The Death of Libraries... Or Is It Just Me?

I've been accused of being rigid.  But let me tell you how flexible the years have made me.

Today I was handed a memo saying that fiction books that are being "weeded" from the shelves are to be thrown out.

Now, I understand that it is essential to remove items that don't circulate, to make room for newer items that keep a library up-to-date.  It is the most necessary, and the most hated, reference job in a library.  Over the years I have come to see it as a necessary task.  However, for the past two or more years, I have been oh-so-carefully taking the identifying marks and stamps off the books and sending them to our Friends of the Library, to be sold at our book sales.

Oh, that made me feel so much better.  The books would be going to people who want them, for very little money, the library would be making some much-needed money, and I would not have to throw away weeded books.

Today, I was handed a memo, from the person in administration that, as far as I can tell, is in charge of maintenance and supplies.  She conveyed -- not to me, of course, but to the branch manager -- that weeded fiction was to no longer be "recycled" to the book sales, but was to be boxed and sealed, marked "trash" and put in the dumpster.  As we used to do.  With no acknowledgement that Friends of the Library had been accepting these, the word comes down that it is not acceptable.

My supervisor wisely handed me the memo and left me alone without comment.  Because she knew this would hit me hard.  I did in fact sit, barely functioning, for about 1/2 hour, trying to process this news.

Then we talked about the details of who would do the heavy work, the boxing and dumping, after I weeded.

Now, as far I as can see, and I say this with some tears in my eyes, that is about as flexible as a human can be expected to be.  What it took for me to do that, was to say to myself, not so important.  Just do it.

I've learned to do that a lot over the years, when I finally learned the lesson that fighting does not work.  Your workplace gets really unpleasant, you maybe get fired, and nothing changes.

So whenever I get the word that I must do something I think is wrong, I mull it over for awhile, and then say to myself, not so important.  Just do it.


So I care less, and I die a little more each time.  And at some point I will no longer be there, and it won't make any difference at all.