I work in a library. I was out on medical leave for a few months and was massively anxious about returning to work without having fully healed and how it would affect my ability to help patrons. I made it back to work and had my first desk shift in months.

A man needed help downloading and printing something. I gave him several suggestions about how to proceed when he interrupted me.

Patron: “The other girl who helped me did something different.”

He would reference this “other girl” several times.

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m confused. No children work in the building, so I’m not sure who could have been helping you in the past.”

Patron: *Stammering* “Well, you know, like a bigger, older girl.”

Me: “Do you mean a woman?”

Patron: “Well, yeah, that’s just what I call ’em…”

He trailed off with what I hoped was shame while I continued to troubleshoot his download. When I finished helping the gentleman, I took a victory lap in the workroom proclaiming that I was back, bay-BEE!

Patron: “Can I use your computer to print some pages?”

Me: “Yes, it’s [cost] per page. Let me get you set up over here. Do you know how to—”

Patron: “Yes, yes, I know how to print!”

Less than an hour later, I notice she has printed over a hundred pages. She had to put in her card details before she logged in, so she is being charged for every page. I ask if she intended to print that many.

Patron: *Blowing up at me* “No! But your computer is being difficult! You’d better not charge me!”

I can physically see her selecting the wrong option on the computer.

Me: “Ma’am, our terms of use say the user is responsible for these errors, so we can’t refund you.”

Patron: “Fine! But I still want to know what you’re going to do about it!”

Me: “Well, as I said, we—”

Patron: “You need to fix this for me!”

Me: “Well, we can—”

Patron: “What are you going to do for me?!”

Me: *Speaking over her* “How would you like me to fix this for you? How can I help make this right?”

She stares at me and then yells.

Patron: “You don’t want to help me at all!” *Stomps off*

I am shelving books in the children’s section of the library. This section has low shelves, so I am scooting along on my knees. A little guy, maybe eighteen months old, crawls into my lap and babbles. It isn’t quite words, but hey, happy baby pointing and babbling at books. Cool. We babble in English for a few minutes.

Then, Mama finds us. She apologizes over and over, in Spanish. I reply in Spanish.

Me: “It’s fine; I wasn’t busy.”

The little guy snapped to attention, poked me in the chest, folded his arms, and looked at me with a very clear “Wait, you can talk?” expression.

CONTENT WARNING: Firearms

I’m eleven and volunteering part-time. A customer exits the library but sets off the alarm. Maybe he forgot to check out one of his books? We can just check that.

No. He pulls a revolver out of his back pocket.

Patron: “Guess this must have set it off.”

I’m eleven, and a very tall man is casually pointing a gun at me, so I say the only thing I can think of.

Me: “Sir, we ask that you don’t bring guns into the library; there are children. We’re closing in four minutes; did you need anything else?”

The children’s librarian scooped me into the AV closet until the patron left the parking lot.

I used to work a part-time job in a library with a not-so-nice boss. She was extremely demanding, my wages were ridiculously low, and the work was extremely hard since the library had a skeleton crew and we were barely enough to run the library. Just a few months after I started working there, I quit for a full-time job.

One of my friends came to know of it thanks to social media. She asked me some questions about it, and I didn’t lie; I told her it was pretty awful. Since she really needed a job, she applied. I gave her information about the dress code, what she needed to know, the tasks, and so on. She got an interview very early in the morning (before sunrise in January).

I offered to coach her in the morning before the interview. However, when she arrived, she was on the verge of tears.

My awful boss had called her while she was on the train to tell her not to bother coming for the interview. 

I invited her home for a coffee. I told her about my worst days there, what my boss had asked me to do, the back-breaking tasks, the lack of training on the tasks, and my extremely low salary (from which my boss once deducted around 10% for a mistake I made, which is extremely illegal in Belgium), even though my meager wage was barely enough for me to live. I spared no details.

I tried my best to lift her mood. Since I had followed a job-searching training course after I left college, I gave her my notes. We also pimped up her CV. When she came home, she was in a much better mood.

She found a full-time job in a toy library closer to her place. I was much happier at my new job.