CrustOrama!

Crusty the Patron (a.ka. Nearsighted Dave) was, of course, back today. He left us with marginally (MARGINALLY!!!) less crust than last time, but he made up for his slight lack of dermal generosity by staying on the computers for nearly SEVEN HOURS!!!!! 

He had already been there for an hour and half by the time I arrived. Then, half an hour later, we had a sudden rush on the computers and I was able to boot him off for someone else. I again cleaned up his crust and disinfected the area before allowing the next person on. 

Crusty lingered in our front room for several minutes. I wondered if perhaps he'd signed up for another session of computing time and was just waiting for his turn to roll back around, but his name wasn't on the sheet so I didn't offer when another computer freed up a couple minutes later. 

Eventually, he left the building, but did not take his lingering stench with him. I had to carpet bomb the front room with Febreeze air-freshener. (We now have cans of the stuff hidden EVERYWHERE. Frankly, I'd prefer to have it in Fire Extinguisher form.) 

Crusty was only gone for about 10 minutes before it started to rain. He'd departed on foot, so he must not have a car, or at least not one nearby. As soon as the raindrops began to fall, he once again appeared. I wondered if he would notice the Febreeze, but thought it unlikely, what with his olfactory centers likely burned out from his own scent. I didn't really care either way. 

"Uh... I forgot I was supposed to e-mail somebody," Crusty Dave said. At that point, I had two empty computers in the back, so I didn't have any other avenue but to let him use one. I told him he could sign up again and went back to log him on. And from that moment until nearly 6:30 when I, at last, had enough computer demand to boot him off again, Crusty Dave's ass didn't move from his computer chair. 

And what, you might ask, was he doing for nearly 7 straight hours? Lookin' at porn, that's what. Or, at least, as much nakedness as our filters would allow him see—which turns out to be quite a bit, actually. This use of our facilities bothers Mrs. A more than his tender flaky crust.

Nearsighted Dave: The Return

One of my least favorite computer patrons of old has returned to plague us again. No, not Par— (oops—don’t say his name, it gives him power). I’m talking about Nearsighted Dave. 

We’ve not seen Nearsighted Dave since 2004 and a wonderful two year respite it’s been. However, a couple weeks back, he returned and began using our computers in his usual voracious manner. The thing is, it took me close to a week to figure out who he was. Since we last saw him, Nearsighted Dave has either fallen on hard times or just gone off his medication. His hair has grown long, stringy and greasy, his beard has grown shaggy and somewhat matted, and, by the smell of him, his bathing habits seem to have become intermittent at best. The fact that he’s perfectly content to stay on our computers for hours (HOURS!!!) at a stretch should have been a tip-off to his identity, but considering that this could be said about so many of our “intanet” crowd, it wasn’t. Some time last week, I happened to notice how this then-mystery patron consistently sat with his face literally (and, again, I must emphasize how correctly I am using the word “literally,” here) three inches from the screen.  That's when all the evidence staring me in the face became apparent and I had a moment of clarity. 

Nearsighted Dave is still just as annoying as he was back in the day. If left to his own devices, I have no doubt whatsoever that he would stay planted in front of our computers for the entirety of our working day and beyond—taking time out only to deposit the occasional woefully stinky turd in our bano and then refuse (REFUSE, I TELL YOU!!!!) to use the air-freshener so clearly available. The only way he’ll relinquish his computer is when the other two are full and we have to bump him off to let someone else on. And, of course, he gives you the stink eye (“literally”) when you ask him to relinquish his system and takes a phenomenal amount of time departing. 

As annoying as that is, Nearsighted Dave has now become exponentially worse. He’d already been on for several hours yesterday, his face practically pressed against the screen, one of his hands stroking his ratty beard in a contemplative manner, when it came time to boot him off for one of the other three patrons who’d suddenly arrived wanting a computer. I went back, told him we had someone waiting, withered appropriately under Nearsighted Dave’s stink eye and dismissive “OkAAaayyyy” and returned to the desk to await the moment when I'd have to go back and tell him again. And on my second trip back to tell him again I heard Dave get up. He can sense when you’re coming to tell him again. 

Then, as I was logging off his computer, I noticed a gray and ash-like substance spread across the keyboard. What, was he somehow smoking at the computer? No, I could only smell his unwashed presence, lingering ghost-like in the area, and not smoke. Oh, hell, I thought, as I realized what the ash was. I bolted up front, where my boss Mrs. A was trying to eat her lunch. 

“I hate to ruin your lunch like this, but I think you need to come look at this computer. The guy that was back there has left something foul and unholy,” I said. We returned to the computer hall where she examined the substance. 

“What is it?” she whispered. 

“Beard dandruff,” I whispered back. 

“Oh. My. Lord.” 

Moments later, armed with disinfectant spray and a large paper towel, I set about cleaning up the leavings. It was just as disgusting as you think. Afterward, I returned to the circ desk to consult with Mrs. A. 

“What do we need to do about this?” 

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” she said. Her point was that we can’t get rid of Mister Stanky because he stinks so much, so how can we get rid of Nearsighted Dave for being too crusty? I fell back on the legal aspects of the case, recalling her attention to the ALA article we found back in February that covers how libraries are able to do precisely that. Mrs. A, in turn, fell back on her old faithful stance of “I’m not going to be the one to test that case in this state.” I then returned to my original premise that what Nearsighted Dave had left on our keyboard was both foul and unholy. She agreed, but again said there was nothing we could do. 

“Um, maybe I don’t want a computer after all,” a nearby male patron said. He’d been waiting for the next available computer and had overheard what we’d been talking about. Unfortunately, our actual words had been very vague as to the identity of the substance I’d found, so this guy had the impression that it was an even fouler substance than it really had been. I tried to assure him I’d disinfected the keyboard.

“No, I don’t care how much you’ve disinfected it. I don’t want that computer. Once you get that stuff in there…” 

“Oh, no!” I said, realizing his assumption. “We’re talking about dandruff. Not... that.” 

He seemed relieved. 

“And if it had been... that,” I said, an eye in Mrs. A’s direction, “I would have thrown him out of here physically, whether it got me fired or not.” 

Mrs. A pshawed my threats and assured our patron that we’d never had anything like that happen around here before, though she had heard of some of our local coffee shops with “intanet” access having to deal with that, (including one rumored incident involving one of our former “intanet” rogue patrons whose name I nearly invoked earlier). 

After a bit, Mrs. A consulted with Mrs. C on the matter and it was decided that we should point out to Nearsighted Dave that our computers in the back are equipped with an in-computer desktop magnifying glass that he can use to enlarge content at his leisure. Should he choose to use it, his face wouldn't be positioned directly over the keyboard, so when he begins contemplatively rubbing his chin again his dandruff will at least fall in his lap rather than in our keys. 

I remained angry throughout the afternoon. I tried getting some perspective on the matter, but just couldn’t manage it. I felt like I could smell Nearsighted Dave’s stench clinging to my clothing and I kept checking myself for crust contamination. As far as foul substances I’ve had to deal with in my job go, dandruff is actually pretty benign. I mean, I’d much rather clean that up than another in-toilet Jackson Pollock ass-splatter from the Serial Shitter. Still didn’t mean I wanted to deal with it. So often the foul substances we do find are anonymously gifted to us. To me, this means that when we DO know who’s responsible for one of them we are obligated to nail him to the wall for it. 

Alas it appears this will not be the case. I got no sympathy from my wife when retelling the story to her. She is, after all, a doctor, who throughout her long workdays has to deal with mookystinks and foulness that make dandruff seem sweet and sterile. In fact, if it weren’t illegal for her to publicly speak about her patients, and if she actually had time and inclination to do it, a blog written by her would be an amazing and horrifying thing to behold. A story she once told me about discovering a potato chip in the fat fold of a patient would be enough to secure her blog immortality.

DP for DPenedetta

A mom, dad and little kid came in, yesterday, put their books and assorted media returns on the circ desk and headed for the children's room to browse for more. Atop the stack of books was one of the Dad's returns, a DVD of The Rock's cinematic magnum opus, The Sc0rpi0n King. When I picked up the case, though, there was a curious rattling sound from within, unlike most DVD cases in which the user has properly seated the DVD upon its knobby little spindle. I opened the case to check and noticed immediately that while the DVD for The Sc0rpi0n King was actually seated properly, the DVD resting on top of it, entitled "DP My Pussy," was not. Yesirree, that's four hours of good, old-fashioned, European, double-penetration porn for your ass. Or, rather your... well, you know.

"Oh, my," I said, just as my coworker, Mrs. B, stepped behind the desk. I showed her my find. She tittered.

"Where did you...?"

"In here," I said, holding up the DVD case, the Rock's face grimacing from the cover. I nodded in the direction of the Dad, who could be seen, his back turned, just beyond the door to the children's room.

"What do we do?" Mrs. B said, still laughing.

"I have no idea," I said, barely containing my own fit of chuckles. Then the Dad stepped back into the main room and Mrs. B scattered, trying to regain composure. I continued to check in their other books, forcing my mouth into a frown to counteract the powerful forces working to make it grin. I debated what to do next.

First on my agenda was to unobtrusively slip over to the copier and photocopy the DVD's face, just so I could be sure to get my facts right when reporting it here later. This I did. The DVD appeared to be from a mailorder outfit similar to Netflix, only for porn. Next, the phone rang. It was for my boss, Mrs. A. So I left the circ desk, passed the Dad, passed the Mom & the Kid in the children's room, and went upstairs to tell Mrs. A she had a call.

"We just had a patron bring back some porn in the Sc0rpi0n King box," I whispered across the desk to her.

"Do you know who did it?"

"Yeah," I said. "He's still here. With his whole family."

Mrs. A cackled.

"I don't know what to do," I said.

"Give it back to him."

"You're serious?"

"Sure. Just tell him you found a DVD that wasn't ours in the case and you wanted to give it back."

I shook my head. "Yeah. This should be fun."

I returned to the circ desk. Within minutes, the Dad, the Mom & the Kid approached, books and "liberry" card in hand.

Now, here's where I may have made an error...

You know how every once in a while you'll hear a story in the news about some poor moron of a restaurant manager who fires an employee yet expects that freshly terminated employee to go ahead and finish out his shift? And, of course, by the end of the evening they find half a standy turd in the mole sauce and 50 cases of E. coli on their hands? Well, I kind of did the library equivalent. Instead of checking all their books out to them first and THEN passing over the porn, I served it up as my opening move.

"Um, we found... another... DVD in the Sc0rpi0n King box," I said. I slid the DVD face down across the desk. The Dad picked it up, took a one half second glance at its face and quickly pocketed it without even a mumbled "thanks." Only then, discomfort quite thick in the air, no eye-contact being made by ANYBODY, did I begin to check their books out to them.

*beep*
(stamp)

*beep*
(stamp)

*beep*(stamp)

(find where we hid the barcode on this one)
*beep*
(stamp)

*beep*(stamp)

...through the first ten of the books they'd brought up.

"Uh, we've run out of room on this card," I said, eyes still averted, holding out the eleventh book, as yet unscanned.

"That's... that's okay," the Dad said in a low voice. He gathered up the pile of books in one hand, the Kid in the other and they quickly made for the door. I then flew to the window to see where they went, because I wanted a glimpse of how the scene was gonna play out once Mom & Dad hit the car. I could just imagine the verbal beating the Dad would receive for not only putting four hours of double penetration porn in the Sc0rpi0n King case, but returning it to the library to boot! How does one even DO that unintentionally? Of course, maybe it was her fault. Maybe they were in a big hurry to get out of the house and she was trying to gather all of Junior's things together, saw the partially open Sc0rpi0n King case on top of the TV, ejected whatever was in the DVD player and slapped it in there without looking. Maybe. Whatever the cause, I couldn't see any animation from them in the car that indicated an argument. Maybe that would have to wait until later, after they put Junior down for his nap.

I'm thinking we may never see them or the books they borrowed again.

Stinking Innanet Crowd!

I'm so disappointed in our computer patrons. Now that Crusty Dave has provided us with a genuine threat to temperament, nose and the holding down of lunch, none of our regular innanet crowders seem willing to help us get rid of him. 

See Crusty has proven himself perfectly willing to stay on our computers all day long, and, provided no one is in need of his computer due to the other two computers being taken up by patrons, he can actually get away with it. In order to bust him off, we need at least three other people who want computers at the same time. The trouble is, Crusty Dave is very very stinky. It's not quite the slap-you-in-the-face-with-a-dead-fish stench of Mr. Stanky, but it's ultimately a more pervasive stench because it has so much time to build up. Once any other computer user gets around him, they find their desire to stay there quickly diminishes and rarely stay for their full half hour. So for most of the day, there was at least one and often two computers open. 

At one point, Crusty had some competition from Gene Gene the Geneal0gy Machine, a relatively recent addition to our benign irritants gallery whose major claim to infame is his tendency to tell anyone who gets too close to him the mind-numbingly boring details of his geneal0gy research. (We make it a point never to engage him in conversation of any kind because he forcefully steers it back around to his favorite topic every single time.) 

Gene got his computer a couple hours after Dave's first sign-in and I was glad to have him, because Gene can hog up the computer time better than most and has the added bonus of not stinking. Soon, another patron took the last computer and before long a kid came in and signed up for Crusty's. I let Crusty know he needed to get off, but by the time he actually got around to getting off the kid had left the building and I didn't technically have anyone waiting. I kept that bit of information to myself, though, and Crusty departed. 

I had barely had time to clean up his crust and spritz down his chair with Febreeze when he returned and signed up again. By then, unfortunately, the other computer patron had also departed, leaving only Gene. And by the time I had another computer-competition-trifecta, I then had to bust Gene off. 

Gene, while signing out, said something about possibly coming back later. I tried to get him to go ahead and sign up for another session right then. I was even willing to stand there and engage him in geneal0gy talk until his turn came up, but he decided he would go away for a bit first. 

So for the rest of my workday, Crusty and his intense stench held sway over the computer hall and indeed the landing above it. I spent the day cursing the usual innanet crowders for being so disloyal to us and Crusty for officially ruining Febreeze's Linen & Sky scent. 

Where the hell are our tried and true faithful? Why aren't they flocking to us in great numbers? (For it is only in great numbers that we will be able to stave off the evil!) I'll take nearly any of them, really, provided they're not stinky. Where is the Devil Twin Auxiliary League? Or the Devil Twins themselves?! I'd be willing to cut them some slack on fines if they'd just monopolize a couple of computers for a few hours for me. Where is Mr. B-Natural? Or Crazed Mom? Or Mr. Big Stupid? Or Kanji the Kid? Or The Dufus? Where are they? I'll take Mrs. Bellows or the Internet Neophyte, too, and will even show them how to load "the innanet." 

God help me, I'll even take Parka's dumb ass back. 

There! I said it! I said his name, have given him power and summoned him from the depths of whatever Stygian pit he's been trolling around for the past few blissful, Parka-Free months! Bring it on!!!