Social Insecurity

You might be wondering how I am doing now that I have retired from the library.

After periods of guilt because I am not out there earning a paycheck, I have to admit that what I am doing now is far more important than what I was doing then, in the days when my primary responsibility was checking dvd's in and out and throwing books away.

It doesn't pay a whole lot less either ($0).

I am writing, and I am, for the most part enjoying it immensely.  I have my political blog and my personal blog.  After the Post and Courier awarded me the Golden Pen Award for my first letter to the editor about the thousands of books being tossed by the library, I felt reassured that I had done the right thing, by exposing this nastiness, and by quitting.

I am continuing to write letters to the Post and Courier, and occasional political pieces for the SC New Democrats, some of which they lose, and some of which they print.  I started a new blog specifically to feature the admirable women that are running for election in 2012.  And I am actually writing for one of them.

It's great to have an opinion, and not have people tell you you have overstepped your bounds by verbalizing it.  It is an amazing pleasure to be out of the workplace, after ten years of being a cog who was supposed to show up and shut up.

The problem is my insecurity as a writer.  When I get a compliment, I am tickled and proud, until I don't get praise for something, when I become -- let's not say "wracked" -- uneasy about my skills and others' opinions of me.

But it is and will continue to be a problem worth learning to overcome.

The Cover-Up

Time to finally take a look at the last posted Library Board minutes, those of April, 2012.


I missed the May meeting totally inadvertently getting the date wrong.  So I had planned on going to the June 26 meeting, wrote it on my calendar, double checked the date online.


Now I learn that the woman opposing Tim Scott for HR District 1 is having a planning meeting on, of course, June 26.  So I decided to take a look at the April minutes, prime time after my editorial appeared, to get an idea if I would really be missing anything.


Lies and deceits.  The Director telling the Board just what he thinks they want to hear, in public, so the public can hear that all is as it should be.  And they had my once upon a time friend, the head of collections, give a command performance.  That breaks my heart, hearing him echo management's positions.


Once again, they played that old song about only getting rid of books that don't circulate, or are too worn to repair.  Lies, lies and more lies.  I am still too fresh from the nightmare of getting rid of nearly new children's books that have just circulated, because there is no room for new books coming in.


Here's a new one, from our Orwellian Director.  He bragged that floating the collection saves it, because items end up where they are needed most.  Let me step out of character for a moment and just say, "What an idiot."


This is so much a misrepresentation of how the floating collection is working that a bolt of lightning should have just flown out of the sky and burnt the man to a crisp.


I will never forget having to weed adult biographies every three months to make space.  When you've exhausted the one-year criteria, and all the books are in more than readable condition, you then eliminate multiple copies.  Presuming that a library system that serves the numbers that are served by Charleston County needs fewer copies of a book.  Even though it is shown that the multiple copies have all circulated in less than a year.


Deep breath.  After esteemed board member Jonathan Greene, who has never weeded a library book in his life, tells the director (and the public) how much he loves the guidelines for weeding, someone asks if a last copy is discarded, can a patron still get a copy.  Rehearsed those questions well.


The answer is, yes, of course, because we have interlibrary loan.  And of course the Director neglected to mention that interlibrary loan costs $2, not that much unless you are on a limited budget, read a lot of books that are not recent and popular, or thought that libraries were free.  And entails staff time and an undetermined wait for the patron.  And, although Henderson claimed that "all weeded books can definitely still be gotten through ILL", that is not, in fact the case.  In fact, if other libraries are following these same terrific weeding guidelines, ILL's will no doubt become harder to fulfill.  And I just have to say again that the Director  failed to mention the cost of an ILL.


Another board member, an esteemed Mr. Clem, who should be working for Tim Scott's reelection campaign, summed up his happy thoughts by saying that "he doubts that anyone would object to the library rightsizing the collection".  (Honest, he said "rightsizing".)  He then adds that he thinks this whole project is "amazing".


I think it is amazing also.  I think it is an amazing example of how a system buys into a deception and then continues to defend it, refusing to even look at the reality of the situation.


Had I been at that meeting, of course I would have remained silent.  Would I have been infuriated?  Would I have felt helpless about the lies being told, about the fact that not a one of these board members have seen the books being thrown away, have talked to staff members at the branches where so many books have so little space.


Maybe it's a copout; it probably is.  But the fact is, reading those minutes has got to be a reality check for me.  I walked away from a job I once loved because I could not continue to bear witness to the destruction that was happening, much less lie about it.  I believe that going to the board meetings and listening to the lies is something I do not need to do.

Fini

Today is my last official day at the library.  It is actually a paid leave day; Friday was my last day at work.  On Friday, as I had for the two weeks since I gave notice, I walked around doing my job with a tremendous sense of relief.  I was relieved that I would no longer have to "live" in a pigsty with people who never cleaned up after themselves...

No more tripping over tiles in the staff room that have been up for years, or having to sit at a station that actually blocks my view of patrons as they walk up because the branch manager wants lots of "space" at the front desk.

Especially, no more throwing books away.  And now, I am free to speak out without fear of retaliation, or the new coolness of some of my fellow employees.

But now that I am home, I am also remembering all that my years at the library gave me, because I am not one to stay at a job that gives nothing back.

My first day at the reference desk, as a substitute in training, Michael, the reference manager, had made up a reference quiz, which was the starting point for real learning about the depth of a public library.  And this Charleston County Library was indeed a library with depth.

Sometime that same week, the assistant reference manager showed me how to do a search to find out what new videos had come into the system, which to me was a bit like Dorothy's first glimpse of the Emerald City.

I felt strongly, even when passed up for promotions at other branches because managers hire and promote those they know, that this library was where I belonged.  And it was, until two years ago, when the new director let everyone know he was there to "shake things up".

And he did shake things up, smashing much along the way.

So I will be always glad for the years I spent, overworked, underemployed, and underpaid, but able to work at a place that felt like my home.

Good Customer vs. Good Customer Service

At our small branch library, a page got reported for reading on the job.  She was sitting quietly in the corner where she puts books in order, so she can then shelve them.  She has been with us for years, is incredibly reliable, gets paid pennies more than minimum wage with no benefits, and for nearly a year drove an additional nine miles to another branch to help out while they were short staffed.


I can't even put into appropriately obscene words my feelings about this storm trooper patron.


Last week, first thing on Monday morning, I caught the telephone, and it was one of our passive aggressive patrons who began by telling me what a wonderful day it was, and didn't I think it was a wonderful day.  Well, I was pretty busy, thank you very much, so I said, yes, and how can I help you.


He was looking for a book.  This intelligent man (not as intelligent as he thinks he is) likes to ask us to look up books rather than look them up himself.  He also likes to tell us his history with the book, and even the author of the book.  The first time I encountered him he told me what a wonderful man Ronald Reagan was, and he had actually met the man, and he was so charming and blah blah blah.


So I looked up the book, and it was at another branch.  He then asked me to call the branch and have them hold it for him.  Well, duh, wouldn't it be more efficient for you to call and have them hold it for you?  So I offered him the phone number for the other branch.


Days later we all got a friendly email from the branch manager informing us that when a patron wanted a book held at another branch we should offer to call the other branch, and then call the patron back to let them know if they had it and if it was on hold for them.


I figured I knew whose doing that was.  But a couple of days later, he came in and as I looked up he pointedly (embarrassedly?) veered away from me to the other station.  And a short time after that, one of my coworkers began to tell us all, including the branch manager, in the backroom, what a user the patron was; how he would sympathize with her about her carpal tunnel and then make her look up a half dozen or more items that he was capable of looking up himself.  Yup, that's the guy.


So I figure that here in this country we have a mobilized Tea Party army that doesn't believe in taxes but has to pay them, and they are damned well going to make sure that we highly paid government servants (emphasis on servants) do our jobs.


I once heard the twerp manager on Channel 2 do his editorial on how we should expect, no, demand, good customer service.  And he wasn't talking about checking you out properly, pointing out where an item you were looking for was, answering relevant questions about merchandise.  He was talking about smiling and being friendly.


I fired back an email stating that for not enough wages, a clerk might be experiencing back pain or have a sick child at home, or maybe slept poorly the night before.  Either way, they showed up at work, and were doing the best they could.  Were we to pay our workers a living wage, they might be better able to work up a smile for the crowd.


I shopped at Lowe's in the torrential rain last Saturday.  People helped me.  The manager held the last container of pool chemicals for me, and had it brought to me when I arrived and asked for him.  Others carted heavy bags through the rain for me and loaded my car.  I wanted to call someone important and tell them how helpful their employees had been.  But I got a request to take an online survey, and figured that was just as good.


Of course the survey did not offer the opportunity to write in specifics.  And the questions had to do with whether everyone "greeted" me, whether they offered to help me find items, whether staff was friendly.


I felt dirty after I finished the survey.  It reminded me of my job, where I have to prove that not only am I getting milked for every penny I am getting paid (and I do get paid in pennies), but act like it is my pleasure to do so.


We don't have slaves anymore, but the pressure to jump before anyone has the mind to ask us, and to pretend we are delighted to do it, for which we are paid little and over the years injure our bodies, and take time away from our families, is pretty close.


I have learned to smile and be polite (even "friendly").  And those small people who delight in thinking we should love working for them just won't know what I am thinking, and it will be my pleasure.


  

Not Your Friend

Yes, the more things change, etc.  Take me, for example.  An integral part of my personality is that, whatever job I have had, I have taken a look around, and felt the need to point out whatever is wrong with it.  Asset or flaw?  I don't know.  Sometimes I wish I was as oblivious and acquiescent as my coworkers.  But it's me.


Another thing about me is that I tend to keep a distance from people.  It takes me a long time to develop a comfortable relationship with a coworker, although I think I am polite and friendly enough.  I am reserved.  And I don't befriend customers.  In fact, I get my back up when people assume that because I am behind a service desk, you can get personal with me.  I've always been that way.


Take, for example, my very first full time, career type job, working at the long defunct Almacs Supermarket in Rhode Island.  I worked in the meat department with a bunch of really delightful crackpots.  While you maybe really don't want to know what happened while your meat was getting cut and packaged, I was having a blast.


But I had some skirmishes along the way.  And one that most particularly comes to mind today is that over the big new advertising campaign that Almacs had instituted:  the "Friends" campaign.


You know this routine.  The employees of any given establishment are given a pep talk, telling them that they have to personalize their relationship with the customer.  There are TV ads with smiling people who are most likely not employed by that company, telling you how crazy they are about you, and how they would do just about anything to make you happy.


Our "Friends" campaign came with a slurry of advertising.  It also came with buttons, red ones that said, of course "Friend", and, believe it or not, t-shirts, also very simply declaring, "Friend".  I still have that t-shirt somewhere; it is kind of a souvenir of war.


I, of course, refused to wear the damned things.  I remember telling my boss, "But I'm not their friend."  He was an unusual individual, and he did not fire me instantly, but tried to woo me into his point of view.  Those were the days that bosses had more investment in their employees, and yes, were even their "friends".  Fortunately for me, he too had had his skirmishes with his bosses, and he liked my spirit.


I don't recall if I ever did wear the damned t-shirt at work; I probably wore it as a gag from time to time.  But I am proud that I took that stand.


Now I work at a library, and, although I like most of the patrons just fine, I am not their friend either.  I have had a very small handful of people, one, I believe, become my friend, but trust me, it took a long time, and a lot of polite space for that to happen.


There are actually library groupies, people that feel the need to befriend, in a very personal way, every single person behind the circulation desk.  They are quite persistent, and the more personal they get, the more distant I get, and after awhile, their anger at me actually becomes visible.  There are also people who don't really care to be my friend, but are comfortable asking really inappropriate questions, like where did I get my tan.  Since I am not allowed to say none of your business, I have learned to vaguely smile and say nothing.  When a patron asks, "Where did you get your tan..." followed by, "on the beach?" or "on vacation?" or "in the yard?" I always say yes.


So, no offense, I would like everyone to know that I have always given the best service I can, and I will continue to do that.  If you want to talk about the weather, I can do that, or even what part of Yankee-land we-all came from.  But please don't ask me where I got my dress, or why I am wearing a wrist support.  My job is to be behind this counter checking out your books and answering your library related questions. And I might even like you just fine.


But chances are pretty good that I am not your friend.

Sunday Depression

Back in the 70's when people had value I was learning to be a psychologist.  I was one of those people (not "folks") who got into psychology in part because of my own emotional turmoil.


Back then we learned about "Sunday depression".  Sadly, we were way off the mark with the presumed roots of this "syndrome".  We white upwardly mobile young adults were all into self-actualizing and other such nonsense.  So we subscribed to the idea that this Sunday afternoon depression was caused by angst over all that we had not actualized, i.e. done.


But why not get depressed over not feeling actualized on a Saturday afternoon?  Or even Sunday morning?


I've noticed that if I have a three day weekend, or two days off in the middle of the week, that depression is going to hit the afternoon before I go back to work.


Much like the agoraphobia that has as its root the need to escape, that depression that happens when you're at home has to do with heading back to the workplace to start all the things you hate all over again.


And there is no solution.  At least not now, and especially not here in South Carolina.  We're going to continue to get squeezed and stressed for quite some time.  So eat, drink and be merry, because in five (or six) days you'll have another day off, in which to get depressed about having to go back to work again.

Dirty Books

If your washing machine was on the fritz, and you were looking for a great d-i-y repair manual, used to be you could find this one...



...right on the shelf at our little branch library.  I know, because I have checked it out myself a few times over the years.  It's a wonderful book.


So when a coworker was telling me about her washing machine problem, and was trying to get information about parts and repair, I ran to the shelf and proudly handed it to her.  She was really appreciative.  She found the problem and the repair instructions in no time.


I warned her, though, not to let the circ manager see it when she returned it, because the minor stain on the edges of the book would be immediate cause for discard.  "I use it a lot," I told her.


A week later it was still on her desk.  An hour after that, it was a discard, tossed in a box in the backroom on its way to the recycle bins.


Sigh.


I still don't really know what to say about this insanity that has taken hold of our library.  Whipped into a frenzy by the director, our manager, whose self-reported motto is, "When in doubt, throw it out," has been pressuring us non-stop to weed the collection, discarding anything that hasn't circulated in one year.


For my part, I am proceeding at a steady pace, and have noted that the more time that has gone by since the "dusty bookshelf" list had been generated, the more books on the list are checked out when I look for them.


I am only responsible for adult non-fiction at this point.  The branch manager had been hauling his way through adult fiction, but apparently felt he wasn't going fast enough.  He appointed the circ manager, whose only experience with the collection was shelving them when she was a page.  She does love to throw away her books though.  And where she's not particularly concerned with our staff room resembling a gas station men's room, she has no patience with a book with a stain or a torn plastic cover -- out it goes.


But the circ manager decided she could get this process done much faster by passing it on to a page, who pulls the books off the shelf, tears the barcoded pockets out of them, and tosses them -- excuse me, recycles them.  So that the circ manager can delete the books from the catalog, sight unseen.


Which of course means that absolutely no judgment is necessary, or used, for this job.


Further, and to get back to my no longer extant repair manual, as circ manager she has also appointed herself, with branch manager's blessing, as the queen of getting rid of anything nasty that gets checked-in.  And she does have a low tolerance for nasty.  So books that are being checked out, that are currently in demand, are being tossed with great abandon.


And my coworkers are all gleefully complicit.  At any given time, there are dozens of books back there, pockets torn, waiting for their walk to the recycle bins.


And I just don't get it.  I know it's trite to get all Hitler about things, but there is something mindlessly Third Reichian about this book cleansing that we have undertaken.


Our mad director reports to staff that the weeding project is going just fine; there were some staff who were initially disgruntled about it, but as they have come to realize what it is all about, they have changed their minds.


Thank you, Mr. Orwell.