Good Example

I complain a lot, it's true. I do it in real life almost as much as I do it here on this blog, and so I feel like it's time I told a story with a happy ending.

There is a service we provide at the desk where I work called Course Reserve. A teacher gives us a book, or requests that a book we have be put on Reserve, and then students are able to check it out for two hours at a time, thus allowing one or two copies of a book do service for an entire class. We have about four secretaries who deal directly with Reserve issues, and in the interest of my avowed purpose to only tell a good story, I will only say this: I wouldn't take their job for the world. There is only so much stupidity and stubbornness I can take, and I reach my limit enough as it is with this job.

One day a professor came to the desk with the complaint that his students were unable to check out the Reserve book he had placed. I got a cold feeling in my gut as I imagined the fury he would then release on me. But instead, in atypical behavior for a professor, he simply asked me to walk him through the steps I would expect from a regular student trying to check out the book. Could it be? Someone trying to understand how the system works before demanding that we change it? He meekly followed my instructions, and it turned out that the trouble had been nothing more than miscommunication and a few unfortunate coincidences. He left, satisfied, and I rejoiced knowing that there was someone out there who didn't yell first and fail to ask questions later.

These moments are more rare than they should be, but perhaps not as rare as I sometimes think they are. I will try to post more good examples in the future.

Helping Those Who Help Themselves: Priceless

So. Senior citizens and technology. It's an old subject, the butt of so many comic strip punchlines. I know there are mature citizens out there who do just fine with computers, and some who are even more techno-savvy than I am. And I don't have a problem with older folks who don't know how to use computers. It's not their fault. We've gone from horse-drawn carriage to space travel in about sixty years, which is shorter than the average American's lifetime. People are bound to get left behind, and it's admirable to see them trying to catch up. But please, please, for the love of Pete, whoever he is, make an effort. There is a huge difference between the oldsters who come up to the desk and ask for a short lesson in internet use so they don't have to come and bother me every time they have a question, and the ones who come and bother me every time they have a question. I have no problem giving a little off-the-cuff tutorial to someone who is not familiar with computers. I can't expect everyone to come to me with basic internet knowledge. What I do expect is a willingness to help yourself. Didn't most people who are currently between the ages of 60 and 80 either go through the Depression or WWII? Or were at least raised by people who did? I thought the attitude of that generation was that hard work was key, and that you should always be polite to everyone, even idiots? Because even I, a "lazy, ungrateful youth" know how to do that. I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm surprised by the number of old people who expect me to do everything for them, right now, don't even bother teaching me this silly computer stuff because when the commies finally bomb everyone we'll have to live off the land like our ancestors, and who will be laughing then, eh? It's kind of inexplicable.

Case in point: A week or so ago a lady who was of a certain age, but obviously did not yet have the beauty of the old (Proverbs 20:29) came up to the desk and demanded that I come help her. I hate walking over to people's computers, mostly because I'm lazy, but also because dealing with computers is not really my specialty, and it's not what I get paid for, so I usually end up clicking on a few things, and then going and getting someone else's help. But there was no one else to ask at the time, so I went with her. Apparently someone else had been helping her earlier, a young man with considerably more experience with computers than I have, who was now in his lunch break. The lady (I'll call her that for the sake of convenience) pointed to her computer, and with a dramatic flair that may have gotten results a. when she was about 30 years younger and b. with men, informed me that someone else's graph was on her paper and she wanted me to dispose of it, like asking me to dispose of a dead rat. I peered at her paper, and all I could see was the default settings for a custom graph in Microsoft Word. I use Word a lot, being an amateur writer and all, but I have never been called upon to insert a graph into anything, and therefore had no idea what I was doing. Nonetheless I gamely fiddled around a bit and got some results. I told the patron what I had discovered, and suggested that if she fiddled around for a bit she would be able to get it to do what she wanted.

"I don't have time to 'fiddle around'," she snapped. "This paper is due in two hours."

I, greatly taken aback, told her that I had reached the limit of my ability, and that someone more skilled with computers than I wouldn't be back for about an hour.

"I guess I'll wait, then," she said, and turned away from me. I was clearly dismissed. I went back to my desk, greatly wondering. It was nearing the end of the semester at the time, and so I knew tensions were high and projects were due, but the lady had indicated that the paper had to have a graph in it, no exceptions, and it seemed to me that she had known about the assignment for some time, since it was nearly completed. Wouldn't she, I mused, have had the foresight to try to learn how to insert a graph, a nonnegotiable aspect of the assignment, at some point a little earlier than two hours before the thing was due? It was clear from her attitude that she had expected to be able to waltz in and do this with only hours to spare. It was also clear that she had been working with Word for some time, and therefore should logically know how difficult and arbitrary it can be. Yet more clear was her distress at finding that I would not do everything for her, and instead expected her to figure things out for herself. Pressed for time though she was, she obviously had time to wait for someone to enable her laziness.

I was raised by Baby-Boomers, and this is not what I was taught to expect from my elders.

W.I.T.C.H.

Respectable-looking, middle-aged asian man walks up to the desk, and the only thing he hands me is a W.I.T.C.H. graphic novel, targeted to girls ages 3-12 and very pink. I hold my breath, trying not to get freaked out, and then I see behind him.... a little girl, and the rest of his family.
Whew....

Genius or Idiot?

Working at a desk that looks like a reference desk but isn't, has unique problems. For instance, people think I know everything, and become extremely upset, or just pathetically confused when I strip them of this illusion.

Example: I just helped a guy for a solid fifteen minutes with something he could have done much more easily on his own, with no more information to go on than, "I need to watch an opera." See? He has obviously come to this interaction with a preconceived set of notions in his head, a few of which are: I know, off-hand, all the operas in the world, and, more specifically, which ones this library has and where they are. He is also assuming that I know which kind of opera he needs. More likely, actually, is that he has no idea himself, and doesn't want to appear stupid. Therefore, I am put into a dilemma. If I ask, "Modern or traditional? English or foreign? New or old?" and he has no clue, I make him look stupid, and myself look smarter than I really am, since my knowledge of opera, while obviously more expansive than his, is nonetheless extremely limited. You might think that making myself look smarter would be advantageous to me, but nothing could be further from the truth. The smarter I look, the more people will try to use me as a crutch.

For instance, Opera Guy. At first things seemed to be going smoothly. He came to the desk, asked for our operas, and was at least apologetic when he couldn't clarify any further than that. I told him to do an advanced search, and, once I had explained what that is, he happily went off to use the computer. One minute later he was back, completely stumped.

My first mistake, though an unavoidable one: displaying knowledge about how to find things that is superior to the patron's abilities. They will, if they are polite, make a cursory attempt, but if they do not find what they are looking for in a reasonable amount of time (say, fifteen seconds) they will fall back on the assumption they automatically made about me, (i.e., that I have downloaded the library catalog into my head) and come ask me for help.

Oh, that I were an angel, and could shout with a voice like thunder, saying, "Make an effort, people! You're like the little kid with the OCD mom who does chores wrong on purpose so the mom will take over and the kid won't have to do anything. Well, guess what? I'm not OCD."

Actually, if I were an angel, I probably would download the catalog (and all the other knowledge in the universe) into my head, and then I really could answer their questions no problem. As it is, I am then forced to enable their laziness by going on the same website they have access to and using the same search engine to search for the same stupid thing, and coming up with the same stupid result: nothing. Because their question is stupid. Most of the time, if the question is an easy (read: intelligent) one, even the most simple of simpletons can find it. But not even I, super genius though I am, can find the exact opera you are looking for if even you don't know what the requirements for your assignment are.

At least have the decency to NOT come up to me five minutes into an opera by a guy named Giuseppe Verdi and complain that it's all in Italian. Please. Just don't do it. You're only making yourself look bad.

Phones

It never fails to amuse when patrons (usually professors) give us a call, state their name and place of work, and then . . . pause. That pause says volumes about what the person thinks of themselves. What that pause tells me, basically, is that they think they are so well known that even I, a lowly clerk at the bottom of the feeding pool, ought to have heard of Professor Bigpomp Higginbottom of the Prestigious Primatology Department. An example may help to illustrate:

Me (answering the phone): This is Amy at Circulation, how may I help you?

Professor: Yes, Amy, this is Professor Awesome-sauce of the Obtuse Linguistics Department . . . (pregnant pause)

My expected reaction: Oh my gosh!!!! Professor Awesome-sauce! I am, like, your biggest fan! You've inspired me to become the next Noam Chomsky! I take all your classes and I think I want to have your babies!

My actual reaction: . . . Can I help you?

You see my problem. I can't deliver. It takes all my self control to keep from laughing at their poor, overblown egos. And they all have egos. The more obscure their department, the bigger it gets.
I am not beyond sympathy, however. One can hardly be surprised when a professor, probably lauded in his field for his brilliant dissertation on, let's say, the use of the comma in Milton's Paradise Lost, grows to expect that kind of admiration elsewhere. After all, we are an academic library. Why shouldn't a Circulation clerk, the representative of the library, the first line of defense, the answerer of questions, be expected to be up to date on the latest academic publications? I'll tell you why not! Because that doesn't make sense! We are not hired for our expertise in Academia. We are hired because we have what it takes to refrain from laughing at professors who think they are the morning and the evening star!
Or at least have what it takes to cover the receiver while we chuckle to ourselves.

Introduction

I work at the Circulation Desk in the Harold B. Lee Library at Brigham Young University. Usually I am too busy to think deep thoughts, but sometimes there is a lull when there are no patrons and all the work is done... and I just think.

These are my thoughts.