED. We are fairly certain that in a contest between you and the person being loud in the library, the security guards would deal with you FIRST Mr. Perverted Creepster.

FEBRUARY
The red door is SO FUNNY. In fact, it is so funny that you must laugh uproariously and scrunch up your face in a way that looks like you’re getting ready for someone to cum on it. Or maybe you’re laughing at how FUCKING RIDICULOUS this calendar is. Or maybe you’re actually getting ready to weep because the job market is horrible and you’re still stuck in your same lame, dead-end job, and your last hope for getting hired is getting a Mover and Shaker Award like wawoodworth for doing something completely retarded.

MARCH
If you are capable of reading while doing yoga, you are DOING IT WRONG. And what the fuck is with the other books in the background? Do you stay in that pose until you’ve read them all? SIDE PLANK FOR LIFE!

APRIL
IS IT GETTING HOT IN HERE OR IS IT JUST ME? What the fuck? Why are your rolling up your sleeves? Not that any of these pictures are sexy, but that is REALLY NOT SEXY. You have this awkward look on your face like you’re looking at someone to the side asking them, “Really, is this sexy? More tiger-like you say?” It’s all like a very bad scene from a Lifetime movie of the week.

MAY
Oh, honey. Honey, no. Surely you look in the mirror in the mornings, right? Even your pose (the only one legitimately in the stacks) screams I AM NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS SCENARIO. Who pressured you into this, eh? Let us take you out for a beer so you can weep your embarrassment into it. We thought this whole thing was AGAINST bullying… Stop being mean to the shy teddy bear librarian, ok? NOT NICE

JUNE
What the fuck is this? MySpace? You took this photo in your bathroom, didn’t you? Did you also upload it to OkCupid, match.com, and eHarmony? We bet you ask girls if they want tickets to the gun show, too. All we know is, if some guy on an online dating site sent that to us, we’d be deleting and blocking his ass.

JULY
We know the ocean can be a confusing, scary place for the library techs who are usually in basements. What is this sunlight?! What is this salty water?! WHERE THE FUCK AM I. Perhaps you should have waited to take the picture until you adjusted to the light of day.

AUGUST
GOT MILK? I get it. Chicks dig guys who cook. Also, that is legitimately the only non-scary smile on the calendar. But seriously? You’re standing in your kitchen holding a gallon jug of milk. The only thing that says is, “Honey, here’s your bowl of Frosted Flakes!”

SEPTEMBER
All we’re getting from this pic is that you are about to get raped by a dachshund. While wearing goggles. INSIDE.

OCTOBER
Oh great. The obligatory gym picture. Trying to break that image of male librarians being pale-ass wimps. LIBRARIANS WORK OUT. WE ARE COOL, DAMMIT. Yeah, real cool. You’re in a fucking CALENDAR. That is not cool. Nice try, though. And we don’t know how many reps, you did. You could’ve slammed that weight down immediately after the picture was taken. And given the size of your guns, we’re betting that’s exactly what happened.

NOVEMBER
You have a masters degree but are somehow still oblivious as to how to properly take a shower. That or this is the emo scene and should have been shot in black and white, which is perplexing given that this is supposed to be an encouraging calendar….. Where are the soap suds? This looks like a “MY LIFE SUCKS, I AM GOING TO DROWN MYSELF IN THE SHOWER” pose.

DECEMBER
DENTAL HYGIENE IS SEXY! Wow, you can brush your teeth. Every girl appreciates fresh breath, but do we have to see it happening? Also, why is there a fucking creepy GNOME in your bathroom? If you’re wondering why the ladies and/or fellas you bring home go into your bathroom then suddenly have to leave, THAT IS WHY. GNOMES ARE FUCKING GROSS. AND CREEPY. Take that shit down.

Of Porn and Libraries

bitchylibrarian — Tue, 17 May 2011 17:47:58 +0000

It happens every now and again. People get up in arms about porn in libraries. “OH NO, WE MUST PROTECT THE CHILDREN,” the masses cry, as they drop off their children and leave them unattended for hours at a time at their local public library. You know, those public buildings where anyone can walk in the doors. Including sex offenders. Right.

So, in New York City, two councilmen are fighting to make it illegal to look at porn within 100 feet of a child at a public library. To them I say, good fucking luck with that. Even if the law DOES pass, how the fuck is that even going to be enforceable? Is someone going to have a ruler out, measuring 100 feet from every child? And what IS porn, exactly? Who defines what’s lewd and inappropriate for the eyes of children? Could the copy of Big Spankable Asses I have on the shelf be considered porn? What about Shape magazine? I only ask because it’s frequently found in the men’s restroom, covered in jizz…

Here’s my thing. Who the fuck cares? As long as no one is whipping it out public and jerking it to the big booty girls going to town on the screen, what’s the big deal? Unless a patron complains to me about what is on someone else’s screen, I don’t have the TIME to walk around and play morality police. And furthermore, looking at porn is protected under the First Amendment rights. Yes, really. Intellectual Freedom and all that. I am not here to regulate what adults are doing on the computer.

It’s one thing if a child is present and it’s staring at the porn on the screen. But if some dude wants to come up in my library and watch two girls, one cup? Who the fuck am I to judge?

This One Time, at Walgreens

bitchylibrarian — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 21:01:44 +0000

We all have those patrons. The ones that make you groan every time they come into the library. The ones who have mangled the website of your copy machine, then asked you to go there to find out how they can get a copier of their own. The ones who have asked you to print out page after page of bow ties on a black and white printer, then called up the company to ask why their ties don’t come in colors. Or do these batshit insane things only happen to me?

So when I saw Marvin the Martian approach the desk, wearing his classic Hawaiian shirt and barely on his head tossle cap with the usual vacant look in his eyes, I knew I was in for a doozy. He never comes in more than 15 minutes before closing. He saves up his bullshit for the last few moments of the day when I seriously just don’t give a shit any longer.

Marvin the Martian: Uhhhh, so I was in Walgreens the other day….
Me: *nodding encouragingly* Uh-huh?
Marvin the Martian: ….And uh they were playing this song? And uhhh I really like it?
Me: *continues nodding encouragingly* Mmm-hmm?
Marvin the Martian: So uh I uh asked the guy at the counter what the song was….and he told me….that uh there was uh a website…
Me: Okay? Do you have the website?
Marvin the Martian: Uh I uh wrote it down…
Me: Alright, great. Let me see the paper and I’ll see what I can find for you.
Marvin the Martian: Oh, I uh left the paper at home. Do uh you know the website?
Me: The website? You mean the website that tells you what songs Walgreens plays in their stores?
Marvin the Martian: Yeah uh it was just the one right down the street.
Me: Marvin, I really don’t know, but I guess I can try to find it. Do you know anything about the song that was playing?
Marvin the Martian: Uh well, I liked it. And uh I wanted to know what it was. So do you see the website?
Me: I’m looking on Walgreens’ site right now, and I don’t see anything about music. Do you remember if it was their site or something else?
Marvin the Martian: Uh, I don’t know. So you can’t find it?
Me: Marvin, why don’t you come back a little earlier tomorrow and bring that piece of paper with you and we can try to find it. Without knowing anything about the song or where the clerk at Walgreens told you to go, I’m not sure how I can find that song for you.
Marvin the Martian: Oh, okay…

Can I just say FUCK YOU to the clerk at Walgreens? Those songs have to be on a loop. You don’t fucking know the name of a song?! REALLY?

That Woman Who Made the Pancakes

bitchylibrarian — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 20:23:50 +0000

It’s Black History Month. In the past, that meant scrambling to find books or some biographical information in a database on obscure historical figures that may have invented something vaguely useful. Then, the minute the report was finished, these poor bastions of Black History are relegated back to obscurity until the following year.

Now? I can count on one hand the number of students who have asked me for help on a Black History Month report. DAMN YOU, WIKIPEDIA! ::shakes fist:: But even Wikipedia can’t stop the insane questions.

Corett-DUH Scott King: Hi, I’m looking for the book on Rose Parker.
Me: Rose Parker?
Corett-DUH Scott King: Yeah, Rose Parker. And where is your book on Black History?
Me: Well, we have lots of book on Black History. Is there is a certain specific topic that you’re interested in? Also, I’m not finding any books in Rose Parker. Could you possibly mean Rosa Parks?
Corett-DUH Scott King: Oh, I don’t know. I guess so. Do you have the book on the Civil Rights? I’m looking for books from the way back. Also, what about the book on Aunt Jemima? You know, that woman who made the pancakes?
Me: Ma’am, Aunt Jemima is a company, not a real person. And we have LOTS of books on the Civil Rights movement, not just one. I can show you the section and you can look around. How about that? And I’ll see what books we have on Rosa Parks as well.

Very seldomly do patrons leave me speechless, but that woman? Almsot did. Aunt Jemima? What the fucking fuck? Rose Parker? Really, I have no words. And she walked right by my huge Black History Month book display, too.

Dude, Where’s My House?

bitchylibrarian — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 19:41:48 +0000

One of the many things that annoys me in this world is the lack of understanding about what is and isn’t public record. And even if a certain piece of information IS public record, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s going to be available online. And completely unrelated, but it needs to be stated: librarians DO NOT have a magical phone book that contain unlisted numbers. For fuck’s sake.

Libraries toe a fine line between “Why don’t you have THAT?!” and “I don’t want you getting all up in my BUSINESS!” And you never know how the patron is going to react. You’ll either be asked to log into a patron’s e-mail account because they’re “in a hurry” and need their resume printed out now or asking them for their phone number so they can be called when the item they place on hold is out of the question, OMG, YOU’RE GOING TO STEAL MY IDENTITY!

I knew I was in for a doozy when the circ manager yelled out an apology as she transferred the phone call to me. That never bodes well…

Ms. Information: I wrote down… I have here… Well, I have a list of all the places I’ve ever lived. Can you tell me how long I lived in each one?
Me: So you have a list of addresses, and you’d like to know how long you lived in each one?
Ms. Information: Yes. I wrote down every single address, but I need to know…from what year…to what year I lived there.
Me: I’m not understanding. Did you own the house? Or just rent?
Ms. Information: Oh, I’ve never OWNED a house. I’ve only rented. But I needed to know how long I lived at each address. Can you look online and tell me that?
Me: So, you just want to know how long you stayed at each location? You never actually owned the houses?
Ms. Information: I-I have all the addresses right here! I wrote them all down. I just need you to look it up on your computer and tell me how long I lived at each one.
Me: Ma’am, that information isn’t available online. The only thing I could find would be the deed for each house you lived in, but that would only tell you how long your landlord owned the house, not how long YOU lived there.
Ms. Information: But I want to know how long I lived at each address.
Me: I suggest that you contact each of your landlords and ask him or her that question. They would have your leases on file and could tell you.
Ms. Information: But someone at another library told me that this information was available.
Me: I don’t know why. How long you rented a house or apartment is not public record.
Ms. Information: But, but, but! I have to know how long I lived at these addresses. You have a computer! Look it up!
Me: Ma’am, as I said, there is nowhere for me to look it up. This information isn’t available online, or anywhere other than in your landlord’s files or your personal records. It’s not considered public record.
Ms. Information: Well, uh, just give me the number for the other library then. They gave me something before. They can help me.
Me: Okay! *recites number* Have a nice day!

1040, Where are You?

bitchylibrarian — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 17:38:35 +0000

Ah, tax time. It’s like hunting season of the damned, where toothless, brainless fuckwads come out of their lairs in search of the illusive 1040 booklet. And that little fucker sure is illusive, isn’t it? It’s like goddamn Punxsutawney Phil, that 1040 booklet. Hiding in a box in a warehouse somewhere. It’s certainly not in MY library, and I’m sure it’s not in yours either.

But try to tell a patron that and they act like it’s somehow YOUR fault that the library doesn’t have 1040 booklets. Like the librarians stole them or burned them in a dumpster so they could make s’mores (hey, now I know what I’m doing with this year’s extra forms!). It’s certainly not MY fault that changes were made at the last-minute and printing and shipment were delayed. Sigh.

Cell Phone Douche spent some time pawing through our forms (we keep them out in an all-you-can-take format in a metal organizer that’s affixed to the wall) all while talking to “babe” on the phone. “I don’t see it, babe,” I heard him say more than once. He rattled off our available forms to “babe” several times. Then he turned to me.

Cell Phone Douche: Do you have that book that tells you how to do your taxes?
Me: Are you looking for just a tax booklet or an actual book that will walk you through the tax preparation process? The tax booklets that we have available are right here to my left.
Cell Phone Douche: *to “babe”: “Babe? We need the book that tells us what to do, right?”* No, I need a book that tells me what to do.
Me: Okay, let me see what’s available for this year’s taxes.
Cell Phone Douche: *to “babe”: “Babe? She’s looking right now.*
Me: I found a guide book, but unfortunately, we don’t have it here at this library. I’d have to order it from another library and there’s someone else already on the wait list.
Cell Phone Douche: Oh. *to “babe”: “Babe? They don’t have it here. They’d have to order it and it’s going to take a while.” Okay, well, nevermind. So you don’t have the 1040 book?
Me: Wait, so you just need the 1040 booklet and not a special guide book?
Cell Phone Douche: Yeah, I need the book that tells me how to do my taxes.
Me: Well, we don’t have the 1040 booklet and as far as I know, no other library has it either.
Cell Phone Douche: Oh. *walks away, talking to “babe.”

Do You Even Know Your Own Name?

bitchylibrarian — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 20:50:25 +0000

While most of my bizarre patron interactions take place in person, I do get the occasional WTF phonecall. Most people who call in with a question usually just want to order books or movies or see if we have a particular item on our shelves. Sometimes they’ll call looking for a phone number (the ulimate irony, really).

Then there are the people who leave me staring at the phone in confusion after they hang up.

Me: Reference, how may I help you?
Stupid McDumbfuck: Yeah, I’m looking for this book.
Me: Okay. What’s the name of the book that you’re looking for?
Stupid McDumbfuck: It’s called The World History of Africa.
Me: Hmm, I’m not finding anything in the system with that title. Are you sure that’s correct?
Stupid McDumbfuck: Well, it says right here, Africa and the History of the World.
Me: Oh, so you’re looking for a book called Africa and the History of the World, is that correct?
Stupid McDumbfuck: Yes. Do you have it?
Me: Hmm, I’m not finding that book in the system either.
Stupid McDumbfuck: Well, can you see if another library has it? I really need this book.
Me: I just did another search. Could the book be called Africa in History: From Prehistory to Present?
Stupid McDumbfuck: Y-eee-sss! That’s the book I need.

I didn’t start the shitfire

bitchylibrarian — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 21:26:02 +0000

There’s a guy who frequently comes in who I like to call The Shitstarter. He likes to pretend he’s a newspaper reporter, but I honestly can’t say I’ve ever seen his by-line in the major city newspaper or any of the smaller, local neighborhood papers either. But he’s always working on the NEXT BIG THING. Or so he says. What he really does is annoy the ever-loving piss out of me.

He once scheduled a poetry slam at the library. Without telling us. He just plastered flyers all over the city, but didn’t bother to reserve the meeting room. However, our name was featured prominently as a “sponsor.” That was fun. Needless to say, his poetry slam did not happen.

Shortly after I started working here, he stopped me as I was walking across the floor and told me I walked like a model. At the time, I was flattered. Now, he calls me “America’s Next Top Model” every time he sees me. Yeah, that doesn’t get fucking old.

We once had this conversation, as he leaned over the desk and leered at me:
Shitstarter: Are you sure you’re not really a model in your spare time?
Me: Nope, not a model. Just a librarian.
Shitstarter: You know, I bet you’re real wild when you’re not working. I can tell by the way you walk. You just glide across the floor.
Me: Alright then.

WTF? The way I glide reveals my inner wild child? Right.

For awhile, he pursued me fairly regularly. He tried this bullshit around Thanksgiving last year:
Shitstarter: Hey, you divorced yet? Oh, no, I see you’re still wearing that ring.
Me: *LIBRARIAN GLARE OF DEATH*
Shitstarter: I didn’t mean nothing bad…
Me: Mm-hmm.
Shitstarter: I’m just saying that if anything ever changes…
Me: Mm-hmm.
Shitstarter: Just keep your options open, you know.
Me: Mm-hmm.
Shitstarter: Well, uh, Happy Thanksgiving!
Me: Mm-hmm.

After I eviscerated him with my death glare, he stayed away for awhile. It also probably helped that I would immediately turn and walk the other direction any time I saw him in the library.

Then he cornered me on Monday about the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard in my entire life:
Shitstarter: You’re in charge of programming, right?
Me, hesitantly: Well, I’m in charge of planning the adult programs here at the library, yes.
Shitstarter: Well, I want to do a fundraiser for the library.
Me: Okay?
Shitstarter: Well, I need your help to do it.
Me: Sorry, not possible. The library can’t be involved in any fundraising for itself. You’d have to talk to the Friends of the Library in order to do something like that.
Shistarter: I don’t understand. I’m trying to help the library. ( I can only imagine what his help would have been – another poetry slam , perhaps?)
Me: You know those book sales we have? They’re run by the Friends of the Library. The Library is a non-profit organization. We can’t hold our own fundraisers. Someone can donate money to us, but we can’t actually be involved in generating funds other than fine collection.
Shitstarter: But I could still have the event here?
Me: That’s something you’d have to talk with the director about. I plan programs for library patrons. Not something like this.
Shitstarter: Oh.
Me: The Friends of the Library meet the first Tuesday of every Month. I suggest that you attend their meeting and see if they’re interested in supporting your fundraising idea.
Shitstarter: Oh, so you wouldn’t be involved at all?
Me: No.
Shitstarter: Oh…

You’re Invalid

bitchylibrarian — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 18:56:09 +0000

Last week, a man came in looking for information on “envilids,” or at least that’s what it sounded like to me. He told me that he didn’t know what the word meant, nor could he spell it for me. I finally figured out that he was looking for information on “invalids,” which really didn’t help me much either because it was so vague. He wanted me to print out the history of invalids and case studies on invalids. When I told him that his topic was very broad, he told me that he trusted my judgement and asked me to print some things out for him on invalids. Uh, what? Then he walked away from the desk. When he came back, I knew I needed to at least try to get some clarification out of him.

Me: Sir, I’m sorry, but this topic is very broad and vague. The word invalid can refer to someone who is injured or someone who’s chronically ill. It has a variety of uses in the medical world. Or did you just need a definition of the word?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Listen, I’m a psychotherapist, I know what the word means. (Really? You are? You do? Then why couldn’t you pronounce it correctly or spell it to me earlier?) What I really need is information about invalids. Case studies, you know.
Me: So you’re looking for information on mental illnesses then?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Yeah, I guess so.
Me: Okay, then. Let me search our medical databases and see what information I can locate on mental illnesses for you.
Mr. Psychotherapist: Did you know that all people who are sexually abused turn out to be Satanists? Why is that? I just don’t understand it.
Me: You know, I’m just not sure.
Mr. Psychotherapist: Huh. And why is it that the people who are sexually abused get sent to jail when the people who abused them go free? It isn’t right. It just isn’t right. How can we stop that from happening?
Me: I don’t know. Some things just happen like that.
Mr. Psychotherapist: Huh. And why is that people have these mental problems anyway? You know, I just want to try to help everyone, you know? Even the Satanists. I just have to help people. Right?
Me: Sometimes people just need someone to talk to, I suppose. Okay, here’s some information on mental illnesses and sexual abuse for you. Do you think this will be enough for you?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Yeah, this looks great. My thanks is a hug to you!

I don’t know who the fuck would EVER hire this guy as their psychotherapist because he is SO obviously not one that it isn’t even funny! Anyway, he came back today for some information of a more personal nature.

Mr. Psychotherapist: Yeah, uh, I need some information on sex appeal and seduction. I need to make myself more appealing to the ladies.
Me: Were you looking for some books?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Actually, I’d prefer something from the computer if you can find it.
Me: Okay, let me see what I can find. (I search for awhile, but find mostly skeezy sites; while I’m searching, he’s blabbering on and on to me…)
Mr. Psychotherapist: Yeah, I’m looking for information that will make me more attractive to white girls. (I pretend not to hear him and he pauses for a beat). Did you even hear what I said?
Me: Huh? Oh, no, I was busy searching. What did you say?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Oh, it was nothing…
Me: Well, I think I found a book that would be pretty good for you. Would you be interested in that?
Mr. Psychotherapist: Well, I don’t have my card. I forgot my wallet at home. Can’t you just find something online for me?
Me: I’ll keep trying. A lot of the websites I’m finding are pretty sleazy, but I’ll see if I can locate something more reputable.
Mr. Psychotherapist: Thanks, I’d really appreciate that. You know, do you ever get jealous of people who seem to have everything you don’t? (He slams his fist down on the desk as he says this. Clearly, this is recurring issue…)
Me: Well, I try to be thankful for what I have and not take anything for granted.
Mr. Pyschotherapist: Yeah, well, when I was younger I was never on the girls’ top 10 lists. Just for once I’d like to be at least number 9, you know? I just want to learn how to be better with women.
Me: Here are some articles I found from Men’s Health magazine on seduction and sex appeal. Perhaps they’ll help you.
Mr. Pyschotherapist: Thanks, thanks a lot! My thanks is a kiss for you! You have a great weekend now.
Me, rather feebly: You, too…

Of Erections and Junk Grabbing

bitchylibrarian — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 17:29:13 +0000

Nothing good ever happens when you’re hit with a question the moment you first arrive at work. You don’t have time to collect yourself; you walk out on to the floor and *BAM* someone says, “Oh, bitchylibrarian can help you with that.” I can? Really? Well, maybe I wanted set my fucking bag down first and take a sip of water, but I guess no one cares about MY needs.

So I start helping this guy on his computer. He needed print outs for all the deeds of the houses he owned. You’d think that a person could only own so many houses, right? Think again. This dude? Owns like 20 fucking houses as rental properties. Can you say “slumlord,” everyone?

And of course, he doesn’t have a vital piece of information that he needs to look up each piece of property, but there’s another way to do it, thank fuck. HOWEVER, the computer that he’s on doesn’t have the right version of Internet Explorer to work with the County Recorder’s website. Of fucking course. So I have to look up every single fucking property and print out the deeds. In duplicate. But, on the plus, Mr. Deed had given me $5 for my trouble (he told me he wanted to buy me lunch). Since I was using paper and ink and he wasn’t paying for this shit, I was just going to put it in the register.

While I’m in the middle of this, this old man harumphs up to the desk. And just decides that he can interrupt me and Mr. Deed.

Crusty Old Man: Where’s the thing where you can get the thing?
Me: The health resource center? (seriously, don’t ask me how I fucking got THAT from his question – it’s a gift)
Crusty Old Man: Yeah. I need information about ERECTIONS.
Mr. Deed bursts into laughter.
Crusty Old Man: It’s not funny, young man! You wait until you’re 70 years old. You won’t be laughing then!
Me: Well, sir, I’m normally the one who works in the health resource area, but it’s closed today since someone is on vacation. I’m needed out in the main part of the library. I can help you once I’m done helping this gentleman, though.
Crusty Old Man: Harumph! What do you know about those pills called Viagra? I heard they kill people!
Me: I’d have to look that information up when I am able to, but I’m sure that while there are people who die after taking Viagra, they are people who shouldn’t be enaging in certain activities in the first place.
Mr. Deed is trying SO hard not to laugh at this point.
Crusty Old Man: Now let me tell you something, there’s no way that things are gonna work if the body can’t do it, you know what I’m saying? Your body has to be able to do certain things in order for other things to happen.
Me: Well, from what I understand about how Viagra works, it overrides your body’s normal functions, which is why it’s so popular. (At this point, I tried to turn back to Mr. Deed, so we could continue with our stupid printing job.)
Crusty Old Man: Didn’t you say your name was Ms. ? That’s my last name, too! Maybe we’re related.
Me: Well, that’s actually my husband’s name. I got it through marriage.
Then Crusty Old Man started rambling on about names and slavery… I decided to cut him off at the pass.
Me: Well, my husband’s family is originally from Italy and Hungary and they didn’t come over to the United States until after the first World War, so they really had no part in slavery.
Crusty Old Man: Well, don’t you think that immigration was just another way of keeping the black man from the white woman?
At this point, Mr. Deed just looks absolutely horrified.
Me: Uhh, no? I’m a pretty progressive person. I don’t like to think things like that would be true.
Then somehow he started talking about how he was diabetic and how much his prescriptions cost and how awful that was. At this point, I had basically tuned him out. THEN:
Crusty Old Dude: You know, I just want to say to them *grabs junk* “Want to see if chocolate comes out?!”
My jaw dropped. For the first time ever, I was completely speechless. A 70 year old man just grabbed his fucking junk in front of me and I don’t know what to fucking say?
Mr. Deed, who looked as horrified as I felt, saved me: So about that property number? Are you ready for the next one yet?
Crusty Old Man: Well, I guess I can tell when I’m not wanted.

And he shuffled off, as suddenly as he appeared. I’ll tell you one thing, I kept that fucking $5 after that. Damn old man junk grabbers.