In the small public library where I work, we have a cash register for purchases like copies and prints, plastic and tote bags, and late fines. We don’t bring in a lot of money, and since most people pay by card, we don’t have a lot of change in the drawer.

This morning, a lady I don’t recognize comes in. She needs help making copies of some paperwork — several copies of several different forms. I don’t pay much attention to what’s on them — officially, I’m not even supposed to look at the forms in order to protect the lady’s privacy — but she still chats away while I’m making the copies, telling me far more than I’d like to know about her financial situation.

Then comes the time to pay for the copies. I ring her up and tell her the total. She takes a wad of 500 kronor bills (500 SEK is a little less than 60 USD) out of her wallet and I can immediately see that this is going to be a problem.

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t have change for a bill that size. We don’t get a lot of cash, so I can’t give back change for anything larger than a hundred.”

Patron: “Oh, I should have thought of that when I got my spending money for the month from the bank this morning. I thought you still accepted cash.”

Me: “We do, but I can’t make change for five hundred. You can also pay by credit or debit card or Swish [Swedish pay app].”

Patron: “But I hate using my debit card. That’s how you get scammed, you know. People next to you in line will steal your card details with their skimming things.”

She sends a significant glance over her shoulder at the person behind her in line, a regular patron who is waiting patiently for her turn in full compliance with social distancing recommendations.

Me: “I’m sorry, but there is literally no possible way for me to break that bill for you, even if I was to make an exception. I don’t have that much change in my drawer. But if you don’t want to pay by card, I can hold your copies for you so you can go back to the bank or to the grocery store; they’ll be able to break your bill.”

It’s a small town. Both of these places are no more than a hundred metres away.

Patron: *Sighs loudly* “No, no, I guess I will have no choice but to pay by card. I’m just worried I’m going to get scammed.”

Me: *Laughs* “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about that here. We’re a small public library; there aren’t a lot of con men around.”

Patron: “Oh, I didn’t mean you; I’m sure you’re honest. But you can never know who’s standing next to you in line.”

Once again, she gives the regular patron in line behind her the stink-eye. The regular patron pointedly takes another step back. The lady then proceeds to put her big wad of cash back into her wallet and take out a debit card WRAPPED IN ALUMINUM FOIL. She waves the card at me before unwrapping it.

Patron: “This is how you have to do it these days unless you want to get all your money stolen, you know.”

She pays. I print out her receipt and hand it to her. She spends a little more time rewrapping her card and getting her wallet and papers in order before she leaves.

I turn to help the poor regular next in line.

Me: “Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”

Regular: *Smiling* “Wow, it’s not every day you get accused of being a criminal.”

Me: *Shaking my head* “Well, some people can’t be too careful, I guess.”

Regular: “Considering all that cash she was flashing around in full sight of everyone, I’d be more worried about getting mugged if I was her.”

This story takes place at a time when many public libraries in my country are in the process of introducing self-service checkout machines. The staff likes them because they free up time for us to do other things, and many of the patrons also find them convenient and time-saving. Patrons who don’t want to use them still get personal service, of course.

I’m working on my own at my pretty small library branch one morning. There have been very few patrons, and I’m making use of the time by shelving the cartload of books a teacher dropped off earlier. The place is small enough that I can do this and still keep an eye on the information desk in case anyone needs my help.

A semi-regular patron walks in while I’m a few metres away from the desk. She’s infamous for going out of her way to find things to be offended by. I know she usually likes to browse on her own, so I just wave and smile at her and go back to what I’m doing.

Patron: *Pretending she hasn’t seen me* “Hello? Is there anyone here? Are you open? Hello?”

I drop my books and go back to the desk.

Me: “Hello, [Patron], how are you? Do you need any help?”

Patron: “I heard you got those new machines. I guess that’s just an excuse for you not to do any work anymore.”

Me: “I was shelving books, actually, but I’m happy to help you. Do you need help finding anything?”

Patron: *Scoffs* “I’ve been coming here since before you were born, I know my way around.”

Me: “Great! Just let me know if I can help.”

Patron: “I’m not going to use a machine. I don’t trust those things.”

Me: “You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to. Just tell me when you’re ready and I’ll help you check out your books, just as usual.”

She scoffs again and goes to find her books. She’s the only visitor for the moment, and I’m one of those people who can’t stand to be idle, so I return to my shelving while she looks around.

Two minutes later, she comes up to the desk again.

Patron: “Hello! Can I get some help here? Is there anyone here?”

Me: *Walks over again* “Yes, [Patron], I am literally two metres away. How can I help you?”

Patron: “Have you read this book?”

Me: “I haven’t had time to read that one yet, but my coworker has and she thought it was very good.”

Patron: “Hm. I don’t think I want it. I’ll be back.”

She goes back into the stacks. I go back to my shelving. Then, a few minutes later, she’s back again, waving another book.

Patron: “Helloooo, is anyone going to help me?”

At this point, I realize that she doesn’t actually need any help; she’s just upset that I’m not sitting behind the desk, ready to be at her beck and call. Very well, my bad back is hurting anyway, so I’m happy to take a break and sit down for a bit.

While I wait for her to get ready, I check and answer some emails and handle interlibrary loan requests. Ten minutes later, she comes back, slamming a few books down on the counter.

Patron: “I hope you’re going to help me because I’m not going to use a machine.”

Me: “That’s okay, a lot of people don’t want to use the machines. It’s just a new option for people who are in a hurry or just prefer to check themselves out. I’ll help you right here, just like I’ve always done.”

I check out her books and wish her a pleasant day. Just as she’s about to leave, she must, of course, have the last word.

Patron: “You don’t know how lucky you are, sitting there behind your desk all day! You should be thankful there are people like me still around, or you wouldn’t have anything to do!”

I work in a library. Right as my lunch break wrapped up, the power went out. I headed back to work because the policy says we stay open for half an hour after the outage, and I didn’t want to leave my coworker, a grumpy-yet-sweet man in his seventies, hanging.

Upon arrival, I learned that we were being instructed to stay open as long as there was enough light to see — that is, until regular closing time, since it was summer. However, all of my current projects were digital, and there is really only so much straightening of shelves one can do in a small library before there is simply nothing left to do; we also only had two patrons the whole shift, and they came and left in the first half-hour. I was left playing on my phone and fooling around with the board games we have available for checkout for almost two hours.

The power came back on an hour before closing, but our systems were damaged by the outage. IT didn’t have them up and running again until five minutes before closing, leaving us with an additional hour of nothing to do.

As we left, I turned to my coworker.

Me: “I don’t think I’ve ever been so unproductive in one shift.”

Coworker: “I have.”

For close to a year, thanks to extremely wet weather and other mad conditions, our tiny library, like most other homes and businesses on the block, was suffering from a rat infestation that would have tested the Pied Piper. As a former country girl, I was used to dealing with mice and even the occasional squirrel, but now I was in the big city and had no idea just how big — or smart — rats could be.

Our custodial department was dealing with the infestation, but it took a long time; as fast as they could get rid of one nest, a new collection of long-tailed travelers would come through and take over again. Also, the people who manage our money for such things are cheaper than Scrooge and insisted the custodians and librarians deal with the issue instead of getting in professional exterminators.

One of my coworkers, a very tall, muscular young man, came running upstairs with eyes as wide as pie pans.

Coworker: “There’s a little rat in the kitchen.”

Me: “What’s it doing?”

Coworker: “It’s stuck to the trap custodial put down. We have to call them to come and kill it for us.”

Me: “Okay.”

I went to my supervisor to report this and he confirmed that I needed to call custodial.

Custodial: “Oh, no. [Custodial Employee] deals with that. There’s no way I am coming anywhere near a rat. Not my job. Nope.”

[Coworker] and I discussed this and we agreed that, while we didn’t like the rats, we didn’t like thinking of a fellow creature suffering. Finally, I decided to do what I had seen my dad do with mice.

Me: “You’re sure it’s a tiny one?”

Coworker: “Oh, it’s a baby. You can get it without trouble.”

So, tapping my inner Indiana Jones, I grabbed a plastic bag and a copy of the Physician’s Desk Reference with the plan that I would simply scoop the glued-down rat into the bag and clock it over the head with the book. I know just how awful that sounds, but the things were using our reading room as their personal bathroom and we couldn’t have children’s programs as the darn things were actually coming out of the walls to join in on “The Wheels on the Bus.” It had to go.

[Coworker] and another coworker (because she had never seen a rat before) decided to accompany me.

We got down to our tiny kitchen and opened the door. An ROUS (Rodent Of Unusual Size) was standing bolt upright on the countertop, one leg glued to the paper, the rest of him more than a little free. When we walked in, he did the whole zombie hand thing while shuffling across the counter, growling and hissing. If we’d had a saddle, we could have sold rides on his back.

I am ashamed to say that I screamed, dropped the book, and dove for cover, followed by my two colleagues.  

The door slammed shut behind us, and when we went back, the rat had chewed itself free and disappeared down the holes for pipes. My second coworker turned to [Coworker] and shrieked:

Coworker #2: “If you claim that was a baby, I would hate to see a full-grown one!”

No idea about the size of this next rat, but I do know he was one of the Rats of NIMH.

Every day, we had to stop people from eating in the different rooms, but patrons have a way of sneaking food in without us seeing it. Teens, in particular, are amazingly resourceful.

Custodial was trying a new tack of setting up giant snap traps with peanut butter for lures. They came back the next day to find every trap snapped and the globs of peanut butter eaten. They couldn’t figure it out until they came to the last trap: beside it was a very sturdy chicken bone.

As near as they could figure, the rat in question had gone into the garbage upstairs where someone had disposed of a box of chicken in a wastebasket. It was clear from the scene that the rat had literally gone through the bones until it found a sturdy one and then gone round to snap all the traps shut.  

This third incident is the only time anyone had any use for the infestation.

The librarian was in a hushed argument with a rude patron who was on his cell phone, spouting all his personal business for the world to enjoy. He refused to take the call outside and kept putting his hand in the librarian’s face to stop her from talking to him.

Suddenly, as he was mouthing off at her, he fell silent, his eyes grew big, and he started to watch something walking (more likely scampering) behind her.

Librarian: “Is there a rat behind me?”

The patron nodded in horror.

Librarian: “Is it big?”

The patron nodded again.

Librarian: “Headed for the circulation desk? Yeah, there’s more where that came from. We’ve been warning everyone.”

Patron: *Into the phone* “Uh, I am going to call you back. I gotta leave. They got rats bigger than your Maltese here.”

And he was gone and never returned.

At long last, The Powers That Be finally caved and hired exterminators. By then, we had wasted over six months trying the Do-It-Yourself Approach. It was another six months before the exterminators finally followed all the signs and discovered a nest within the walls of the boiler room and finally got rid of them.

To this day, we have to fight to keep people from tossing food behind bookshelves or hiding trash. Why would you do that, especially when the wastebasket is right next to you?

I’m heading out from the main library space to the front office to give something to my director. The front hallway has a few doors: the front office, a community event room, two public restrooms, and tucked off around a corner, the staff kitchen.

I see a regular (and sometimes problematic) patron pass the restrooms and walk into the staff kitchen.

Me: “Oh, excuse me, [Patron]. That’s our kitchen; it’s not open to the public.”

Patron: “I’m just getting my water bottle.”

Me: “What?”

Patron: “I put my water bottle in the fridge so it stays cold.”

Me: “I’m sorry, you can’t do that. The fridge — the whole kitchen — is a staff-only area.”

Patron: “But you’re a public library, aren’t you? That means you work for us. It’s unfair of you to ban us from the kitchen. You work for us, so it’s ours!”

Me: “I’m sorry, [Patron], but that’s not how it works.”

Patron: “That’s my kitchen, too! You’re a public library!”

Me: “No, the staff kitchen is off-limits to patrons.”

My director came out of her office and backed me up, and the patron grumpily took his water bottle and left.

He’s been here all summer but he’s told me he doesn’t own property and makes his money day-trading stocks so he can avoid as many taxes as possible. Even if taxpayers were my boss (that’s not how it works), his taxes probably contribute a smaller proportion of the library budget than mine!