The Cultural Divide (More Tales of the "Good" Patrons)

My recent sojourn to Austin reminds me of a recent visit by a family of "good" patrons.

A Hispanic family, including a mom, a 10-year-old boy and his younger sister, approached me for help finding books for a book report the boy had been assigned at school. I looked up some good material and led them into the stacks to the very shelf where they could find it.

After a while, the family approached the circ desk and the boy asked if his mother could get a library card for them. Only then did I realize that the boy had done all the talking earlier when asking for help with his school research. And from her answers to my questions during the library card application process, it was apparent that the mom didn't speak very good English. Her son, however, spoke great English and was clearly serving as the family's ambassador to the English-speaking world. For a 10-year-old, he seemed fairly practiced at the job.

After making the mother's card, I asked her if she wanted her children to have cards as well. I thought that with his elevated status, it would probably make things a bit easier for the boy to have his own card rather than having to rely on his mom's. She said he could have one too. Rather than filling out a whole new application, I took hers and explained that I would write his name in above hers since the contact information was all the same.

"And what's your name?" I asked him.

"Juan," he said.

"That's J-U-A-N?" I asked.

The boy's eyes widened and an amazed expression crossed his face.

"You're the first person to ever get that right, here," he said.

I smiled at him and shrugged. It touched me that he seemed so happy to finally have someone who knew how his name should be spelled, but I wasn't really surprised that it happens so infrequently around here. It is West Virginia after all.

When Bad Patrons Go Good: Take 2 (Tales of the "Good" Patrons Week: Day 5)

I was mindin' my own at the circ desk when a brightly-dressed lady entered the building, approached the desk and set some Danielle Steel books down.

"I'm bringing these back," she said in a genial tone. Then she moved off toward the New Fiction section.

Now the lady looked a little familiar but I couldn't quite place her face. When I checked in the first book, though, the patron record of one Mrs. Carol Satan popped up.

I didn't want to believe it at first. My eyes said the record was hers, but my other senses, particularly my nose, usually detect her presence long before I actually lay eyes on her. Mrs. Carol Satan, you see, traditionally smells like a heaping bowl of that old Christmastime favorite, Aunt Linda's 3-Unfiltered-Lucky-Strikes Salad.

(RECIPE: In a large dirty ash-tray, mix together three packs of half-smoked, unfiltered Lucky Strikes, three 10 oz cans of Veg-All, a handful of Junior Mints and three cigarette-pack-cellophane-wrappers full of balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Toss. Serves seven.)

After a few minutes had passed, Mrs. Carol Satan returned to the circ desk with a stack of seven or eight hardback books. She placed them on the edge of the counter, but did so a bit faster than advisable, for the whole stack tumbled over, avalanching toward the back edge of the desk. Fortunately, my "liberry" ninja skills kicked in and I caught the whole tower before a single one could fall. What happened next, though, came completely as a shock.

"Oh, I'm SO sorry!" Mrs. Carol Satan said. And there was genuine regret in her voice as she said it. Granted, it was regret crusted over by layers of tar, but it was regret all the same. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to let them fall like that."

"That's... that's okay," I said.

Mrs. Carol Satan continued to be very nice as I checked out her books. First, she readily offered her library card without having to be asked, made chit-chat with me while I scanned and stamped each one and seemed remarkably pleasant for a woman who has repeatedly blessed me out for issues that were her own fault. She even smiled. SMILED! And still I couldn't smell any cigarette fumes coming off of her. In fact, she smelled... pretty good, really. Was this somehow a twin sister? Maybe a Mirror Universe escapee, sans goatee? Why was she being so nice to me?

And I still don't know. Mrs. Carol Satan gathered up her books when I was finished with them, wished me a good day and vanished through the doors, a smile still upon her lips. I was floored! This was a turnabout in behavior that could not possibly have been achieved without divine intervention, or at least a few visitations of the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, Future and Zyban.

Mrs. Carol Satan: recent divorcee?

It's not Delivery, it's... well, okay, it IS Delivery (Tales of the "Good" Patrons Week: Day 4)

Any week devoted to tales of "good" patrons must include my favorite patron family of all time, the Asners.

Yep, no sooner had I issued myself the challenge of chronicling the nice folk who visit us than we were paid a visit by Ma Asner and her middle daughter. They approached the desk and politely, silently, waited for me to finish helping another patron. When at last I was able to turn to them, the daughter smiled and explained that she was selling pizza kits for her school and wondered if I would like to have a look at their catalog.

Now, unlike my personal telemarketer policy, I have a personal school-sales policy of buying from one out of every two kids who come to my door to sell me something. (I think they're catching on, cause they keep coming in pairs.) I spent too much time going door to door myself as a yout' to become the cranky, cheap-ass neighbor every one hates. (Plus, I probably still owe the March of Dimes money.) However, it's one thing to be kind and generous to neighborhood kids, but buying stuff at a workplace as public as mine is very dangerous. You get a reputation for buying fund-raising stuff there and suddenly you're overrun with kids selling $5 Hershey Bars and $8 popcorn balls.

However, because young Miss Asner was the one who asked and because I'm still charmed by all those times she said "God bless you" with her sisters as they departed the building, I readily accepted her catalog and spent $33 on pizza and breadstick 3-pack kits. Miss Asner was overjoyed and promised delivery to me within a few weeks.

When Bad Patrons Go Good: Take 1 (Tales of the "Good" Patrons Week: Day 3)

I've complained before about our annoying patron called Ms. Green. I should stress, though, that Ms. Green is not a Rogue, per se. She's never seemed to be a bad human being by our estimation. She's never qualified as mean, nasty or antagonizing to any degree. However, she has certainly proven difficult to deal with due to her ability to drive the staff to the edge of madness as we attempt very simple, standard "liberry" transactions with her only to have her question us at every turn. It's not that she doesn't trust what we're telling her, it's that she just doesn't seem to understand it. She's not dumb at all, but just doesn't quite "get" a lot of things that we take for granted as being pretty obvious.

In recent months, however, Ms. Green and I have come to a bit of an understanding. I came to understand that the major sources of friction between us are that her personality type and mine aren't the most compatible (she being a brassy, outgoing, semi-oblivious and often prone to distraction Yankee; and me, not so much) and that her perspective as a patron and mine as a "liberry" ass. don't always intersect. I also came to understand that Ms. Green has never seemed to hold a grudge about the times I've become annoyed with her or, more importantly, the times I've allowed it to show. In fact, while I may have been oblivious to it for a long while, Ms. Green has always been very nice and friendly to me, regardless of my behavior. Once I was able to wrap my head around this, my problems with her just sort of melted away and I suddenly found myself being friendly and nice back.

The last several time Ms. Green has been in for a visit, we've actually chatted for goodly stretches of time. And not chatted in that "I'm making small talk with a patron because it's polite and they won't go away" sort of chatted, but more of a genuine, unforced, friendly exchange. I tell you, I'm as shocked as anyone.

Oh, sure, Ms. Green still has idiosyncrasies that can be annoying, but given my shift in perspective, I just don't take much offense at them and pretty much roll right along. And Ms. Green, for her part, has actively taken to being less annoying by doing things like taking her cell phone calls outside and not allowing her phone to blare on for ages. It's freaky.

A further example of how helpful she has become came last night. Ms. Green was in with her kids, they browsed, we chatted, they browsed some more and toward closing time Ms. Green asked if we could make a couple of photocopies for her. Sure thing. Only she wound up not having the 50 cents in her pocket to pay for them then and there and asked if she could pay us tomorrow. Annoying? Eh, sure, but she's made this request before and I knew she was good for it. We let folks slide on paying like this all the time and they almost always pay us back.

Closing time arrived, Ms. Green and her kids checked out and left. While I was waiting for a few last minute computer stragglers, I went ahead and unlocked the book return and locked the front doors. Soon the computer users had finally left, though not before one of them had gone into my perfectly cleaned restroom, pissed up the urinal and didn't flush. I had discovered this act of bad-patronage, remedied it and was just leaving the restroom when I spied Ms. Green standing again at the circ desk. That didn't make sense, though, because I'd just locked the front door.

"Oh, here's the 50 cents I owed you," she said, placing it on the counter.

"How did you just..." I started.

"How did I what?" she began. Then light dawned in her eyes. "Oh. You thought you'd locked the front door, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "Wow. It's a good thing you came back."

Sure enough, I'd managed to lock one of the doors but must have turned the key the wrong way in the other. That could have ended very badly for us, because despite all the signs declaring our hours, and despite the absence of interior lights, nearly every patron who approaches that door when we are indeed closed has to try both handles and yank on them for a while before the message finally sinks in.

Whew! Several strikes in the positive column for Ms. Green. I may have to move her to the Sundry Others column, or maybe add a "Good" Patrons column, just to make it up to her.

Brother Trucker (Tales of the "Good" Patrons Week: Day 2)

Brother Trucker is a good patron I'm thankful to have around. As you might have guessed, he's a long-haul trucker and as such enjoys having something to occupy him when he's on the road. So he comes to us for books on tape and CD.

I've actually written about him before, detailing the first time I recall meeting him. At the time I didn't like him very much, because after turning in a stack of Robert Ludlum ILLed books on tape he told me to "gimme the next four" and started to walk away. I was offended that he thought this was how the ILL system worked, but it turned out he was right. He and ILL Queen Mrs. C had already made arrangements that once he found an author he liked she would just keep ordering new books on tape for him, heading right down the list of what the system had to offer, four at a time. It was a bit unorthodox as far as things typically go around here, but it worked.

Since then, I've come to realize that Brother Trucker is indeed a valued patron. Not only does he come in for his ILLs when called, but he pays the postage for them as well! Hardly any other ILL patrons bother to do this. He's worked his way through quite a number of authors this way and is constantly on the lookout for new ones to add into the mix. Mrs. C keeps detailed records of what she's already requested, so as not to do the same ones over. Brother Trucker seems to appreciate all the work that goes into this, which is possibly why he always pays the postage.

And being such a long-time, solid patron, Brother Trucker has become something of a friend of the "liberry." He knows Mrs. A, B and C and they him. Often he hangs around for a few minutes to chat with us, telling us the latest goings on in his family and listening to the latest on the staff's. In fact, I bet if we ever wanted to have a rumble with any of our Rogues, Brother Trucker would be there with a tire-iron to back us up. For you see, being at the desk for such stretches, he's also seen our job and some of the annoying things that accompany it.

For instance, Brother Trucker came in to turn in some old ILLs this week. We didn't have any new ones for him, so he went to see what was in our own audio collection. He was gone for a bit and since the desk was empty I stepped into the staff workroom and into the staff restroom to have myself a wee. I was only in there for 30 seconds or so, but when I came out there was Brother Trucker standing at the desk, waiting. He grinned and said, "It's Murphy's law: if you go in the bathroom you know somebody's gonna come to the desk while your in there."

"Yep," I said. "That's why I know I better look like I've been washing my hands when I come out."

"Liberry" Glossary: Good Patron (Tales of the "Good" Patrons Week: Day 1)

Good Patron
Adjective Noun Combo

1. A member of the majority population of patrons at our "liberry"—probably the top 95 percent. This patron type is described as "good" because "Good" Patrons are generally liked and appreciated by the "liberry" staff. "Good" Patrons return their books on time, or, if returning them late, immediately offer to pay their fines in full. And "Good" Patrons are often shocked and dismayed when we refuse their offered fines on days when we are not charging fines, such as Fine Free Friday or National Children's Book week, and often give us the money they had earmarked for fine-payment as a donation. "Good" Patrons are not always necessarily smiling and happy people, but at the same time are generally pleasant to be around and not actively antagonizing the staff. "Good" Patrons never give us shit. "Good" Patrons always wear deodorant. "Good" Patrons flush. "Good" Patrons double check the toilet to make sure everything has gone down after the first flush, and repeat the flushing process until it has. "Good" Patrons always remember to bring their library cards, for they know without having to be told repeatedly that library cards are a requirement when checking out books. On the rare occasion that a "Good" Patron has left their card in their other purse or other cat's ass, they do not raise hell about it but simply accept the mistake as their own and request that we hold their books until they are next able to return with their card. "Good" Patrons bring us cookies at Christmastime. "Good" Patrons have smiling, pleasant children who are well-behaved and do not trash our children's area. However, were the child of a "Good" Patron to trash our children's area, their "Good" Patron parent would clean up after them. Good Patrons never bring fifty easy reader books back at the crack of closing. In fact, by definition, "Good" Patrons never exhibit any of the bad behavior I usually bitch about here.

Tales of the Good Patrons Week

A week or so back, a post-commenter commented that my posts of late seem to indicate that I am a good deal more bitter and in need of a vacation than the happy Juice of old. I'd not thought so until that moment, but upon consideration I can see how perhaps there is some merit to this observation. After all, I save up all these stories about the behavior of our "bad" patrons, yet give hardly any play to the other 90 to 95 percent of our patron population, or, our "good" patrons.

So this week, let's devote some time to looking at those "Good" patrons who prove that it ain't all bad down "liberry" way.

Tales of the Good Patrons

I expend a lot of effort in chronicling the really annoying patrons we get. Let me tell you about some of my good patrons. In fact, I think I like this family of patrons nearly as much as my previous favorites, the Asners. Lets call them, the Hatchers, after the family from Judy Blume’s Fudge series. It’s an apt moniker because the parallels I see between the fictional Hatchers and their real life counterparts are just amazing.

So far I’ve only met Mom Hatcher and her two sons—tah dahhhh!—Peter and Fudge. They come in almost every Wednesday, around 6 p.m. to turn in their old books and look for new ones. Mom Hatcher doesn’t really resemble the illustrations of the Hatcher mom from Blume’s books, but her kids are dead ringers.

Peter is the older of the two boys, but he hasn’t quite made 4th grade yet. I’d say he’s probably a first or second grader. He still likes the Easy Reader books, though he's begun looking into chapter books a bit more. (And as soon as I can manage it, I’m going to press a copy of Tales of a 4th Grade Nothing into his mitts and tell him to keep any turtles he might own under heavy guard.) Mostly Peter wants any book that's about really big trucks or tractors or fire engines and he often likes to check out books about them that he's had before. In this, he usually needs my help.

Peter comes up to the desk, steps up on our step-stool and waits politely for me to finish whatever it is that I'm doing and ask him if he needs help. Only then will he tell me what he's after. He never knows exactly where the books are found on the shelf, nor their title, but usually knows which floor they're on, what they look like, what they were about and about what size of a book they are. This might not seem much to go on, but I can usually track them down pretty quick from this. (According to his mom, Peter's quite impressed at my ability to do this.)

My one beef with Peter, and it's not a big one, is that every time he leaves I can go into the children's room and find at least one entire row of books pushed all the way back on their shelf. Like most libraries, we like to keep our books flush with the front of the shelf they're on. I've found that many children cannot abide this and will push as many books back as they can reach, making work for us to readjust them later. Peter isn't real bad about it, though. Unlike some kids, he doesn't do the whole room. He just pushes back a given row of books on a given shelf, a different row and shelf each time. I've talked to co-workers about this and it's our feeling that he thinks he's doing us a favor, so we can't exactly get mad at him.

Peter's little brother Fudge is a four year old and is quite the bundle of energy. He doesn't run around screaming like a sugar-gorged Baboon like some kids we've had in, but like most four year olds he's very interested in his surroundings and likes coming to the library to "buy" books. A few weeks back, Fudge became entranced by the kid-sized umbrella in our children's room. This year's Summer Reading program had a water theme, so we set up a kiddie pool (sans water) and a tiny little double beach chair in the children's room that had its own tiny beach umbrella. Fudge loved the umbrella. He came up to the desk right away and stepped up on the kiddie steps to ask me about it.

"Esscuse me, but can Iyyyye take the li'l kids umbrellllla an' put it on my heaaad?"

"You want to put the umbrella on your head?" I said.

"Yeaaah."

"It’s okay with me, kid. Go crazy."

I never did see Fudge put the umbrella on his head, but I could just imagine him trying to balance the handle atop his skull, pretending he was Inspector Gadget or something. (And I, of course, never did that as a child, myself.)

On their way out, though, I thought Fudge was going to go into a crying tantrum when he learned that he couldn't check out the umbrella. He kept pleading with his mom that he wanted to "take the li'l kids umbrelllllla hoooome." I tried to explain to him that it didn't have a barcode on it so I couldn't check it out to him, but this hardly mattered to Fudge. Finally, Mrs. Hatcher diffused the situation by telling Fudge that she would buy him his own little kids umbrella next time they went to Wal-Mart. That seemed to satisfy him, though he immediately began asking if they could go to Wal-Mart "right noooow."

When the three of them reached the front door, Peter opened it to go out.

"AHHHHHHHH! I WANTED TO OPEN IT!!!" Fudge screamed, his little arms flapping in frustration.

"Well, okay. You can open it, then," Mom said.

I think Mom's terribly embarrassed at Fudge's behavior, but he's far far far from being a problem in my book.

The following week, Mrs. Hatcher and Peter came in alone. As they were leaving, Mrs. Hatcher said, "Fudge's with his grandmother tonight, so we're much less trouble." I assured her they were never trouble.

"Did Fudge get his umbrella?" I asked.

"Oh, yes! He got a Bob the Builder umbrella. He loves it. He opens it and closes it and opens it and closes it and opens it. Usually in the house."

I hope when the wife and I get around to grumping out a couple of critters ourselves, we have nice ones like Peter and Fudge, or better yet like The Asners. In fact, I was just telling the wife the other day, "When we have kids, we should try to have some nice quiet ones."

"Oh, no. Your babies are going to be LOUD," she said.

"But, couldn't we just tell the doctor that we don't want loud children and he's only to deliver quiet ones?"

"No."

"How bout this. Why don't we just go take a couple of the Asners's kids? We could leave them a note saying that we wanted nice quiet kids and since they have so many we didn't think they would mind? Huh? And we could include a note that said `In exchange, we're leaving you this cranky old cat that hates everybody. Enjoy.' Think that would work?"

"No."

Best Patrons EVER

I spend a lot of time here telling tales about the worst patrons who visit the "liberry" and writing up Rogues Gallery lists for them, but I've not spent much time on the best patrons.

If I were to write a Best Patrons EVER list, the Asners (not their real name) would be at the top of the list. Unlike some families who frequent the library (such as the Fagins--which is not their real name, though I shouldn't care if I wrote their real name here as we have documented proof of their many years of treachery and theft), the Asner's are simply wonderful, wonderful patrons.

Mr. and Mrs. Asner have five or six kids, (they're hard to count because they're never all in at once, though frankly we wouldn't mind if they were). These kids must come from some kind of angelic genetic stock, cause they're all just the best-behaved, most polite, loving, cherubic, bright and beautiful children you'd ever care to know. Most of them are probably around year or two apart in age, ranging from, I'm guessing, 12 down to 2 (and the youngest is, in fact, the Cutest Baby in all the World, bar none). They're always just quiet and helpful and polite and everything you could ever wish for in children. I've never seen them angry or even a little upset. I've never seen them sad or crying. They obey their parents without question, with nary a tantrum if the don't get to check out something they want. I think I can say with full conviction that the Asner kids are the best children I've ever encountered. They're just a joy. I've told Mrs. Asner exactly that.

And better patrons have yet to be born! Most patron families of their size load up each and every child's card with the full limit in books and videos, which makes for a freakin' long checkout time and check in time, should they return with all they borrowed, which they never do. The cards of most families of that size are a tangle of overdues and even blocked patron records due to unreturned books from decades past (See: The Fagins). Not so with the Asners. They're a librarian's fantasy come to life. They never take more than they need in books or videos, almost always less than half the 10 item limit, and they always bring them back well before the due date or call to renew. There's never a fine to be seen or a lost book unfound. And they read quality stuff. Even the little ones, who love the Magic School Bus series and Winn!e the P00h, but never get mindless pap like Barn3y or T3letubbies.

I don't know how Mr. & Mrs. Asner managed to do it, but I know their house is a loving one.

And it's been something of a family tradition that as they reach the front door to depart, the Asner girls almost always turn around and sweetly tell us, "God bless you" before leaving. (They even say it on their answering machine.)

Now I know this sounds like a very Ned Flandersy sort of family, but it SO does not come off like that at all in person. It's utterly genuine. And for me, a guy who has to suffer through bitter patron after bitter patron (some of whom are the grumpiest people in all the world), the Asners are refreshing.

As to the Asner's secret behind their amazing family-skills, I firmly believe it lies somewhere in their daughter's parting quote.