Librarians Gone Wild and...the Phone
I was just sitting here listening to All Things Considered on NPR and they were doing a story about the American Library Association's semiannual meeting in New Orleans. To the edification of the nation at large, the reporters discovered that yes, Virginia, we librarians do occasionally let our hair down. It was cliches on parade. I'll say it again: the operative part of my job is being kind to idiots at length. If that doesn't require at least one stiff drink at the end of the day, I don't know what does. Speaking of things that make me require strong drinks....
I just want to sound off about the phone in my life. First of all, at work. While official library policy is to handle questions in strict first-come-first serve order, we will hit the "make busy"on the phone if we get a line at the reference desk. I apologize, but I do feel a greater responsibility to those who actually get out of their air conditioned offices and come see me as opposed to those who don't. Now, I understand that some of you actually come from outside the Loop and want to ascertain if we really have something before you make the trip. Do what I do: plan ahead. If you call during lunch hour, be prepared to wait: everyone else thought the same thing. Most of you are good, and I wish we could have two librarains on desk to help you out, I really do. It would make everyone's life easier, though I don't know where we'd put the extra desk. However, I did have someone figure out the number to the work room and expect me to help them with a reference question since they were busy at the reference desk. To you I say: congratulations, you've gamed the phone system; however, I have other jobs than dealing with your whiny ass who can't wait like everyone else. Also, I turn off the phone at five minutes to close. There is no way you are going to be able to articulate your need and have me satisfy it in under five minutes. This is partly because there is always some moron who comes in person, usually pleasant except for the preparedness issue, who needs something about four minutes to close, when they won't be able to get it in time to check out anyway. Let me explain this: CPL circulation staff are paid hourly on a time card system. Unless the taxpayers are willing to shuck out more money, the City is loathe, and I mean loathe, to pay out overtime. That means that the circulation computers, which are used to check materials in and out, are to be shut down no later than the minute of closing. There are strict rules about this, and the union is involved. In this town, that means it's pretty much law. I will get into latecomers, but that's another post. One last thing about the public and the phone system: I hate the phone tree as much as you do.
No one calls me at my desk at work. This is due to two things: one, I have never had my voice mail set up, something I will do as soon as I figure out who to contact about that. Two, even I am not always sure what my number is. This, I confess, is partly a defense mechanism. As long as I can plausibly deny knowledge of my extension, my mother can't call me at work and weave me into her little dramas. Trust me, Mom, nothing is so important that you can't leave a message on my cell. Occasionally, despite these two impediments, someone surprises the hell out of me and calls and gets me at my desk. Invariably, it is work-related, and somebody higher up the food chain has figured out my extension. Good for them. I wish they'd tell me what it was.
Now for the cell phone, the only other phone of mine worth mentioning. I have a pet peeve: people who call and don't leave a message. This, I think, was the primary cause of the recent unpleasantness between my sister and myself. She called me a week before our blowup on my birthday, a call I apparently missed, and didn't leave a message. Now, my philosophy on people who call and don't leave messages is fairly simple: either it is so important that my not being there right at that moment totally screws your goose and there's no point in leaving a message, or it wasn't all that important in the first place, and you'll call back later. Obviously, my sister's call fell into the first group, though she's never properly explained what it was all about. Moral of the story: leave a message, even if it is to tell me how I've totally ruined everything and you'll never be calling me again because you'll be dead.
Secondly, and perhaps this should be under the paragraph about work, is that I don't answer my cell phone at work. Once again, you're fighting City Hall and the union. Also, chances are that I'll be on the reference desk (where I really can't use my cell phone), as Lisieux has figured out that I don't mind it as much as some people, for all my bitching and moaning. I suppose it's a matter of which idiots I have to be nice to, though Lisieux is far from an idiot. If you call during the period I take for lunch, I will be more than happy to assist you in shooting the breeze. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until the end of the day.
The third thing that pisses me off about cell phones involves people who shout into them. My mother is particulary guilty of this. Some people seem incapable of comprehending that such a small item can have the power to connect people across a continent, or even the world. Nothing I say to my mother makes her believe that she doesn't have to speak as though she was actually trying to get her voice to carry across the miles. It drives me nuts, cuz then everyone gets to hear both sides of the conversation, which can't possibly be interesting to them, as it is rarely interesting even to me. This misunderstanding of basic telecommunications science is, I think, the basis of the most common grousing I hear about idiots on their cell phones.
One last thing, regarding those who do not turn off their cell phones during performances and then get a call: there is a special place in Hell for you. Your phone will always be ringing, you will never be able to answer it, and it will always be your child with an emergency.
I just want to sound off about the phone in my life. First of all, at work. While official library policy is to handle questions in strict first-come-first serve order, we will hit the "make busy"on the phone if we get a line at the reference desk. I apologize, but I do feel a greater responsibility to those who actually get out of their air conditioned offices and come see me as opposed to those who don't. Now, I understand that some of you actually come from outside the Loop and want to ascertain if we really have something before you make the trip. Do what I do: plan ahead. If you call during lunch hour, be prepared to wait: everyone else thought the same thing. Most of you are good, and I wish we could have two librarains on desk to help you out, I really do. It would make everyone's life easier, though I don't know where we'd put the extra desk. However, I did have someone figure out the number to the work room and expect me to help them with a reference question since they were busy at the reference desk. To you I say: congratulations, you've gamed the phone system; however, I have other jobs than dealing with your whiny ass who can't wait like everyone else. Also, I turn off the phone at five minutes to close. There is no way you are going to be able to articulate your need and have me satisfy it in under five minutes. This is partly because there is always some moron who comes in person, usually pleasant except for the preparedness issue, who needs something about four minutes to close, when they won't be able to get it in time to check out anyway. Let me explain this: CPL circulation staff are paid hourly on a time card system. Unless the taxpayers are willing to shuck out more money, the City is loathe, and I mean loathe, to pay out overtime. That means that the circulation computers, which are used to check materials in and out, are to be shut down no later than the minute of closing. There are strict rules about this, and the union is involved. In this town, that means it's pretty much law. I will get into latecomers, but that's another post. One last thing about the public and the phone system: I hate the phone tree as much as you do.
No one calls me at my desk at work. This is due to two things: one, I have never had my voice mail set up, something I will do as soon as I figure out who to contact about that. Two, even I am not always sure what my number is. This, I confess, is partly a defense mechanism. As long as I can plausibly deny knowledge of my extension, my mother can't call me at work and weave me into her little dramas. Trust me, Mom, nothing is so important that you can't leave a message on my cell. Occasionally, despite these two impediments, someone surprises the hell out of me and calls and gets me at my desk. Invariably, it is work-related, and somebody higher up the food chain has figured out my extension. Good for them. I wish they'd tell me what it was.
Now for the cell phone, the only other phone of mine worth mentioning. I have a pet peeve: people who call and don't leave a message. This, I think, was the primary cause of the recent unpleasantness between my sister and myself. She called me a week before our blowup on my birthday, a call I apparently missed, and didn't leave a message. Now, my philosophy on people who call and don't leave messages is fairly simple: either it is so important that my not being there right at that moment totally screws your goose and there's no point in leaving a message, or it wasn't all that important in the first place, and you'll call back later. Obviously, my sister's call fell into the first group, though she's never properly explained what it was all about. Moral of the story: leave a message, even if it is to tell me how I've totally ruined everything and you'll never be calling me again because you'll be dead.
Secondly, and perhaps this should be under the paragraph about work, is that I don't answer my cell phone at work. Once again, you're fighting City Hall and the union. Also, chances are that I'll be on the reference desk (where I really can't use my cell phone), as Lisieux has figured out that I don't mind it as much as some people, for all my bitching and moaning. I suppose it's a matter of which idiots I have to be nice to, though Lisieux is far from an idiot. If you call during the period I take for lunch, I will be more than happy to assist you in shooting the breeze. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until the end of the day.
The third thing that pisses me off about cell phones involves people who shout into them. My mother is particulary guilty of this. Some people seem incapable of comprehending that such a small item can have the power to connect people across a continent, or even the world. Nothing I say to my mother makes her believe that she doesn't have to speak as though she was actually trying to get her voice to carry across the miles. It drives me nuts, cuz then everyone gets to hear both sides of the conversation, which can't possibly be interesting to them, as it is rarely interesting even to me. This misunderstanding of basic telecommunications science is, I think, the basis of the most common grousing I hear about idiots on their cell phones.
One last thing, regarding those who do not turn off their cell phones during performances and then get a call: there is a special place in Hell for you. Your phone will always be ringing, you will never be able to answer it, and it will always be your child with an emergency.
posted by S. M. Frances at 5:34 PM
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