They Live!

Not long ago, Mrs. A alerted me to some new material we have added to our deposit book section: a trucking class drivers instruction manual and video. This might sound pretty mundane to you, but I was frankly relieved to have them as it helps solve a semi-regular dilemma we've been having. In fact, two months back, a couple of adults came into the library and tried their level best to drive us insane over this very issue. Thankfully I was busy riding herd over the circulation desk chaos at the time and didn't have to deal with them, but I could hear the whole conversation as Mrs. A tried in vain to help them.

"They told us you had a drivers manual for the driving test," the female and speaking portion of the couple told Mrs. A. Her voice was nearly monotone. Her eyes slightly glazed.

We get this question on a regular basis. I'm not saying it's not a fair question to ask of a library, an institution that ostensibly deals in books and manuals of all sorts. However, the fact remains that we don't usually have any nor are we at all responsible for keeping them on hand. That's the job of the Department of Motor Vehicles, thank you very much.

"No, I'm sorry, we don't have a copy of the driver's manual here," Mrs. A said.

"You don't have one?" the woman asked.

"No. We used to keep them in our collection, but people kept checking them out and not returning them, so we haven't added a new one in a while."

"But they said you would have one," the woman said.

"Well, I'm sorry, but we don't," Mrs. A replied.

The woman stared blankly at Mrs. A for a bit until something else occurred to her.

"Well, do you have the driving video?" the woman asked, very slowly and monotonely.

"No. I'm sorry," Mrs. A said. "We don't have one of those either. Again, we used to have one and we've tried several times to get a new one from the DMV, but so far they haven't responded to our requests."

The woman's blank look returned to full power. It wasn't a distrustful look, indicating that she thought Mrs. A was lying. Instead, it was a devoid of all thought look that indicated the woman had tried everything she knew to do and was now just going to stand there until her brain farted out some new option. Her husband wore a similar look, but he'd come in with it on, so I'm guessing it was normal.

"But they said you would have the book and the video," the woman said after quite a bit more staring.

"Well, again, I'm sorry, but we really, really don't."

Blank. Blank. Blank.

It was as if the woman thought that if she stared long enough and blankly enough Mrs. A would suddenly realize that, yes, we did indeed have a drivers instruction video and a manual and could go ahead and give them a license on the spot.

By then Mrs. J had wandered up and caught a little of what was going on and then asked what the woman was looking for again. Turns out it wasn't a simple driver's manual she wanted, but a Class C drivers instruction manual for folks looking to upgrade to a commercial license. This is an item we should be expected to have EVEN LESS than a regular manual.

"Have you been to the DMV?" Mrs. J asked.

"No. Where's that?" the woman said. It was exactly as if it had never even occurred to her that the Department of Motor Frickin' Vehicles might be a good place to try.

Mrs. J spent five minutes trying to convey to them where the local DMV is located. This was something of a chore, even beyond the unreceptive audience, as the DMV's location is not the easiest to give directions to. It's located—some say hidden—way in the back of a huge brick building over in Town-B. The building itself does not scream OFFICIAL STATE GOVERNMENT OFFICE. Instead, it screams WAREHOUSE, and rather loudly. This warehousey air is further assisted by the fact that the DMV itself is not located in the vaguely office-like front section of the building, but rather way in the back in what was once the loading-dock of the building. And all official DMV signs meant to lead you to it are written in 12 point type. Add all that to the fact that the building is located on a confusing one-way street, in a town the roads of which are composed of almost entirely confusing one-way streets, and you see the dilemma.

"What's the name of that building it's in?" Mrs. J asked Mrs. A.

"I don't know."

"It's that brown one," Mrs. J said. "What's it called?"

"I don't know," Mrs. A repeated.

"It's right there by the lumber place. What's it called?"

"I don't know!" Mrs. A nearly shouted.

Mrs. A crept away from the couple, taking refuge with me behind the busy circulation desk. Sure, she was being intentionally un-service oriented, but this was a couple for whom no help could be given. The both of them seemed to be very dim bulbs operating under inaccurate information and increasingly slow to realize that this particular light socket had no power for them. Also annoying was the use of the word THEY in referring to the mysterious cabal that had given them the inaccurate information and sent them to our door.

Just who were THEY?

Why would THEY think we would have any kind of supply of drivers manuals or videos?

Why would THEY send anyone to us for one in the first place?

Frankly, we're a bit pissed off with THEY. THEY've been giving us shit for quite a while now. If it's not for drivers manuals, then THEY'VE sent people in our direction for newspaper archives, high school yearbooks, obituaries, official county records, directory service (and at least 50 percent of those calls are looking for the super-secret telephone number TO THE DMV!!!!) , new Social Security cards, complete biographies of every soul who has ever lived in the county and quite a few of those who haven't, and just about any other odd-assed thing we shouldn't be expected to have in the first place. Hell, we even got a call last month from someone who wanted us to provide her with a death certificate! Not an obituary, mind, but an honest to God death certificate. And not one of the death certificates from the nineteenth century that we actually do have locked away upstairs, (*FLIP*FLIP*FLIP* "Consumption... consumption... consumption... fell off a horse... consumption..."), but a death certificate for someone who died THIS VERY YEAR. Lady, we're not the coroner! We're a %#$&ing library!

After wasting a large chunk of time trying to explain the way to the DMV, Mrs. J paused to see if any of it had sunk into the blank couple's skulls. It hadn't.

"Could you write that down?" the woman said.

Mrs. J said she didn't think she could.