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altivoBack to a more typical Wednesday. The last two or three have been pretty mild.
Today we had some nut case who claimed it was his right to use library computers to run his "business" (whatever it is, probably something nefarious I think) and he pushed and shoved his way up to the director who still told him no. We have an extra ace up our sleeves for that: the computer equipment and software in the building is all paid for by the private trust fund left by our founder, and none of it is paid for by tax money. He was told he could have the same 60 minutes per calendar day that anyone else gets, and that's all.
I hunted up two obituaries in newspapers from 1892 and 1901. The 1892 newspaper was every bit as florid in writing style as anything Bret Harte ever wrote.
I had someone try to get a new library card but discovered that he already had a card and owed us $30 for overdue and lost books. Apparently he really wanted to check out more books because he went to the bank or something and came back 15 minutes later with cash to pay his fines.
Right at closing the phone rang. I should have let it go but I picked it up. It was a woman complaining that she was unable to place a hold request for a book through the online catalog. I explained that some books cannot be checked out of the library and therefore cannot be held. She insisted that this couldn't be one of those. It was, of course. An old copy of Elsie Dinsmore by Martha Finley. It's part of a collection of early children's books that are in our "rare book room" and cannot be taken from the building, though anyone who asks can usually sit in there and read them. For some reason she just couldn't understand the concept. Again and again she asked why she couldn't check the book out. I told her that it is available easily in a modern paperback (only because it's a classic, it's actually a pretty poor excuse for a story) but she insisted that she needed a library copy. I wasn't about to fill out an interlibrary loan request form for her over the phone when it was already ten minutes past closing, so I told her she should come in to the library to do that.
Elsie Dinsmore is one of those dreary Victorian didactic books intended to teach children "proper behavior, faith in god, and respect for their elders." It's just awful stuff, about a girl whose father went away on business and didn't come back for a long time. Her mother was already dead, and she was left in the care of an aunt or step-mother, if I remember correctly, who abused her horribly but her faith in god and her father got her through it all with proper meekness and self-effacement, as would always have been prescribed for a teen girl of the era. The whole text is probably in Project Gutenberg where anyone can download it, but there was no point in suggesting that to this caller. Picture Harry Potter living with the Dursleys, only he never gets to go to Hogwarts at all. That's what it's like.
Today we had some nut case who claimed it was his right to use library computers to run his "business" (whatever it is, probably something nefarious I think) and he pushed and shoved his way up to the director who still told him no. We have an extra ace up our sleeves for that: the computer equipment and software in the building is all paid for by the private trust fund left by our founder, and none of it is paid for by tax money. He was told he could have the same 60 minutes per calendar day that anyone else gets, and that's all.
I hunted up two obituaries in newspapers from 1892 and 1901. The 1892 newspaper was every bit as florid in writing style as anything Bret Harte ever wrote.
I had someone try to get a new library card but discovered that he already had a card and owed us $30 for overdue and lost books. Apparently he really wanted to check out more books because he went to the bank or something and came back 15 minutes later with cash to pay his fines.
Right at closing the phone rang. I should have let it go but I picked it up. It was a woman complaining that she was unable to place a hold request for a book through the online catalog. I explained that some books cannot be checked out of the library and therefore cannot be held. She insisted that this couldn't be one of those. It was, of course. An old copy of Elsie Dinsmore by Martha Finley. It's part of a collection of early children's books that are in our "rare book room" and cannot be taken from the building, though anyone who asks can usually sit in there and read them. For some reason she just couldn't understand the concept. Again and again she asked why she couldn't check the book out. I told her that it is available easily in a modern paperback (only because it's a classic, it's actually a pretty poor excuse for a story) but she insisted that she needed a library copy. I wasn't about to fill out an interlibrary loan request form for her over the phone when it was already ten minutes past closing, so I told her she should come in to the library to do that.
Elsie Dinsmore is one of those dreary Victorian didactic books intended to teach children "proper behavior, faith in god, and respect for their elders." It's just awful stuff, about a girl whose father went away on business and didn't come back for a long time. Her mother was already dead, and she was left in the care of an aunt or step-mother, if I remember correctly, who abused her horribly but her faith in god and her father got her through it all with proper meekness and self-effacement, as would always have been prescribed for a teen girl of the era. The whole text is probably in Project Gutenberg where anyone can download it, but there was no point in suggesting that to this caller. Picture Harry Potter living with the Dursleys, only he never gets to go to Hogwarts at all. That's what it's like.
