It’s the Internet-free 1980s, which means reference librarians use a variety of resource books with state, federal, and local government agency addresses, addresses for celebrities — usually their agents or fan clubs, obviously not their home addresses — and Senate and Representative addresses, along with White Houses, Embassies, and various officials in foreign countries.

We had one patron who actually seemed quite normal, very pleasant, always unfailingly sweet and polite — and she could not speak a word of English beyond basic greetings, pleasantries, and, most important, “Address, please. Address.” She was always beautifully turned out, clean and, as I said, sweet and pleasant to a fault. We had no idea what we were dealing with.

On an almost daily basis, she would come in carrying articles from the daily newspaper. And she would point frantically to a name on the page, saying, “Address, please. Address.”

Sometimes the person named was a state senator or another government official whose address and phone number we could get for her. Sometimes it was a movie star and we could at least give her the fan mail address. But other times, it was just a fluff piece and she would be focused on two capitalized words that were the name of a store or a breed of chickens or a holiday ritual.

Naturally, we didn’t know what it was she was trying to accomplish contacting all these disparate people (and the occasional Rhode Island Red or Longhorn). In my neck of the woods, we had a large Hungarian community, but even my library colleagues with Hungarian family backgrounds had no clue what she was saying.

One time, she had underlined parts of two sentences and was insisting we get her the address of the following: “Daffodils. Lawnmowers are good for…” That was it. That was what she had underlined, and she kept pointing at it saying, “Address, please. Address.”

We tried every way to Sunday to make the woman understand that that was not a name of a person. We finally called the Hungarian Club in town and found a man who was willing to talk to her to figure out what the heck she wanted us to do.

We handed her the phone and she rattled on at this guy for several minutes. When she handed the phone back, the guy told my colleague, “Her kids have her power of attorney and she wants to have it back because she thinks she should be able to drive her car on the sidewalk if she wants. She is crazy as a loon and she thinks that every name she sees is someone who can help her. Please don’t ever call back here again.”

Eventually, someone knew someone who knew her family and was able to confirm the story. While it was clear that she did need someone to watch her — because she tried driving every chance she got and always had the same result — it seemed her kids were not keeping that great a watch on her.

She was still coming into the main library in the 2010s, although by then she was getting up there, but still, she was always in her neat little June Cleaver dresses, pillbox hats, and — many times — white gloves. I work at a different branch now, but I have heard stories from my colleagues that, thirty-some years later, she still makes the occasional appearance.

Related:
Many Problems To Address

I have finished ringing and paying for my groceries in self-checkout. In the lane next to mine is a woman, a man, and two children: a girl about age six and a toddler. The older child keeps trying to open a bag of chips her mother has just bought.

Child: “Mommy, can I have some chips?”

Mom: “You have to wait until we get home.”

Child: “But I didn’t eat today.”

The mom turns to the man.

Mom: “You didn’t feed them?”

Man: “Those are your kids.”

He replied so nonchalantly. You could feel the tension rise, but the mom continued to pack her groceries without another word. I finished my shopping, saddened for that young girl and the unfortunate dynamic.

My parents can occasionally be a bit overprotective, especially when I am young, but this story is perhaps one of my favorite examples of my mother’s worry-wart tendencies.

I tend to be a bit of a night owl, so one night, I find myself very bored at about two in the morning, and I decide to go grab some fast food to occupy myself, as we don’t exactly live in the most hopping part of the state and there isn’t anything else to do. I grab the family dog, because he’s always happy to go for a car ride at any hour, hop in my car, and go to the nearest chain to grab a burger from the drive-thru.

I get home, my greasy prize in hand, and find my mom waiting for me at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips.

Mom: “Where were you?!”

Me: “Uh… I went out to get food.”

I hold up the fast food bag.

Mom: “At this hour?! You shouldn’t be out by yourself!”

Me: “I went through the drive-thru. I didn’t even get out of my car. And besides, I had the dog with me.”

Mom: “What if something happened?!”

I just want to eat before the bag of something already barely resembling actual food becomes completely inedible, so I lay out my case.

Me: “Mom. First of all, we live in one of the most white-bread-suburban, low-crime areas possible. Second, I traveled a total of maybe ten miles. Third, I had the dog with me. And fourth, and possibly most relevant of all, I am twenty-four years old.”

After the appropriate pause to consider my input…

Mom: “Well, you still shouldn’t be out so late.”

She went back to her room somewhat sheepishly, and thankfully, my food was still hot.

Related:
Ah, Mothers, Part 9
Ah, Mothers, Part 8
Ah, Mothers, Part 7
Ah, Mothers, Part 6
Ah, Mothers, Part 5

I’m looking for an item online for a curbside pickup. It’s an item I’ve been looking for for over three months. Unfortunately, it is out of stock in my local area, and the closest place where it is available is about forty-five miles or an hour’s drive away.

I call [Store #1] and ask if it can be shipped to a home address. They tell me they are unable to do so, but they can transfer it to a closer store, [Store #2]. They say they have set the item aside and tell me to call [Store #2] to initiate the transfer. 

I call [Store #2] next. 

Me: “Hello, I have an unusual request. Is a manager available, please?”

I know this phrase usually causes fear or eye-rolling, but I also know it’s a little more complicated, so I try to be polite.

Employee #1: “I’m the manager on duty. What can I do for you?”

Me: “Great! I was looking to have [item] transferred to your store from [Store #1]. I just got off the phone with them and they are holding it so you can start the transfer.”

Employee #1: “Okay. Do you have the product information?”

Me: “Absolutely!”

I provide the item number, description, and quantity needed.

Employee #1: “Awesome. I’m going to put you on a brief hold.”

A few minutes go by and she comes back on the line. 

Employee #1: “All right, so it looks like we don’t have any in stock, and the warehouse doesn’t have any in stock. [Store #1] has eight in stock so we cannot transfer the item to [Store #1].”

I facepalm; this is exactly the OPPOSITE of what I am trying to do.

Me: “Thank you for checking; however, I was calling to have the item from [Store #1] transferred to your location. I have confirmed inventory and availability with the other store. I just need your store to call [Store #1] to start the transfer.”

Employee #1: “Oh, well, they have to do the paperwork and it needs to be paid for before it’s transferred over.”

Me: “That’s understandable and doable. Which one of you do I pay?”

Employee #1: “Uh, you would pay them… old on a minute.”

I hear the sounds of the phone being passed to another person.

Employee #2: “Hello?”

Me: “Hello, I was just trying to have an item delivered to your…”

Employee #2: “Yes, I got all that. But we can’t send them the item. We don’t have any.”

I facepalm again, annoyed but trying to be polite.

Me: “I got that. But it’s the other way around. I want the item to be sent to you.”

Employee #2: “But they have to do the paperwork. And it has to be paid for. And, shoot, they are out of state and not in our district, which means taxes are different. Can you drive there to pick it up? I mean, gas is cheaper than the shipping would be.”

Me: “It’s forty-five miles one way from my house, so I was trying to avoid a ninety-mile round trip drive. But I really need this item, so I will do that. Thank you.”

I call [Store #1] and speak with the same person I spoke to originally.

Me: “All right, so I called [Store #2] and they were so confused. So I’m going to have to come and get it.”

Employee #1: “I bet! I’ve got it pulled for you. Do a curbside pickup which will reserve the fabric for you! And there’s a 50%-off coupon on our app, if you have it. Otherwise, 20%-off curbside.”

Me: “Oh, you are awesome! I work, so it might be Wednesday before I can get it.”

Employee #1: “Awesome! I’ll put a note on it!”

I am an optician. We have a patient come into the office stating he has lost his glasses. He says he would like to order the exact same pair. I search his information in our computer system, give him the total price, and ask for a deposit of half as per office policy.

The patient gives a deposit of half and I tell him we should be calling him later in the week after his eyeglasses are ready for pickup. Later that week, his eyeglasses are ready to go, a phone call is placed to the number on file, and a voicemail is left.

A few days later, the patient calls to inform us, “I have found my glasses and would like my deposit back.” I explain to him that the eyeglasses were completed and we cannot return his deposit. The best we can do is keep the deposit to cover our costs and time and remove the rest of the balance from his account if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the money to complete the purchase. I explain that had he called me within twenty-four hours of placing the order, we could have given the deposit back. 

We go back and forth a bit; I throw in that this is what deposits are for, etc. He finally concedes and eventually picks up his glasses a few weeks later.