We recently got a new library manager who is… well. Let’s just say she’s very keen on doing things her way.

Manager: “Why are there two people scheduled for the Monday opening shift? All the other shifts only have one person.”

Me: “Because it’s the busiest shift of the week. We have to deal with all the books that have been returned in the overnight slot over the weekend, and we’re always swamped by visitors first thing in the morning.”

Manager: “I think one person should be able to do it. You just need to manage your time better.”

Since I almost always work Monday mornings, I’m the one who gets saddled with the shift on my own. As predicted, there’s far too much to do. I’m far from done with the morning routines when it’s time to open, the visitors have to wait longer than usual to get help, and by the end of my shift, I’m exhausted.

Me: “[Manager], I would need to come in at seven in the morning to get everything done in time for opening. I’m okay with that, but then I want to leave earlier in the afternoon.”

Manager: “No, you can’t leave earlier. Someone needs to be here as a backup when we close. Just try to manage your time better; it shouldn’t be that hard.”

One Monday not soon thereafter, I come down with a cold and have to call in sick. No one can cover for me on such short notice and [Manager] ends up having to work the shift herself.

I don’t know how it went, but I can guess. At the next weekly staff meeting, the manager has a few closing words for us.

Manager: “Also, I have decided to schedule an extra person for the Monday opening shift. There’s far too much to do for just one person!”

We’re next door to a school, and the students (ages thirteen to fifteen) often come and spend their lunch break at the library, hanging out and playing cards. This year, the new seventh-graders are a rather cocky lot. There’s one group in particular we’re having problems with: a gang of teenage boys who are extremely cool and tough — at least according to themselves. They won’t listen when we tell them about our rules, they often leave a mess behind, and they’re generally loud and disrespectful, both to staff and to other visitors. On several occasions, we’ve been forced to ask them to leave, because they’re disturbing other patrons.

It’s not that we don’t want teenagers in the library, but it’s very frustrating to have to be the stereotype of the stern library lady who walks around and hushes people all day.

One day, one of our regular patrons, who is on maternity leave, comes in with her toddler and her baby. They hang out in the small children’s area. The baby is crawling around on the floor in our play corner, chewing on everything he can reach, and the toddler is all over the place. Mommy is a little overwhelmed keeping track of them both.

I’m busy helping another patron when I notice the toddler making her way over to the sofa where my teenage troublemakers are sitting. I try to keep half an eye on the situation and be ready to intervene, but a minute or so later, one of the boys gets up from the sofa, takes the toddler by the hand, and escorts her back to her mommy. A moment later, the other boys follow.

I’m half-expecting some kind of trouble, so I try to help the patron I’m with as fast as possible, but when I’m finished, I find that the general ruckus that always accompanies this group of teenage boys seems to have quieted down.

I decide to do a walk-around in the little children’s area, officially to put some books back on the shelves and clean up a little but mostly to make sure the boys aren’t bothering my regular and her kids.

What I find is the entire group of cool, tough teenage boys lying on the floor, playing with the baby. One of them has cozied up with the toddler and is reading a picture book to her. Mommy seems perfectly content with the free babysitting services and is happily answering curious questions about her kids.

It was the quietest lunch hour in weeks, and I was tempted to ask Mommy to keep coming in at the same time every day so my young troublemakers would keep being distracted by the cuteness.

I’m working in a library in a shopping center. A patron walks in.

Patron: “Hello. I have a lawn care business, and I was wondering if you needed someone to take over mowing the grass outside.”

Me: “Oh, cool. We don’t actually have anything to do with that. The shopping center is owned by [Landlady]. You’d have to talk to her.”

Patron: “Is she here today?”

Me: “Ah, no. But we can pass on a message to her.”

He writes down his contact information.

Patron: “Does she come by very often?”

Me: “Not to the library, no.”

Patron: “Have you worked for her long? Do you like her?”

Me: “Oh, no, I don’t actually work for her. I work for the library. She owns the building. The library rents the space from her.”

Patron: *Looking around​* “This is a library? It’s really nice. She provided all of these books for people to borrow?”

Me: “Ah, no. These are all [Public Library System]’s materials. They don’t come from [Landlady]’s personal collection or anything.”

Patron: “Has she had this library here for very long?”

Me: “Well, the [Public Library System] has rented this space for several years now. She’s the landlady. She just provided the space. We put everything else in here.”

Patron: “Is she a good boss?”

Me: “She’s not my boss, so I wouldn’t know. My boss is at the main branch of the library in [Other Town in the parish].”

Patron: “Main branch? [Landlady] owns multiple libraries?”

Me: “No. No, she doesn’t. It’s a public library. [Landlady] doesn’t own any of our branches.”

The conversation went in circles for a while. When he left, I still don’t think he understood.

For the past several years, I’ve worked in our public library’s computer lab. Most of my job consists of helping patrons print and doing some basic troubleshooting. It’s not very busy these days, but our management tries to schedule two people on the desk at all times to cover breaks and keep wait times down.

An older man is standing by our payment kiosk. He hasn’t asked for help, but it sounds like he’s struggling, so I head over to see what I can do. I see him about to insert his library card into the bill collector and, afraid he’s about to lose his card and potentially damage the machine, I hurry to intervene.

Me: “Oh, no, no, no! Not like that! Here, let me—”

Patron: “I AM NOT A TODDLER! Don’t you dare talk to me like one!”

I’m struck dumb with shock. This explosion came out of nowhere from what I can tell. All I can do is mutely point to where he needs to put his card to proceed and return to the desk once he’s got his prints. My coworker gives me a wide-eyed look and we nod to each other, a silent agreement that that was kind of crazy.

For a time, it’s peaceful, but before long, it sounds like the man is struggling again, this time resorting to muttered curses under his breath. Steeling myself, I go over to the man once more. This time, he’s sitting at a computer, so I stand opposite of him with a table between us. He refuses to look at me at first.

Me: “Sir, do you need any—”

Patron: “What I need is to not be treated like a child! I’m a grown man and will be respected as one!”

Me: “Speaking of which, the language you have been using is inappropriate and needs to stop. We are here to help you, sir, and if you don’t want help from me personally, that’s fine and I understand. My coworker is here and she can help you, or we can contact a manager if that’s what you’d prefer. But we cannot help you if you don’t ask us for it. Do we have an understanding?”

The man had deflated somewhat, but he muttered petulantly about not cursing, and when I informed him that the desk was not at all far from where we were and we could hear him, he fell silent.

I returned to the desk and quietly offered an apology to my coworker for putting her on the spot like that. Thankfully, she said she understood and agreed that it was probably the right call.

Sure enough, the patron came to my coworker and asked for her help before leaving. I was helping someone else at the time, so I don’t know how the exchange went, but it was certainly much quieter, and my coworker reported that he was much more polite with her.

I work in a public library. A woman comes up to our help desk with a young girl about five or six years old. It should be noted that the woman is white, but the young girl is black.

Patron: “Hello. Long story short, I am fostering this girl while her asylum application is going through the motions. Her English is limited, but she’s fluent in French. My French is okay, but I’m having trouble explaining the concept of a library.”

Me: “My coworker is fluent in French. Maybe she can explain easier?”

Patron: “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a translation issue. I just don’t think she understands the concept.”

Me: “Hmm. I’ll call my coworker over and let’s see what we can do.”

I call my coworker over, who is originally from Martinique. After explaining the situation, he starts speaking to the little girl. What they say was translated to me after.

Coworker: *To the little girl* “So, how it works is that you look at the books. When you find one you like, you bring it to me or to my friend here, and we make a note. Then you can borrow it!”

Little Girl: “What does ‘borrow’ mean?”

Coworker: “It means that as long as you promise to bring it back when you have finished reading it, you can take it home.”

Little Girl: “But I have no money.”

Coworker: “It’s okay. You don’t need money. You just need to bring the book to me or my friend. As long as you’re with your guardian, we can sort out the rest.”

Little Girl: “So… I can read the books?”

Coworker: “Yes!”

Little Girl: *Eyes going wide, looking around the whole place* “I can read… all the books?”

Coworker: *Laughing* “Haha, yes, as fast as you can read them!”

She is simply awestruck. She slowly turns around, as if the sheer size of the place is finally dawning on her. She then tugs on the shirt of her foster mum.

Little Girl: “Let’s go find the books!”

She checked out with five books (the maximum for a child dependent on an adult library card) and she was back within days to return them and check out five more.

After a few months of this, and as her English improved unbelievably quickly (I wonder how that was happening?) she was able to get her own card, and her voracious appetite for books increased as a result.

Sixteen years later, the asylum application is a thing of the past, and this little girl is now a young woman studying for her degree in Literature. She uses our library for all her resource materials.

At the time of writing this story, she currently has the maximum number of books out on loan and has never been late in returning or extending their loans.

This story is part of our end-of-year Feel Good roundup for 2022!

Read the next Feel Good 2022 story!

Read the Feel Good 2022 roundup!