"Liberry" Glossary: Repeat Offender

Repeat Offender

-noun phrase

1. A member of the innanet crowd who signs in for computer time, stays for while, leaves, returns to sign up for more, leaves again, returns to sign up for more again, etc., repeat cycle until closing time. Repeat Offenders are not always rogue patrons, but often are. The offense inherent in their title stems from the fact that, due to our usual bad attitudes, the staff becomes completely sick of dealing with these people since we have to go out and log them onto a computer with each successive visit and we wish they would just get what they're doing done the first time and go away. We're particularly annoyed with patrons such as Germophobe Gary, who not only leave and return repeatedly throughout the day, but demand a new Clorox Disinfecting Wipe with each visit so that our keyboards might be rendered safe for him to touch. (We can't really blame him, but it is still a very annoying extra step for us.) Very often, Repeat Offenders are also the patrons who do the most amount of printing from the computers and are constantly pestering us to look at their prints, compounding our bad attitude toward them. Usual suspects among the current Repeat Offenders crowd include: Germaphobe Gary, Gene Gene the Geneal0gy Machine, Mr. B-Natural, Mr. W. Perfect, The New Devil Twins Auxiliary League of Neighborhood Kids, Johnny Hacker, Mr. Little Stupid. Former Repeat Offenders include: Parka, Crusty the Patron, Stoner Lad.
   

Cat Piss Man (a.k.a. "Bodily Excretions Week: Day 3")

In our local kingdom of stinky patrons, there are some royally fetid gems.

Naturally, the king of this empire is Mr. Stanky.

Second in line of succession, perhaps surprisingly, is Mr. Stankier who, while outranking Mr. Stanky in pure stank power, is still rated only second because, generously, he visits us only about a tenth as often.

Third up is The Sweatiest Woman in All the Land (ne, the Urineiest Woman in all the Land). I must say, though, that while she has been a more frequent visitor as of recent, I've found she no longer really smells sweaty or uriney at all. Maybe I'm catching her on good days, but let's hope this is a permanent change. However, even with her current diminished stank power, she's still third based on nasal-memory alone.

Fourth would be Bear Piss Man, who is no longer in the area, but ranks fourth all the same. He is so named not only because that's what he smelled like but also because we were pretty sure he had free access to such a substance in his line of work as a carny running an animal display at the local fair. Bear Piss Man became progressively more offensive as the days of the fair passed and progressively more insistent that the staff should come visit his booth at the fair. If we dropped his name, he said, we could get in for free. We had no desire to do this, however, because by the end of the week this guy could clear the computers of patrons within seconds of his arrival. We also learned we were wrong about the bear piss. By his own admission, late in the week, he actually ran the Freak Tent, which gave us all sorts of unsettling mental images to accompany his aroma.

Let us not forget Crusty the Patron, either, who I'll refrain from detailing as it is getting close to lunch time. (Okay, so it's only 9 a.m. here, but somewhere in the world it is indeed lunch time.)

And we've had an assortment of stinky drifters who smell of sweat, but who are often entertaining, so we don't mind so much.

Last week the stinky patron royal family saw a new and dangerous threat to their hierarchy amassing its armies on the horizon. I first noticed it shortly after arriving for my shift one day.

While shelving books near the computer area and comfy chair reading section, my nose detected the unmistakable odor of cat piss. I say unmistakable because, as the owner of a thankfully-retired former World Champion Cat-Piss-Distributor (the Official World-Champion Cat-Piss-Distributor of the 1996 Summer Olympics), I know it well. The smell seemed to be coming from a particular comfy chair, which disturbed me greatly. However, upon my next trip through the area, the smell had vanished from the chair. Moments later, though, as I was turning back to the desk, I caught it again, now coming from somewhere near the fireplace.

"Um... have we let a bunch of cats run free in the library recently?" I asked Mrs. C after returning to the desk.

Mrs. C shook her head. "It's him," she said, pointing back toward the fireplace. Sprawled there on one of our comfy sofas, practically on his back, his ass nearly completely off the front edge of the seat cushion, his legs jutting way the hell out in EVERYBODY's way, was the Coot.

Lord, beer me strength.

The Coot, it turns out, was wearing a winter jacket that has, evidently, been steeped in cat urine. It's quite foul and quite unholy and he seems to be either quite unaware of it or is quite aware of it but just doesn't quite give a damn. Frankly either of those options seems plausible.

So because of our stubborn lack of policy allowing us to point out to stinky patrons that they are making our very EYES BLEED with their stench, we had to sit in his cat piss fumes for most of the business day.

Two days later, the Coot returned, but no longer smelled like cat piss. Ah, very good, we collectively thought. He'd washed his coat or has otherwise been given a heads up.

Nope.

A day later, he was back and pissy-smelling. Either he'd worn a different coat on the intervening day, or his cleaned coat had been given a fresh cat-spraying.

So far the War of the Stankites has not commenced in full, as no other members of the royal family have been present to defend their territory from this new aggressor. It's only a matter of time, though, before the battle for the throne commences and the valley runs yellow with the secretions of our enemies.

Nonactual Conversations Not Actually Heard in any Libraries #74

THE DUFUS— Hey, guys, look... it’s a beautiful sunny day!

GENE GENE THE GENEAL0GY MACHINE— Sure is. In fact, it’s the first day in over two months that it’s not snowing, raining, windy or otherwise cold as ass. I even saw Fatty Manchild wearing a pair of 80's style jam shorts.

MR. B-NATURAL— That's all that piece of crap ever wears.

GENE— Oh, yeah.

DUFUS— Anyway, since it's such a nice day, what say we go for a picnic?

(long silence)

DUFUS— Just kidding. Let's head down to the “liberry” for several hours of innanet time, instead.

BRENT & BRICE: THE NEW DEVIL TWINS— Yayyyy!

GENE— I don’t know, guys. I saw an awful lot of cars out front. I think it’s probably pretty busy in there. It is Friday.

DUFUS— So we’re supposed to just sit by while other people use the innanet? That shit is ours by right!

GENE— You have a point. Okay, I'm in. But only if we all sign up at once.

DUFUS— Of course we’re all going to sign up at once.

MR. B-NATURAL— And I’m not going unless I can get all cranky about having to wait 15 whole minutes. Then I'll demand the Wall$treet Journal, leaf through it at the circulation desk, in the way of God and everybody, until I find the cr0ssw0rd puzzle, which I'll then demand the staff photocopy for me. Then I'm going to stand at the circ desk and grunt and growl and do my puzzle until the staff are crazed and on the verge of kicking me in the junk. And every time any of the staff go back to log on one of the two people waiting ahead of me, I'll assume they're doing it for me and follow them back, then growl some more when it's not for me after all.

DUFUS— Sure thing.

GENE— I'll sign up last so I can have plenty of time to sit around the main room and torment the staff, too. I'll tell them long-winded stories about each and every one of my ancestors that I've been able to find geneal0gy records for. Like my Great Uncle Stan, who once worked for a guy who sold tools to a man who worked as a mechanic for a crop dusting pilot until he got an infected hangnail and had to go on unemployment—that’s my uncle, mind you, not the crop duster. Except they didn’t have unemployment back then, so he just died, leaving a wife and nineteen kids, each of whom was a fascinating character on their own. Like his daughter Loofie, who…

MR. B-NATURAL— God, shut him up before I sic my dog on him!!!

DUFUS— Um, Gene, how `bout saving it for the library, huh? I mean, I'm all about the name-dropping myself, but damn.

BRICE— What about me? I’m still banned from using a computer until I pay for that book I lost.

BRENT— Hah! I paid my fines off, so I can use a computer again! You know, after waiting 20 or 30 minutes for my turn, and all. I'm gonna MySpace like there's no tomorrow! In your face!

DEVIL TWIN AUXILLIARY MEMBER TONY— I’m going to sign up for a computer too! They still let me use them even though I stole $20 from the cashbox that one time. In your face twice, Brice!

MR. B-NATURAL— What, are you kids green or something? No, Brice, listen. Just sign up for a computer anyway. The staff can never tell you and Brent apart, even though one of you is clearly a head taller than the other. And even if they catch on, they’ll just be pissed off you had the sac to try and sign up again after all the times they've told you were banned because of fines. It's win-win!

BRICE— I know, I’ll sign up with my middle name. Then they might think we have a third brother.

MR. B-NATURAL— That's the idea! You're catching on, now.

TONY— Yeah, and if they do call you on it, I’ll help run interference by signing up for computers repeatedly throughout the afternoon, often returning to the desk to sign up again before my time has even run out. You’ll always have a shoulder to look over.

MR. B-NATURAL— Oh, that’ll squeeze a Cleveland Steamer in their Wheaties real good! The only thing that could make it better is if you tried to sneak some coffee back, too.

GENE— And because the staff will quickly learn to avoid me, as though I were coated in dog feces, I'll lie in wait for them in other rooms, jumping out to tell them about all the lists of my relatives I wasn't able to get the computers to print properly last time and to show them the many lists I was able to print. Like this one that has my uncle Stan's daughter Loofie's name on it. I remember that my grandmother once told me about this time when Loofie stumped her toe on the edge of the tub and...

DUFUS— Gene!!! You know I love ya, guy, but I swear to God I'm going to hit you throat with a rolled up New Y0rker if you don't shut the hell up! In fact, when we get to the library, I'm going to wait for my computer far away from you. I'll go upstairs, where I can flip through Newsweek's entertainment section and catch up on all the people I used to be close personal friends of back when I was a demi-god in California. I'll flip from page to page and sigh longingly. And, every now and then, I'll look up to watch that exceptionally slow staff member as she takes the better part of three hours to put new spine labels on only a couple of dozen books.

RANDOM MALE PATRON— I’m just going to come in repeatedly over the course of the entire afternoon and act all impatient and give the staff dirty looks that there aren’t any computers free. I won’t actually sign up for one and wait my turn, of course, but will instead leave for half an hour and come back to do it all again.

MR. B-NATURAL— Also a very good tactic.

THE COOT— I don't care about no compooter gigitygatchets. I'm going to set up shop outside the noisy lady's office, slouched waaay down in the chair until my legs block the entire walkway. And I'm going to grunt and sing and fart all the live long day.

DUFUS— Knock yourself out.

THE COOT— *FAAAART*

(Twenty minutes to an hour later)

DUFUS— Hey, this keyboard has flaky white stuff in the keys. What gives?

CRUSTY THE PATRON— Oh, sorry. That was me. I was in for several hours before you arrived and got booted from computer to computer, so they're all pretty much contaminated with my buttery, flaky, beard crust.

EVERYONE— Ewwwwwwww!

(While the above dialogue is fiction, the events described pretty much went down exactly like that.)

Rumors & Returns

It's been kind of a slow week, though not exactly uneventful.

Crusty the Patron has returned. So has his crust and odor, though a bit less of both than we've seen in the past. He's been gone since October, but then again he'd disappeared for a couple of years before that, back when he was only known as Nearsighted Dave. My theory is that he has relatives, perhaps even a son, in the area, as we've seen him with a kid in the past. So far he hasn't given us near the trouble we've had from him before, though he's certainly not as clean as we'd appreciate.

"Crusty the Patron is leaving crust again," I told Mrs. A, scratching my own beard to demonstrate Crusty's dandruff harvesting habit.

"Is he on the computer now?" she asked.

"Well, some of him is."

The other major revelation of the week is a rumor picked up by Mrs. A, to the effect that Mr. Crab has "lost" his "liberry" card yet again. Mrs. A didn't elaborate where she heard the rumor, but I suspect he probably came in over the weekend and gave one of the greenhorns hell about it and they told her. She relayed the rumor to me knowing full well I will probably be the one manning the desk when he attempts to bully his way out of having to have it, knowing full well I, of all employees, won't back down for him. Frankly, I think he "lost" it on purpose just so he'd have the excuse to raise hell. Well, that and his never-ending quest to achieve his ultimate dream of being allowed into the legendary, yet still no less mythical, club of special patrons who don't have to have their cards to check out books. (We give `em free coffee too, which they may leisurely drink, without a lid, at the computers.) Mrs. A threatened to leave an extra dollar in the cash box, earmarked to pay for the man's replacement card, just so I wouldn't have to put him in the hurt locker.

"Oh, no," I said. "I believe our policy states you have to pay $5 for a second replacement card."

Still, I might just let her leave the dollar, just so I can gleefully inform Mr. Crab that he's now in dutch to us for a dollar, which he can pay back by increasing his much remarked upon annual $200 donation all the way to $201.

All in the Gene (a.k.a.: "Set a course for adventure, your mind on a new romance!")

Gene Gene the Geneal0gy Machine is still far from being a Rogue Patron, but he’s certainly not helping himself when it comes to staying out of my field of temptation to classify him as such. In fact, he’s rapidly encroaching upon Crusty the Patron’s record for sheer computer usage. 

For the past couple of days he's been really putting the geneal0gy pedal to the geneal0gy metal, burning up the hours just a researchin' and researchin' as fast as his little geneal0gist fingers can go. Apparently, it's been going well for him. Trouble is, other people need to use computers too, so we have to bust him off frequently. Now Gene's never ever been nasty to us when we've had to go back and tell him his time is up. However, his typical reaction when we do is almost as annoying.

As we approach, Gene looks up at us to roll his eyes in a mostly inoffensive way. We then break the news to him someone's waiting for his computer at which point he shakes his head and gives off a little laugh in what I can only intuit is a George-McFly-wagging-a-finger-at-old-Biff "Oh, you wacky liberry staff, interrupting my important important work, yet again. Well, I guess I'll go ahead and get up, but only because I'm such a nice guy. What am I gonna do with you crazy kids?" sort of tone. It's okay if you hear such a laugh once, but after the 5th time in a day, it really starts to gnaw on your ass. 

Gene then makes a giant production of gathering up all his geneal0gy crap, which he'd previously spread across the whole of creation (i.e., his computer desk) and packing it neatly away in his giant geneal0gy-crap-bag, which he then hauls up front to begin the next stage of his campaign of annoyance. 

See the brilliance of Gene is that he has a sure fire method of getting a new computer as quickly as possible. He plants himself in the front room and proceeds to lecture anyone in proximity on the infernally-boring subject of his geneal0gy research. He whips out a chart and starts pointing at relatives, telling you where they came from, why they left where they had originated from, what they did when they got where they were going, what their name got changed to, where they moved, who they married, what libraries they did their geneal0gy research in, what "liberry" staff they irritated, etc. When he starts in on that, we can't kick other patrons off computers fast enough. And if it turns out there's going to be a long wait for the next computer patron to run out of time, (say, anything over a minute) it rapidly becomes an every-staff-member-for-themselves situation. Suddenly, alphabetizing the easy-reader section looks mighty inviting and we will break our asses running to get there first. And God help the poor, dumb, slow soul who gets trapped behind the desk when the exodus occurs, because they're the one who'll have to endure the pain. 

Having been that poor, dumb, slow soul on more than one occasion, I can report that not only does Gene go on and on and ON about geneal0gy, he's now taken to complaining about the slowness of our computers, how much time the work itself takes, the costliness of the geneal0gy sites he uses, how he really needs to get his own computer, and a bunch of other stuff I try my best to tune out. 

I'm now thinking the only logical defense against Gene is to stick fingers in ears and sing the Love Boat theme song at full volume, off key. That, or maybe a swift application of a "liberry" taser. And that is an essential piece of equipment we lack. I frequently propose that we buy one and just as frequently my proposal is rejected by my boss, Mrs. A. Maybe we should trap her at the desk with Gene for about 20 minutes and see how that loosens up the purse strings.

A-Okay

Since most of the "real" staff was out of town all week, today was the first day I was able to speak to anyone regarding the Crusty situation. 

I tried to tell Mrs. C on Thursday, but Crusty wouldn't leave the building and I didn't want to risk my voice carrying from the circ desk to the computer hall. (With Crusty's sense of smell obviously blunted, his hearing might have increased in power to compensate.) So I kept quiet. 

Today, though, Mrs. A had also returned and, naturally, so had Crusty. It was also raining, so I knew there was no way Crusty would actually leave the building if he could help it. 

I asked Mrs. A if I could speak to her in the activities room, the most distant point from computer hall you can reach and still remain on "liberry" property. I think Mrs. A probably thought I was going to complain to her again concerning Crusty's crustiness and smell and she started to try and head me off at the pass by telling me she'd been researching the matter. I told her it was okay, that I wasn't complaining and that I may have taken care of the matter, though perhaps not as permanently as we might like. I told her what went down earlier in the week and how Crusty was considerably less crusty now as a result. 

"I didn't think I smelled him, today," she said. 

In turn, Mrs. A told me that she'd spoken with several colleagues on the matter while at the "liberry" assoc. conference and they had told her it was fine to kick someone out for being filthy provided we had such contingencies written into our "liberry" policy. Such an addition would require a vote by our board of directors and Mrs. A felt confident that they would approve. Our plan now is to borrow the wording of such policies from another "liberry" that already has them, add them to our policy, get the board to approve it. And because she can't imagine how we would go about approaching said stinky patrons regarding their condition, she wants to send the entire staff off for training in such methods. 

Unfortunately, my proposal of instituting a policy in which we simply apply a sock full of quarters across the backs of our stinky patrons skulls, followed by a quick wheelbarrow trip with them out to the dumpster, was not approved. 

As complicated as this situation may yet become, I am heartened that Mrs. A sought advice on the matter from her peers and is willing to enact policy about it. It was getting to the point where I was considering how justified I would be in threatening to quit over the matter.

Of course...

 ...the thing I failed to take into account before speaking to Crusty the patron's friends and housemates, (y'know, in regard to Crusty's general crustiness and sanity-sapping stench), is that his friends might in fact go tell Crusty that I'm the guy who told them. This only occurred to me after I arrived at the "liberry" to open up this morning. 

It was a troubling thought.

In an ideal world, they might take Crusty aside and calmly tell him something like, "Pardon me, Crusty, but are you aware that your body odor is capable of knocking a buzzard off of a shit wagon? Well it can and, oh look, it has. And on a related subject, your beard seems to be doing its best impersonation of the Ally Sheedy snowflake scene from The Breakfast Club on a fairly constant basis. Would you, perhaps, be so kind as to take a damned bath?" 

However, while I would much prefer that Crusty's friends were discrete about where they gleaned their information, I had no control over how they imparted it to him and I could see that for them it would probably be far easier to blame it on me. It could just as likely get phrased, "Pardon me, Crusty, but were you aware that someone seems to have given you a good hearty beating with a large chunk of driftwood they hauled out of the cess pit of a hog farm? And your chin, sir, while still covered in hair, is like a putrid yet flaky croissant originating from the Butt-Riest Valley Baking Company and which I have no doubt was once in close proximity to the wang of a desert-dried corpse. But don't take our word for it; that guy from the library said so, as well." 

What if Crusty was pissed off at me? What if he confronted me about the matter? What if he, dare I say it, raised a stink? 

I mused on that for a while before deciding that if he wanted things to go down like that, it would be fine with me. I would simply say, "Do you really want to have this conversation?" If so, I would then explain to him that being exposed to his leavings was not fair to our patrons, nor to me, nor to our computer keyboards. Furthermore, I now know that he is not homeless and does have access to running water and soap, so he no longer has any excuse for turning up smelling like a turd blossom. 

While I was still formulating my potential side of the argument, the door opened and Mr. Stanky walked in.  Sonofa... He signed up for a computer and I put him on the little one by the stairs, his favorite. 

Mr. Stanky's hair looked wet. I hoped he had just washed it and that it wasn't simply clogged with grease. I supposed he could have had a bath. After all, I hadn't been clubbed by his usual invisible stench cudgel when he came in. In fact, it actually took a couple of walkbys as he sat at the computer to detect any sort of odor from him. He was stinky, but not anywhere NEAR his usual levels. He only stayed his half hour. 

By 12:30 there was still no sign of Crusty. Perhaps he was too embarrassed at being confronted with his own uncleanliness to return? Maybe it would be a good thing if they told him I'd said it. 

Around 1:45, Crusty walked in and signed up for a computer. I'm not entirely sure if he'd bathed his whole body, but his face seemed a good deal cleaner. He'd trimmed his beard short and there was no sign of crust. Furthermore, while he didn't smell springtime fresh, he certainly wasn't overpowering. Perhaps he'd bathed and just put on some old and only semi-stinky clothes. Whatever, it was a vast improvement and a welcome one. 

Crusty also failed to punch me in the face or acknowledge at all that I'd had anything to do with his sudden sprucing up. Competition for the computers was pretty fierce, so he got busted off a couple of times before I had to leave for the day. Still, I'm satisfied that he's moving in a positive direction.

THE FRIEND OF MY ENEMY IS MY... wait, that aint right. THE ENEMY OF MY FRIEND IS... er, no. THE FRIEND OF A FRIEND OF MY ENEMY IS... oops, outta spa

With most of the staff out of town at our state's "liberry" assoc. meeting, it's been me and the Newbies holding down the fort. 

I rolled in today fully expecting to find chaos in reign and Crusty the Patron (a.k.a. Nearsighted Dave) hogging up one of our computers, stinkin' up the joint. Instead, Ms. M managed to stave off the chaos, but I did detect the distinctive scent of Crusty upon the air. 

I checked the computer hall, but oddly he wasn't there. We even had an empty computer available should he turn up, which I had confidence he would. The lingering fumes were explained by a glance at our computer sign in sheet, which told me he'd already been in twice that morning, and a glance at the free keyboard in the back, which was choked with his crust. 

After I cleaned and disinfected everything in sight, Mrs. J and Ms. M told of how the computers had been eat up all morning and it was only now that things were finally calm. Crusty had been asked to relinquish his computer three different times and finally gave up on the last one. So began the waiting game, in which my spine clenched every time I heard the door open and I was only too happy to give anyone through it a computer, so long as they were not Crusty. Oddly, he didn't show, but this didn't help my nerves. 

Mid afternoon, a couple arrived. I recognized the man as a fellow who had accompanied Crusty several days ago. They'd both been in on a particularly rainy afternoon and I remembered that the man had identified himself to me as Crusty's friend after alerting me that he'd relinquished his own computer to Crusty in order to let him stay on. Furthermore, the man, both then and today, did not strike me as being in quite the same "In Need of Meds" situation as Crusty. In fact, he seemed like a pretty normal, pretty likeable guy. 

An idea began to stir in my brain. 

What if I was to approach Crusty's friend about Crusty's situation with us? Sure, it was a risky move, but I got good vibes from this guy. He seemed to actually care about Crusty and perhaps was in a position to be a good influence on him and, hopefully, his bathing habits. Breaching the subject, though, was daunting. To my horror, I also realized it was very much the sort of move my dad would have made given the same circumstances and I wasn't sure I wanted to go down that particular road. Not that it's a bad road to travel, but my car handles much better on more passive aggressive parkways. 

Still, the idea of this nagged at me. 

The husband and wife looked around for a bit, found some books they wanted, asked me to help them with finding some others and eventually they came to check out. The wife said she had probably lost her card in a house fire they'd been through a few months back, so she would likely need a new one. I set her up with one and wasn't going to charge her for a replacement, then saw she wasn't in the computer at all and just made her a new card from scratch. 

While they waited, the husband said, "Let me go see if DAVE is here," and went back to the computer hall. Crusty Dave was not in, so the man returned to report this to his wife, providing me with the best IN to the situation I was ever likely to get. 

I finished checking their books out to them and, seeing as how no other patrons were present in the room, said, "You're friends with DAVE right?" 

"Yeah," the man said, cheerfully enough. 

Now I'd done it. I'd stepped out there, but hadn't really given much thought as to how I was going to phrase any of this. 

"Is he... without a home, at the moment?" 

"No," the man said. "Well, yes and no. He stays with us right now." 

"Ah," I said. "Okay," I also said. There followed a very long pause. "We've been having a bit of a…" pause, "...kind of a..." painfully long pause. "How do I put this?" 

"Bluntly," his wife said. 

"Go ahead and just say it," said the man, still upbeat. "I can see you're coming from a good place." 

"Okay. Well. We've been having some... hygiene issues with him," I said. 

The man seemed at first to start to defend his friend. Then, in a split second, reconsidered, so that his initial defense statement went, "Yeah, but he... I know, I know. I agree." 

I explained then that there wasn't a whole lot we could do about this issue, but it had long since become a problem for us. I explained about the beard dandruff in the keyboard, which received knowing nods and appropriately disgusted looks from both husband and wife. Feeling emboldened by this, I added, "And he smells pretty bad, which kind of makes the place unlivable for those of us who work here." 

They nodded. 

I then, in slightly more polite terms, mentioned how he stays a very long time on the computers, which would be fine by us except for the whole stench and dandruff thing. (Actually, he would be very annoying without the stench, but we'll gladly tolerate it if he's clean.) I explained that we've had no other real problems with him and that he always gets off when someone else needs a computer.  I mean, eventually, he does.  And that he's always welcome to sign up for more sessions if he wants and that we're in no way trying to restrict his use of library services.  We just wish he wasn't so unpleasant. 

The man said he understood completely and that they've actually been dropping hints to Crusty for a while now that he's ripe. The man said they would now gently confront Crusty about it and if suggesting didn't work he'd just tell him bluntly and lay it out there. The wife explained that they had recently lost everything in a house fire themselves and were only just now getting back on their feet. They have a house, but apparently no plumbing as of yet so they have to take showers at her sister's house. Crusty, an old friend of theirs, turned up one day and has been hanging around ever since. He has not, however, taken them up on their offer of the use of the shower. 

I felt bad for their loss and more than a bit guilty for whining about stinky patrons when the stinky patron's friends had lost everything they owned. Then again, he is the one not bathing when it's available. I was very pleased with the encounter, though. The couple took my request well and had exactly the positive reaction I'd hoped for. Maybe it will do Crusty and us some good. (My dad would be so proud.)

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.

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!!!

Gonna be a Nettin' War

Had us an Internet Crowd Gang War on Thursday. Nearly all the IC Rogues turned up at some point during the day and most had to wait a while.  They were thus very grumpy campers. Oddly, Parka was not among them. I kept trying to keep all the computers tied up by letting patrons log back on (including Nearsighted Dave and his apparent step-son, who's not nearly as nearsighted) just so he'd have to wait when he got there, but he didn't turn up. Almost as bad, though, Mr. Big Stupid lurched through the door with his usual, "Got`ny `puters?" Oh, so sorry. There's a 10 minute wait for you. He looked satisfyingly disappointed.

Two Rogues who did turn up and who were summarily turned away were Jimmy the "Anonymous" Snitch and The Amazing Bladderboy. I had to bite my cheek to keep from saying, "Hey, I thought your ass was in jail."

The computers were all full when they came in. I told Jimmy that it would be a 15 minute wait at the very least. (And by the end of 15 minutes, we would be hovering at 15 til closing time, at which point I could shut the computers down due to all the signs we have posted saying that the computers will be shut down at 15 til, thus sparing Jimmy the use of a computer at all.) My master plan was only partially foiled, though, when Jimmy and Bladders simply left.

Suddenly, at 15 til close, ALL the computer users gave up and fled the library all at once. I quickly dashed back and turned the computers off to prevent future attempts. Not that this stops some of the computer crowd. One of our newer internet addicts turned up exactly at closing one day last week and asked if she could check her e-mail "real quick."

"I'm sorry, but we're closed," I told her.

"Guess that means you turned off the computers, then?" she said hopefully.

"Yes," I said, dashing her hopes. She'd already been in three separate times that day. What more did she really need?

By the end of the day we had 37 computer users. ("Thirty seven?  In a row?") Which is a good 10 more than usual.

Nearsighted Dave

It seems we've traded one annoying internet hog for another. No one's seen Parka in over a week and a half so we're pretty sure he's gone bye byes. Now we've got a new guy: Nearsighted Dave.

Nearsighted Dave's actually been in before but only stuck around for a couple of days, hardly putting him in danger of being added to the Rogues Gallery. However, over the past few days he's been trying to rectify that status in a big way.

Nearsighted Dave, perhaps more than any other patron in recent memory, has an overwhelming hunger for our computers. He signs up for a computer and makes grumbling sounds when he can't get on one immediately. That's typical Internet Crowd behavior, mind you, but he takes it a step further. Nearsighted Dave evidently loves our computers so much that when he finally gets to use one he has to sit with his face practically pressed up against the screen itself. I am SO not kidding and SO not misusing the word "literally" when I say that he literally sits with his face three inches away from the screen.

We thought this odd enough, but even odder still was the fact that Nearsighted Dave never seemed to be actually DOING anything with the computer. To the untrained observer, it appears as though Nearsighted Dave is merely staring at the screen, perhaps absorbing needed radiation his alien race requires. Upon closer inspection (i.e. nosy "liberry" ass. reconnaissance on my part) Nearsighted Dave is actually using a chat window, which his face entirely blocks when pressed up against the screen.

On Thursday we had to bump Nearsighted Dave off to allow other patrons to use the computer on at least three separate occasions. After each bump, he would hurry to the front to sign in again and would whine and moan about the excruciating 16 minute wait. He also refused to behave like a nice patron and wait upstairs, out of sight and out from under foot. Instead, he paced the main room, staring longingly at our timers.

Nearsighted Dave, at one point, explained that he had not finished checking his e-mail. According to him, he has 18 separate e-mail accounts, all of which he must check regularly. (Oh no, he's not going to cause problems in the future.)