I work in an archive. People come by pretty regularly to look at old photos of the city, which we can scan and reprint for them.

Patron: “I want a copy of this old picture.”

They indicate a hundred-plus-year-old picture.

Me: “Certainly, I can scan that for you and—”

Patron: “But can I get it in color?”

Me: “…no.”

Patron: “But I would prefer it in color.”

Me: “It’s an old picture. It’s only available in black and white.”

Patron: *Sighs* “Why is it when pictures get old, the color always fades with time?” *Leaves forlornly*

Related:
It’s All Right There In Black And White

Back in the seventies, I worked in a library that was part of a municipal complex. At closing time one evening — 9:00 pm — we realized that a brother and sister, under the age of ten, were in the children’s room unsupervised. They told us their parents were playing tennis.

Policy said we should call the police, but one of my colleagues very kindly took the children by the hand (literally) and walked them a block to the tennis courts.

This was after her sign-out time, of course, and if one of the kids had fallen down and gotten a bloody nose the parents could have sued the city and my colleague would have been, at best, disciplined.

Colleague: “Please don’t leave your children in the library unsupervised.”

Mother: *Snottily* “Oh, was it so hard for you to bring them over here?”

Yeah, you’re welcome.

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.