Day After Veteran's Day

Never work in a public library the day after a holiday.
People are crazier than normal. One day of being closed completely throws off the weekly rhythm of our patrons. It's like they've been deprived of a drug, and now their craving (for information and time on Facebook) is ravenous and they are more irrational.

So when the power goes off for a half second in the building, causing all the computers to reboot, it's not a minor bump in the road. It's a reason for someone to complain, "My computer's not loading worth shit," and soon others chime in, "Mine's not working, either."
I wanted to say to all of them: "There is not a fucking magic button that immediately makes all the computers run at full speed. If I knew about this button, I would be either ridiculously rich or I would at least hold a position where I didn't have to talk to you. The only thing I can suggest is patience, a virtue that does not seem to be in your possession."
Instead I said, "Try logging off and on your computers one more time, and hopefully it will work. That is all I can tell you right now, and I might need to call tech services."
Deal with it, people. Try living in another country, where events transpire much slower. Look what instant gratification has gotten you thus far: an unplanned pregnancy.
Okay, my last comment went too far. But dealing with angry people who only think about themselves gets a little tiresome. Most of the time, this frustration can be suppressed and I can shrug it off. Today was different.

One of the reasons our patrons were irritable is because the library recently shifted to a new computer reservation system. When we first unveiled it, people were eager to try it out and encouraged that they could book a computer station hours ahead of time. However, there is a percentage of people who fear change. They are comfortable with writing their name on a waiting list, and they are not interested in learning a new technology. They seem to think that the new system is a waste of time, conveniently forgetting about all the time they've waited for computer stations in the past. Many library systems use this method (Seattle Public and King County's users have been reserving computers this way for years), so Pierce County is just catching up with the cool kids. It's that awkward phase where we have to convince people it can be more convenient for them. I acknowledge it's not an easy transition for everyone, but it is more efficient (less work for us and them monitoring the list on paper) and prevents mix-ups about who is first, second, third, etc. in line to use a computer.
Sometimes it pains me to confront people who are so resistant to change. Because if they are furious about a simple procedural change (one woman commented: "Now I remember why I don't come to the library"), how can we even start to fix broader problems like health care and education?
And the answer is unfortunately: We ignore these cantankerous people and we force the changes on them.
Oh God, my rant got political. And I realize that I am fully in favor of totalitarianism.

Alright, let's end with a funny story (and then I'll get back to writing my novel):
A woman came up to me the other day at the information desk and asked me for books about names. I showed her a few items, thinking that maybe she was trying to find the perfect name for her baby. Then she whispered to me, "Do you have any books about identity change?" She was talking so quietly that I almost couldn't hear her. As if someone would overhear our conversation and immediately reveal her true identity and her past would come crashing down on her. She was wearing a straw hat with a wide brim, that no doubt kept others from noticing her.
What was this woman's story? Was she on the lam after fleeing a crime scene, a crazed husband, or a failed embezzlement scheme? Something about a woman on the run turning to the public library for a fresh start is humorous to me. Maybe one way for libraries to evolve in the twenty-first century is to provide a certain degree of "protection" for patrons. Either that, or offer private investigation services.

Today's Libraries: Teaming Up With The Antichrist

While I was waiting for the No. 2 bus last week, a woman handed me a brochure titled "Mark of the Beast: RFID."
For those of you unfamiliar with this technology, RFID stands for Radio Frequency Identification. RFID chips are embedded in some electronic appliances, retail items, and yes, library books. These microchips are used for the purposes of identifying, monitoring and tracking inventory. At the Seattle Public Main Library, for example, there are sensors in the book drop that determine what book is being returned. After its identity is confirmed, the robotic book sorting system directs the item to a location for re-shelving or holds placement. The tag inside each book can also be used as a security device and set off a door alarm if it isn't checked out by a patron.
This system eliminates human sorting (which is costly) and gives robots (who don't take smoke breaks) much needed jobs. Yet the technology itself is costly - each chip costs at least 50 cents (for over 5 million items at SPL). That doesn't count the robotic conveyor belt system and maintenance.

But using public funds exorbiantly and giving jobs to robots are not concerns listed by the brochure. The author(s) is worried that RFID chips will soon be implanted on our bodies, and these "biochips" will be used to monitor our behavior and serve as a form of monetary exchange (remember that scene in "Minority Report" where Tom Cruise's eyes are scanned by The Gap? And the store knew his name?). The brochure states that "there will be privacy invasion and freedom will cease to exist." Furthermore, "anyone who refuses to accept this system will be tortured, then killed [not the other way around]."

And that's where Satan comes into the conversation. "A charismatic leader, who is the Anti-Christ, will rule the whole world through a system that is interconnected and interdependent." According to this logic, accepting a biochip is equated with receiving the mark of the beast, 666. This sin is unforgivable and cannot be reversed by physically removing the chip. Once the chip is implanted, you belong to Lucifer.

So, what does this mean for our nation's library systems? Well, since the Rapture and the Great Tribulation are inevitable (Revelation), I say we do whatever we can to track our items at all times. I suggest 24-hour surveillance from a central control center in which staff members make fun of patron's DVD choices ("'Paul Blart' and 'White Chicks'? You are a pathetic human being.")
Librarians, however, must never accept the mark of the beast. We've stood up against the Patriot Act. And we will not allow anything to be forced on us. Unless Nancy Pearl says it's good for us.

Dewey Revisionism

As a librarian, I really don't know where every subject fits into the Dewey Decimal system. I've memorized the numbers I care about: sports = 790, travel = 910, American history = 970, Calvin & Hobbes = 741.5973, and animals = 590. But outside of those things, I try to remember where books are physically located in my library - not by number. My navigation skills are dictated by physical orientation.
But there's got to be an easy conceptual way to think about the Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) system. Melvil Dewey, no doubt, wanted to organize books in groups that made sense. How much did he pay attention to the order of these groupings? I'm fairly confident there is a linear relation between the subjects. (You would think I studied this in librarian school, but discussion about Dewey was pretty limited; we talked more about Charles Cutter, the Library of Congress classification pioneer)

So, as a memory device for myself, I've created a simplified guide to the DDC. You can picture it as the development of human civilization in nine steps, or as a progression of human thought. It's neither of these, actually; it's more a personal therapy session. I wasn't sure what to do about the subject group 000, since it now includes computers. Computers surely don't represent the beginning of mankind, unless you're a robot. Though I guess you could say computers are now the foundation of most daily activities. Plus, robots will one day rule all over humanity and their infinite wisdom will be valued over centuries of accumulated human knowledge. To illustrate the comparison, I've included the current class designations for the DDC.

Dewey:
000 Computer science, information and general works
100 Philosophy and Psychology
200 Religion
300 Social Sciences
400 Language
500 Science
600 Technology
700 Arts and Recreation
800 Literature
900 History

Jamie:
000 Robots
100 Thinking
200 Believing
300 Sorting Out My Problems (societal ills, mostly)
400 Talking About My Feelings (in different accents)
500 Nature
600 Making Things From Nature
700 Leisure/Partying
800 Writing About My Feelings After The Party Ends
900 I Didn't Want The Party To End; Places I Might Go Next (and wasn't there just a civil war there?)

Titles Of The Week

I could discuss the prospect of losing my position at work. It's something that's definitely weighing on my mind. Hooray for budget cuts.
But that's not my style. I will instead talk about the strange and funny titles on my library's shelves, thus quietly suppressing my discontent.

• Sensual Crochet
• Another Day In The Frontal Lobe
• How To Iron Your Own Damn Shirt: The Perfect Husband Handbook...
  
• Toilet Training Without Tears
• The Bark (dog magazine)
• Party Dancing (instructional DVD)
• Anaconda 3 (DVD starring David Hasselhoff)
• How To Ruin Your Life (By Ben Stein)
  
• The Tacoma Public Utilities Story
• Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Nine Inch Nails (CD)
• How To Make An Apple Pie And See The World
• Spiritual Divorce: Divorce As A Catalyst For An Extraordinary Life
• Don't You Just Hate That? 738 Annoying Things
• The Zen of Zombie: Better Living Through The Undead
  
• The World According to Pretty Toney (by Ghostface Killah)