Questions for Amy 1. As a reader of your blog for several months now, I know you are a librarian. Have you ever encountered anyone who has a librarian fetish? Is there such a fetish? If so, tell us more! I have, indeed, encountered what I would term a "librarian fetish." The first occasion was in college: my ersatz boyfriend, R.W.G. He was an amazingly beautiful man. A true stunner, one of those men who can take your breath away before you know it. Really phenomenal. R.W.G. was a game-player. He could get anything he wanted, and once he got something in his sights, it was an impressive performance. He managed to pull every string and flip every switch without those who were being played having the first clue. I was not innocent when we met, but I'd never dealt with the likes of him and his advanced-player game. When he turned the force of his charm (i.e. manipulation) on me, I toppled without the slightest hesitation. The light of day, however, brought the realization that he and I were not, er, destined to work. He was, if you'll forgive the metaphor, out of my league. I'm not saying I was without skills or talents, or without any attributes that made me worthy of 'trying,' but he was just so clearly a pro, while I was simply an accomplished amateur. So I told him the next night--the second night of our acquaintance!--that I couldn't see him anymore. When he asked why (very patiently. Too patiently, I realized later, to have taken my objection seriously in the slightest.) I answered with the truth (ah, what a playah I was!), that he was this outstandingly gorgeous specimen and I was just me. He said, "Yeah, but why not enjoy it while you can?" And then he put on the moves, blatantly, and I'm chagrined to say that it worked. Later, he said, "You know, you're kind of sexy. In a librarian sort of way. You're all quiet at first, and you seem shy, like you're all buttoned up. But after you've had a few [beers, I'd assume], or when you've known somebody for a while, you open up into this new person. Like you've been waiting to let her out. Yeah. That's it: you're librarian-sexy." It became a thing with him, as if he'd discovered a hidden mathematical equation or some wonderful chemical formula. He used that "librarian-sexy" thing very effectively, to shut me up or to distract me when I was blue. At the time it came as a surprise, but it shouldn't have. He left, without saying goodbye. And if I'd been more sophisticated, I might've accepted it with equanimity and said, "I enjoyed it while I could." But it, and he, crushed me, and the memory kept me crushed for a long time. The other occasion was several years after the first. I became reacquainted with a man I'd known more than a decade before. He had been a sort of mentor to me, and over time he, and his mentoring, had come to mean a great deal to me. I determined that it was necessary to track him down. It wasn't at all difficult. I launched an email, reminding him of who I was, how we'd known each other before, and thanking him for all he'd done. He wrote back immediately, pleased to be remembered in such a way but apologetically frank about not remembering me. I was not undone by being forgettable. I wrote again, giving a bit more detail, and he wrote back, again with almost no delay. So began an odd, intense exchange. Entirely by email, horrifically clandestine, and...exquisite. Naturally, I mentioned my current employment situation. His response was, "Librarians are hot." In my next message, I caviled a bit, suggesting perhaps that not all librarians are hot, but that some can be. "As in, unbutton the cardigan and remove the glasses...?" He replied, "..., release the flowing hair from its ribbon-tied coil, and push the books from the desk...." And so it went. We, over the course of a couple of months, wrote a decent outline of a wonderful novel, interspersed with real communication in those messages. It probably should have stopped at being a short story, though, because it ended badly. As the quote goes, "Everything ends badly. Otherwise it wouldn't end." That's my experience with those interested in "the librarian thing." Not exactly fetishists, they were, at least, willing to see that there is something behind the stereotype. Not exactly happy stories--or at least those with happy endings--but certainly memorable.
2. How and why did you become a librarian? The 'how' is easy. I fell into the job. I had always wanted to work with books, because there's very little (practically speaking) that I love more than writing and reading and language. There were no bookstores in the area at the time, and I needed something part-time, fairly casual, that I could do while I was in law school. I answered an ad in the local paper. Went through the application process, but was not called for an interview. It struck me as slightly odd, since I thought I was a reasonably good candidate for the gig, but what could I do? A month or so later, the ad reappeared. I applied again. Again, no interview. A month or so later, the same thing happened. I seriously questioned my sanity, but decided that if I was willing to suck it up and apply for the third time, for a job that paid that little, I must've really wanted it in some deep recess of my heart. And, happily for me, I got the call for the interview. The Director of the library at that time was a social-skills-lacking wacko who apparently had some skill as a cataloger (although I have come to believe that anyone who accepts that as fact knows nothing about cataloging) but absolutely none as a manager. I was hired in September. She was fired in October. I remained only through the school year. I'd received a grad assistantship that paid a stipend and tuition, and I couldn't afford to let that go. A year later, I was about to graduate from law school. I needed to study for the bar exam. I needed something easy to do, to make a little money, while I studied. I ran into a friend from my library days, and she asked if I was going to apply for [cataloger R's] position. I hadn't known that it was available. I applied. I got it, despite having cataloged only at that library for those few months before. And despite having no practical managerial experience. And, basically, despite having an obnoxious, condescending attitude and a chip on my shoulder the size of the College of Law. I was only going to stay through the bar exam, right? Too many years later.... I make 75% more than when I started. (It's still peanuts, but it's 75% more than the original peanuts.) I have facilitated the automation of the library catalog, helped with our entrée into the local consortium, completely handled the addition of the county law library, and written two successful grant applications (for materials). One staff member that I supervised left her position because of medical and personal reasons, while the other has recently begun her thirteenth year. (Turnover in every other department is staggering. I have worked under five different directors!) I just completed a continuing education class that comprised my first attempt at learning anything in nearly six years (unless one counts writing my thesis, which I do not). So. Why did I become a librarian? That's a question that is both easier and more difficult to answer. Easier because, I don't consider myself to be 'a librarian.' I think of "librarians" as MLS/MLIS degree-holding professionals who, with any luck, make good money at what they're both educated and trained to do. Who see librarianship as a vocation and--this sounds hokey, but it's true--as a calling. I see my job, as a cataloger, a selector [of adult fiction and nonfiction books], a grant-writer, a manager, and everything else that I am called on to do at my home institution, as temporary. Perhaps it is time that I open my eyes to the practical reality of having been there for this long, and realize that others see me as more of a professional than I am. (Or, than I do?) But I still see myself as a "normal person", more comfortable in camisoles and jeans with the ass torn out than I will ever hope to be in a blouse and a slim skirt. Someone who would rather get grubby poking through a box of donations in search of the treasure than I will ever be talking at the committee meetings. Regardless of this, though, as that idiot would say, "I yam what I yam." And if I yam a librarian, why? Because I love books. Reading. And people who are reading, and learning, on purpose. That's the difference, for me, between being a school or academic librarian and working in a public library. The majority of the time, people are there because they want to read. And how totally cool is that?!
3. What is the most salacious thing you've ever heard of happening in the library? At my library, there are two options. First, the skanky whore-of-all-whores daughter of a former colleague [who is, incidentally, a thumping Roman Catholic] had a child a couple of years ago, at the age of 15 or so. Who am I to disparage such a thing, right? Live and let live, and all that stuff? Well, about a year after she had the kid, and gave it up (best thing for the child, certainly, if anyone asked me, which they obviously did not), she let it slip that she'd conceived the child at the library.
At my library.
Down the back steps, yes, and not on the public desk (although that would certainly present a new meaning to "circulation"!). But still, that skanky f---ing freaklet had sex in the library, and produced a child from it. I'm still shuddering at the thought. The second option would be when our then-maintenance man (and part-time 'dirty janitor') let himself into the large meeting room (so-called because it is...the largest room we have, and therefore used as a meeting room), to be faced with naked 16-year-old ass. A male 16-year-old's ass. The owner of the ass was, at that moment, being pleasured (orally, natch!) by the 16-or-so-year-old young "lady" perched on her knees in front of him, also pants-less. Maintenance guy had a fit, dragged the by-then-pantsed teens to the director's office, and promptly began washing this hands for what seemed like days. Not long after, he washed his hands of the whole place when he found out that the director told the kids, for all intents and purposes, that the library's not the place for such things. So they should "get a room." And not do it there. And she let them leave without calling their parents, or the cops, or DCFS, or anybody with a f---ing brain in their heads. They were underage, and she let them go with a warning. Who is going to take responsibility for such a thing, if not the person in charge of the building in which the kids are caught?! She let them down. And she let the staff down, because they knew that she didn't do the right thing. And she let the parents of those teenagers down. And, really, she let down the whole community and perhaps our entire society. Because we can't legitimately complain about "what these kids are like" and "how they get away with things" if WE don't do something about it when WE are faced with it. And how much more faced with it can one be, than when a naked teen ass is staring you in the face?! Of course, if what you're asking is, what's the most salacious thing I've ever personally seen in a library, I would have to say... email. From an admirer, sadly relegated to the ranks of "mere friend."
4. I understand that you recently attended a Dewey Decimal Ball. What kinds of things happen at a Dewey Decimal Ball? Actually, the Dewey Decimal Ball is June 18. There's still time to get your tickets, J.W., if you're interested in experiencing it for yourself. For $50, the committee promises "heavy hors d'ouevres" (which sounds less than appetizing, to me), a silent auction, champagne, dancing, desserts, and the unadulterated joy of traipsing through our library in the mid-to-late evening while dressed in "semi-formal attire with early 20th century accessories." I shall, if you decline my invitation, let you know how it goes once the date has passed.
5. Do librarians freak dance? Yup. I am not permitted to say more, but I'll gladly show you.... ;)
No comments:
Post a Comment