I arrived at 1p. Except for Ms. M, everyone else had gone to lunch and she was scheduled to leave when I arrived.
"So I guess I won't see you again?" she said sadly.
"Aw. I'll be back," I said. "I've got some web work still to do, so I'll probably be in next week."
Plus, there's the matter of the going away party that Mrs. A said she wants to throw but which will have to wait a couple weeks, cause she's out of town and I'm moving next week. The wife will still be in the area through the end of the month, though, so it won't be any big deal for me to pop over.
Soon Ms. D returned from lunch. She brought me a bag of coffee beans from a local coffee house.
"I asked the guy if he knew you and what kind of coffee you liked," Ms. D said. "He said he knew you, but had no idea on the coffee, so I got you house blend."
It's perfect.
The rest of my final day on the job went fairly smoothly with cameos by some classic "characters" from the blog.
The Bakers put in an early appearance and I told them it was my final day. They were happy for the wife's opportunity in Borderland, but sad to see me go. I'll miss them too. The kids have all practically grown up in the near 7 years I've been at the library. Oldest daughter, Katherine, is off to college. Middle child Brianna has changed from being a whiny, indecisive middle schooler and has blossomed into quite a stunning young lad. And next time I see little Olive, she'll probably be driving.
Mr. B-Natural came in a couple of times. The computers were glutted on his first visit, but he was able to negotiate with Gene Gene the Geneal0gy Machine for use of Gene's computer "for five minutes" just to check something, so Gene wouldn't have to get off. Of course, Gene's intense desire for innanet suckling only lasted about three minutes before he decided he would just leave because Mr. B-Natural was taking too long. Later Gene.
Not long after, two members of my other all-time-favorite family, The Asners, came in to pay for a fine and renew a book. It didn't occur to me in the moment, but I really should have told them that they were my favorite family. I've actually told them as much in the past, mentioning that they were a pleasure to deal with every time I saw them, but it would have been a nice parting to mention it again.
Mid-afternoon, after using the excuse of setting up the downstairs multi-purpose room for an upcoming seminar to head downstairs for a bit, Mrs. C, Mrs. B and Ms. D returned with a giant cheese cake variety pack.
"You didn't think you were getting out of here without some sort of celebration, did you?" Mrs. C asked.
"This is awesome!" I said. "Thanks."
And it was quite awesome cheesecake. We all feasted heartily.
The afternoon saw further cameos by the usual innanet crowd, including Mr. W. Perfect, Cleveland, the Hacker Family, Old Man Printer, and Germophobe Gary, who didn't even ask for a Clorox Wipe. I was really hoping for an appearance by Cap'n Crossdresser or maybe even the ghost of the Purple Nun, but at least Parka didn't show up.
And, toward the end of the day, another long lost "liberry" family member turned up in the form of Rif, the formerly high school-aged home school kid who used to hang out in the library with his sister Magenta. Rif's now a junior in college studying sports-management. His sister Magenta graduated college this year.
My duties today included checking the shelves for overdues, one last time; folding up and preparing the overdues for mailing, one last time; stuffing fund-drive envelopes, one last time; processing new magazines, one last time; and rearranging those magazines in our magazine shelf which is, as always, plagued on a daily basis by people who have no concept of putting periodicals back where they found them instead of cramming them in at random.
My final check out of the day was The Calder Game, by Blue Balliett, checked out to my writer friend Linda.
Before I clocked out, I took all of my remaining red shelving slips and pinned them to the staff bulletin board with a note that read "This color is now retired." I then gathered up my satchel ("It's not a manpurse, dammit!"), and my toiletries (toothbrush, tooth paste, bottle of Cetaphil, hair gunk, mouthwash, defunk, etc.) from my locker. I then affixed to my bag my locker's mini-post-it label of JUICE TWO-BELTS. I grabbed the remainder of my cheesecake and headed out the staff workroom door toward my car.
On my way out, I noticed that I'd left my pot of hens & chicks by the back door. I thought of stopping to get them, but I can catch `em next time. I'm not done with this place yet.
I'm also not done with this blog. There are still a few tales left to tell, not to mention a move (or two) to commence.
Showing posts with label Finals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Finals. Show all posts
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Final Wednesday
One of our faithful weekly patrons is a guy named Jeff. I don't know much about Jeff other than he's some sort of skilled laborer (carpenter, I'm imagining), he's the owner and wearer of a ZZ Top beard and train engineer-style hat, he visits us every Wednesday at around 5p like clockwork, and he has pretty good taste in reading material. I know this last bit because I helped shape a minor corner of his taste in books by introducing him to the works of Neil Gaiman.
The way this began is that, years back, Jeff asked me for a recommendation on a book. As is usually the case when people ask me this, I shoved Good Omens at him. He liked it quite a lot, so the next week it was Neverwhere. Then American Gods. Then an ILL for Stardust (which we now own) and then Smoke & Mirrors and then Coraline and then The Wolves in the Walls and, eventually, Anansi Boys. M is for Magic is the latest Neil collection we have, though we also recently picked up the ever-so-excellent unabridged audio adaptation of Neverwhere as read by Neil himself and I must confess the man is now right up there with Jim Dale as far as audio readers go, in my book.
Oddly, I don't think I've mentioned The Sandman to him, which is criminal, really. However, we only have the first couple of trades of that series, so it's always seemed needlessly cruel to get him addicted just to say, "Oh, sorry, we don't have any more for you. But the rest of it is really very good."
So Jeff occasionally asks me what sort of thing Neil has coming out next. I recently reported to him of Neil's new children's book Odd and the Frost Giants as well as The Graveyard Book, coming out later in the year. Meanwhile, he's branched out quite a bit to read all sorts of good things, including Gene Wolfe (a favorite author of Neil's) and, naturally, Douglas Adams (who is the author that lead me to first read Neil in the first place via Neil's Hitchhiker's biography, Don't Panic. Funny story, that--when Neil first began writing comics in this country, one of his earliest efforts for DC in the late 1980s was the Black Orchid mini-series. I'd always liked the Black Orchid character, having read of her in Suicide Squad and the Who's Who directory of the DC Universe and really really wanted to read this prestige format mini-series. Unfortunately, we didn't yet have a comic shop in the town I grew up in, so I had to wait for the eventual trade. However, when I read the press about Black Orchid, I knew I recognized the name Neil Gaiman from something that I owned, I just couldn't place where I'd seen it. So I spent a good hour going through my entire comic collection looking for his name on every cover, trying to figure out why it was so damned familiar. Sitting there on the floor of my high school bedroom, I finished the last box of my then two or three long-box collection, and had not found anything by him. I felt defeated, and allowed my head to fall back on my shoulders, which aimed my gaze up at my bookshelf where I saw the name Neil Gaiman staring down at me from Don't Panic. Within a couple years, I had the Black Orchid trade and began noticing Neil writing smaller stories in places such as Secret Origins, including a fantastic origin for Poison Ivy that I highly recommend and believe is collected in a Neil miscellaneous stories trade put out a few years ago. When I heard he was doing a book called The Sandman, I wondered if this was a new version of either the Golden Age Wesley Dodds Sandman (whom I'd read of in a story called Whatever Happened to The Sandman, which I think was a backup tale in a 1985 issue of All Star Squadron, and which I dearly loved) or the Jack Kirby 1973 Sandman in the red and yellow costume (which I owned a couple of issues of, having special ordered them thinking they were about the Golden Age Sandman, and still liking them well enough). When my friend Gordon began buying the new Sandman book, I asked him which version it was about. He wasn't familiar with either previous character, but said it didn't sound like them. He made me read a couple of issues of The Doll's House, and very quickly I found that the Kirby Sandman did play a role. I was already hooked by then, though, on the story of Morpheus and, more importantly, the supporting cast of the Doll's House story. (And to me Neil's Sandman is always more about the various supporting casts than it is about the Sandman himself.) I was a devout Neil follower from that moment on and have spread this affection/infection to most of my friends.)
But I digress with lots of parentheses...
When Jeff turned up today, I broke the news that I was leaving and would not likely see him next week or, perhaps, for a long time. He congratulated me on the move, but then seemed concerned.
"Where am I going to get my news about the next Neil books?" he asked.
"Oh, I've got `em pretty well trained around here. If they see Neil's name on something, they'll order it."
The way this began is that, years back, Jeff asked me for a recommendation on a book. As is usually the case when people ask me this, I shoved Good Omens at him. He liked it quite a lot, so the next week it was Neverwhere. Then American Gods. Then an ILL for Stardust (which we now own) and then Smoke & Mirrors and then Coraline and then The Wolves in the Walls and, eventually, Anansi Boys. M is for Magic is the latest Neil collection we have, though we also recently picked up the ever-so-excellent unabridged audio adaptation of Neverwhere as read by Neil himself and I must confess the man is now right up there with Jim Dale as far as audio readers go, in my book.
Oddly, I don't think I've mentioned The Sandman to him, which is criminal, really. However, we only have the first couple of trades of that series, so it's always seemed needlessly cruel to get him addicted just to say, "Oh, sorry, we don't have any more for you. But the rest of it is really very good."
So Jeff occasionally asks me what sort of thing Neil has coming out next. I recently reported to him of Neil's new children's book Odd and the Frost Giants as well as The Graveyard Book, coming out later in the year. Meanwhile, he's branched out quite a bit to read all sorts of good things, including Gene Wolfe (a favorite author of Neil's) and, naturally, Douglas Adams (who is the author that lead me to first read Neil in the first place via Neil's Hitchhiker's biography, Don't Panic. Funny story, that--when Neil first began writing comics in this country, one of his earliest efforts for DC in the late 1980s was the Black Orchid mini-series. I'd always liked the Black Orchid character, having read of her in Suicide Squad and the Who's Who directory of the DC Universe and really really wanted to read this prestige format mini-series. Unfortunately, we didn't yet have a comic shop in the town I grew up in, so I had to wait for the eventual trade. However, when I read the press about Black Orchid, I knew I recognized the name Neil Gaiman from something that I owned, I just couldn't place where I'd seen it. So I spent a good hour going through my entire comic collection looking for his name on every cover, trying to figure out why it was so damned familiar. Sitting there on the floor of my high school bedroom, I finished the last box of my then two or three long-box collection, and had not found anything by him. I felt defeated, and allowed my head to fall back on my shoulders, which aimed my gaze up at my bookshelf where I saw the name Neil Gaiman staring down at me from Don't Panic. Within a couple years, I had the Black Orchid trade and began noticing Neil writing smaller stories in places such as Secret Origins, including a fantastic origin for Poison Ivy that I highly recommend and believe is collected in a Neil miscellaneous stories trade put out a few years ago. When I heard he was doing a book called The Sandman, I wondered if this was a new version of either the Golden Age Wesley Dodds Sandman (whom I'd read of in a story called Whatever Happened to The Sandman, which I think was a backup tale in a 1985 issue of All Star Squadron, and which I dearly loved) or the Jack Kirby 1973 Sandman in the red and yellow costume (which I owned a couple of issues of, having special ordered them thinking they were about the Golden Age Sandman, and still liking them well enough). When my friend Gordon began buying the new Sandman book, I asked him which version it was about. He wasn't familiar with either previous character, but said it didn't sound like them. He made me read a couple of issues of The Doll's House, and very quickly I found that the Kirby Sandman did play a role. I was already hooked by then, though, on the story of Morpheus and, more importantly, the supporting cast of the Doll's House story. (And to me Neil's Sandman is always more about the various supporting casts than it is about the Sandman himself.) I was a devout Neil follower from that moment on and have spread this affection/infection to most of my friends.)
But I digress with lots of parentheses...
When Jeff turned up today, I broke the news that I was leaving and would not likely see him next week or, perhaps, for a long time. He congratulated me on the move, but then seemed concerned.
"Where am I going to get my news about the next Neil books?" he asked.
"Oh, I've got `em pretty well trained around here. If they see Neil's name on something, they'll order it."
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Final Tuesday
My final Tuesday was largely uneventful, save for one curious incident.
Mid-afternoon, a fairly stunning college-aged girl approached the desk. She grinned broadly at me and said "Hi, how's it going?" in a very familiar tone. She looked familiar, too, but I couldn't place her.
The girl turned in a book, I checked it in and noted that her last name was familiar, though the first listed was actually her mother. That's when I realized that this girl was the daughter of a patron I also know from church. Ah, so that's where I knew her from, I thought. I probably recognized her from church, back when she was in high school. Now she was off to college and home for the summer. It was only later, after she came to check out that I realized the full nature of her identity. She passed me a book, then a library card. When I scanned the card, it brought up her mother's record again. The girl then mentioned that her own card was linked to her mother's if I wanted to use it instead. I switched over to the linked patrons tab and saw her first name. Then it hit me: this was no mere girl I knew from church, this was Miss K, our former newbie greenhorn, formerly high school-aged weekend warrior who had originally been hired to replace the thieving, dishonest and job-abandoning Miss E. Wow did she grow up!
I later suggested to Mrs. C that if they needed a quick replacement for me, at least for the summer, they could do far worse than to hire Miss K again. She's already partially trained, or at least far moreso than most newbie greenhorns off the street would be.
Now if only Miss E, Ms. S, Miss Temp, Miss F, Mrs. H and Miss Nightranger would come by for a visit, it'd be like old home week at the "liberry."
Mid-afternoon, a fairly stunning college-aged girl approached the desk. She grinned broadly at me and said "Hi, how's it going?" in a very familiar tone. She looked familiar, too, but I couldn't place her.
The girl turned in a book, I checked it in and noted that her last name was familiar, though the first listed was actually her mother. That's when I realized that this girl was the daughter of a patron I also know from church. Ah, so that's where I knew her from, I thought. I probably recognized her from church, back when she was in high school. Now she was off to college and home for the summer. It was only later, after she came to check out that I realized the full nature of her identity. She passed me a book, then a library card. When I scanned the card, it brought up her mother's record again. The girl then mentioned that her own card was linked to her mother's if I wanted to use it instead. I switched over to the linked patrons tab and saw her first name. Then it hit me: this was no mere girl I knew from church, this was Miss K, our former newbie greenhorn, formerly high school-aged weekend warrior who had originally been hired to replace the thieving, dishonest and job-abandoning Miss E. Wow did she grow up!
I later suggested to Mrs. C that if they needed a quick replacement for me, at least for the summer, they could do far worse than to hire Miss K again. She's already partially trained, or at least far moreso than most newbie greenhorns off the street would be.
Now if only Miss E, Ms. S, Miss Temp, Miss F, Mrs. H and Miss Nightranger would come by for a visit, it'd be like old home week at the "liberry."
Monday, July 07, 2008
Final Monday
While at lunch with the wife, today, I mentioned that it was the final Monday I would work at the "liberry." She asked if I was saddened by this fact. I had to admit: not even a little. Cause, as has been well-chronicled here, I hate me some Monday.
What's there to miss?
As Mondays go, today was actually not terribly problematic. Sure, we had the usual Monday Madness, but not infuriatingly so. I tried to just go with the flow and live in the moment and enjoy it as much as I could. The major incident of the day came around 4p, when one of our computer patrons tripped and fell while trying to walk across a level section of floor. In this man's defense, he did suffer a stroke a while back and walks with a pronounced limp. I had just asked him to relinquish his computer for a new patron and he had been in the process of walking toward the circ desk when he fell. I was looking right at him as he dropped like a sack of dead, wet, marmosets, but I was powerless to do anything about it beyond giving off a sympathetic yelp. He fell hard, right on his arm and I was sure it would probably be broken, or dislocated or otherwise in need of an ambulance.
I rushed around the desk and over to where he'd fallen. Mr. B-Natural, who'd been seated at the computer directly beside the place where he fell also rushed over. The man was writhing on the floor, clutching at his arm. Quite intelligently, I asked, "Are you all right?"
The man looked up at me and then at Mr. B-Natural and, through a very painful-looking expression, said he was indeed all right. Mr. B-Natural began trying to help him sit up, but the man waived him off, saying, "I'm all right. I'm all right."
"Well, here's your glasses," Mr. B-Natural said, gathering them up and handing them over.
"I'll get them. I'm all right!" the man said.
"Well here's your hat," Mr. B-Natural added.
"I'll get them! I'm all right!" the man said, now practically screaming. "Please! I'm all right. I'll get them!"
"Can I help you up?" I asked.
"No! I'm all right!"
The more we tried to help, the angrier he got. But it felt very odd not trying to help him, particularly with everyone across the main floor was staring at us. I think, though, that the attention being directed at him was the problem. The man was embarrassed at having fallen and didn't want any more attention than he'd already caused himself. Slowly, Mr. B-Natural and I backed away, but not too far. This was good, because as soon as the man had clambered to his feet, he tipped over again and Mr. B-Natural was near enough to catch him.
"I'm all right!" the man hissed as Mr. B set up upright again. "I'll be fine, as soon as I can sit down for a minute," he said. Then, as though he needed further explanation for being annoyed with us, he added, "The physical therapists say it helps to do everything for myself."
"Do you need a chair?" I offered, looking for the nearest one.
"No! I'm all right! I'll get it! I'll be fine!"
So I walked away and the man hobbled over to the circ desk and leaned there for a moment. He left his hat and glasses there, then hobbled back over to Mr. B-Natural to apologize for being so gruff. I thought, if only you knew you were apologizing to the grumpiest old man in all the world, dude. Then the man hobbled off to the bathroom, where he stayed, in a seated position (if you get my drift) for quite a while.
"That guy really needs a cane," I told Mrs. B.
She agreed.
What's there to miss?
- The incessant banging on and repeatedly trying of the handles of the doors to see if we're open yet despite the obvious sign clearly stating otherwise? Gone from my life.
- The annoyed expressions when we at last do unlock the doors? Gone from my life.
- The mad rushes by innanet crowders to get to the computers before they all fill up? Gone from my life.
- The endless procession of extraordinarily needy patrons, many of whom have questions that can only be answered by a person of authority, on a day when the people in authority are NEVER present? Gone from my life.
- Long time innanet crowders who have used the computers nearly every single day for the past couple of years yet still cannot get it through their head that we close at 5 on Mondays and act all shocked and amazed every week when we tell them they don't actually have another four hours at their disposal, but have to get off in ten minutes; or patrons who walk in the building at ten til 5 with the same expectations and literally smack themselves in the head because once again their poor, swiss-cheesed memory has failed them? Gone. From. My. Life.
As Mondays go, today was actually not terribly problematic. Sure, we had the usual Monday Madness, but not infuriatingly so. I tried to just go with the flow and live in the moment and enjoy it as much as I could. The major incident of the day came around 4p, when one of our computer patrons tripped and fell while trying to walk across a level section of floor. In this man's defense, he did suffer a stroke a while back and walks with a pronounced limp. I had just asked him to relinquish his computer for a new patron and he had been in the process of walking toward the circ desk when he fell. I was looking right at him as he dropped like a sack of dead, wet, marmosets, but I was powerless to do anything about it beyond giving off a sympathetic yelp. He fell hard, right on his arm and I was sure it would probably be broken, or dislocated or otherwise in need of an ambulance.
I rushed around the desk and over to where he'd fallen. Mr. B-Natural, who'd been seated at the computer directly beside the place where he fell also rushed over. The man was writhing on the floor, clutching at his arm. Quite intelligently, I asked, "Are you all right?"
The man looked up at me and then at Mr. B-Natural and, through a very painful-looking expression, said he was indeed all right. Mr. B-Natural began trying to help him sit up, but the man waived him off, saying, "I'm all right. I'm all right."
"Well, here's your glasses," Mr. B-Natural said, gathering them up and handing them over.
"I'll get them. I'm all right!" the man said.
"Well here's your hat," Mr. B-Natural added.
"I'll get them! I'm all right!" the man said, now practically screaming. "Please! I'm all right. I'll get them!"
"Can I help you up?" I asked.
"No! I'm all right!"
The more we tried to help, the angrier he got. But it felt very odd not trying to help him, particularly with everyone across the main floor was staring at us. I think, though, that the attention being directed at him was the problem. The man was embarrassed at having fallen and didn't want any more attention than he'd already caused himself. Slowly, Mr. B-Natural and I backed away, but not too far. This was good, because as soon as the man had clambered to his feet, he tipped over again and Mr. B-Natural was near enough to catch him.
"I'm all right!" the man hissed as Mr. B set up upright again. "I'll be fine, as soon as I can sit down for a minute," he said. Then, as though he needed further explanation for being annoyed with us, he added, "The physical therapists say it helps to do everything for myself."
"Do you need a chair?" I offered, looking for the nearest one.
"No! I'm all right! I'll get it! I'll be fine!"
So I walked away and the man hobbled over to the circ desk and leaned there for a moment. He left his hat and glasses there, then hobbled back over to Mr. B-Natural to apologize for being so gruff. I thought, if only you knew you were apologizing to the grumpiest old man in all the world, dude. Then the man hobbled off to the bathroom, where he stayed, in a seated position (if you get my drift) for quite a while.
"That guy really needs a cane," I told Mrs. B.
She agreed.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Final Friday
My final week on the job has officially begun. My last day will be next Thursday, so today is my final Friday as a "liberry" ass.
Fridays are usually very busy at the "liberry" even nigh unto as busy as a Monday. However, we usually have enough staff on Friday to carry the load, at least until 5p when everyone abandons the official Friday closer and flees to their weekends two hours earlier than I get to. Fridays also are especially busy because it's our weekly amnesty day and is when all the basket cases bring in their kids' long-overdue books to turn in for free, glutting the book cart even beyond the usual busy Friday turn in. Now, as an experienced Friday closer, I know that it's imperative to getting that book cart cleared out before 5p because after 5 shelving becomes problematic with no one else to run the desk. Imagine my horror, therefore, at arriving today to find every single shelf of the book cart not only completely packed, but packed with other books laying on top of the packed books and then stacks of books laying on the nearby circ-desk itself. I very nearly said, "Uh, sorry, but, no, I'm done."
Mrs. B explained that because our new nonfiction section has recently overgrown to the point that it has begun encroaching upon the territory of mystery fiction, Mrs. A had told Mrs. J to go through every book there and remove the ones with any 2007 date as the first due date. Mrs. A said that she and Mrs. C would then go through those books and decide what they wanted to put back in new NF and what they wanted to shelve in the stacks. Trouble was, it had been a while and neither of our bosses was coming to sort through any of it. Meanwhile, the usual Friday crowd was still turning in all their books, which were the ones piling up on the desk. And meanwhile meanwhile, Mrs. C was in her office furiously cataloging stacks of new books to process and put out as well. And as the guy who would likely wind up processing them, too, this disturbed me. I wanted to say, "No! Stop making more work for me! I've got plenty up there as it stands. Please, come and look through some of it so I can start making a dent in the pile I already have, cause it ain't like the Friday crowd incoming books are slowing down."
Instead, I said a more respectful version of the above and eventually, Mrs. C came and went through the nonfiction on the cart, allowing me and Mrs. J to finally start shelving.
The remainder of my final Friday passed with little incident.
Fridays are usually very busy at the "liberry" even nigh unto as busy as a Monday. However, we usually have enough staff on Friday to carry the load, at least until 5p when everyone abandons the official Friday closer and flees to their weekends two hours earlier than I get to. Fridays also are especially busy because it's our weekly amnesty day and is when all the basket cases bring in their kids' long-overdue books to turn in for free, glutting the book cart even beyond the usual busy Friday turn in. Now, as an experienced Friday closer, I know that it's imperative to getting that book cart cleared out before 5p because after 5 shelving becomes problematic with no one else to run the desk. Imagine my horror, therefore, at arriving today to find every single shelf of the book cart not only completely packed, but packed with other books laying on top of the packed books and then stacks of books laying on the nearby circ-desk itself. I very nearly said, "Uh, sorry, but, no, I'm done."
Mrs. B explained that because our new nonfiction section has recently overgrown to the point that it has begun encroaching upon the territory of mystery fiction, Mrs. A had told Mrs. J to go through every book there and remove the ones with any 2007 date as the first due date. Mrs. A said that she and Mrs. C would then go through those books and decide what they wanted to put back in new NF and what they wanted to shelve in the stacks. Trouble was, it had been a while and neither of our bosses was coming to sort through any of it. Meanwhile, the usual Friday crowd was still turning in all their books, which were the ones piling up on the desk. And meanwhile meanwhile, Mrs. C was in her office furiously cataloging stacks of new books to process and put out as well. And as the guy who would likely wind up processing them, too, this disturbed me. I wanted to say, "No! Stop making more work for me! I've got plenty up there as it stands. Please, come and look through some of it so I can start making a dent in the pile I already have, cause it ain't like the Friday crowd incoming books are slowing down."
Instead, I said a more respectful version of the above and eventually, Mrs. C came and went through the nonfiction on the cart, allowing me and Mrs. J to finally start shelving.
The remainder of my final Friday passed with little incident.
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