In the Stacks
Crossing aisles, I glanced up from my armful of spine labels to see a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. He was missing most of his right leg, but he grinned at me, laughed, maybe, as I smiled back an apology, said "excuse me" and passed by to continue shelving. When I was back at my desk I wondered in utter confusion how he would ever reach anything on the top shelves. I felt a need to offer help, but a reluctance to diminish his independence. I flashed back bemusedly to the extensor arm I played with at Elizabeth's, and how much fun I had had pulling books off her shelf from across the room and then putting them back.
He disappeared before I could make any more stupid gaffes.
Ten minutes before closing I was making a circuit around the outside wall to count patrons. In the very back, the section on WWII, I found a homeless-looking man (one of many who use the library daily) sitting cross-legged on the floor amid seven or eight over-sized books. He must have heard my footsteps, as I do not tread lightly, but looked up guiltily as I passed. I don't recall seeing that he was doing anything inappropriate, although I wished he had gone away earlier so I didn't have to worry so much about the last few patrons. I saw him exit the restroom a little later, but didn't see which direction he went from there. I checked the restroom twice to be sure he wasn't still loitering. I took another two circuits around the library, checking different angles and distances, and at the time it seemed as if he had simply vanished. He must have slipped past that aisle and down the stairs while I was looking somewhere else, unless he did find a hole in our security sweeps, although I'm not sure why he'd want to.
My great triumph today was the lady who needed help finding a book that she thought had the word "brothers" in the title, and was by an LDS author. I knew exactly what she meant. I was fortunate that she had more to go on than the color of the front cover, though. Many patrons barely manage that.
He disappeared before I could make any more stupid gaffes.
Ten minutes before closing I was making a circuit around the outside wall to count patrons. In the very back, the section on WWII, I found a homeless-looking man (one of many who use the library daily) sitting cross-legged on the floor amid seven or eight over-sized books. He must have heard my footsteps, as I do not tread lightly, but looked up guiltily as I passed. I don't recall seeing that he was doing anything inappropriate, although I wished he had gone away earlier so I didn't have to worry so much about the last few patrons. I saw him exit the restroom a little later, but didn't see which direction he went from there. I checked the restroom twice to be sure he wasn't still loitering. I took another two circuits around the library, checking different angles and distances, and at the time it seemed as if he had simply vanished. He must have slipped past that aisle and down the stairs while I was looking somewhere else, unless he did find a hole in our security sweeps, although I'm not sure why he'd want to.
My great triumph today was the lady who needed help finding a book that she thought had the word "brothers" in the title, and was by an LDS author. I knew exactly what she meant. I was fortunate that she had more to go on than the color of the front cover, though. Many patrons barely manage that.
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