It’s that time again: Each semester I am sent a coterie of college students from the Work Study program to work in the library. These students perform menial tasks such as re-shelving books or maintaining their myspace page at the circulation desk so that I am able to sit in my office with the door closed and earn my paycheque doing other, more important things. Like reading online news reports about how the economy is headed for the crapper, or blogging about my miserable existence. I was informed by email that I could expect the Spring reinforcements to arrive at 8:30 a.m.
It’s not that I don’t like the students. I do. The students do all the crap that the rest of us have decided we’re above doing. Occasionally a couple of them develop a romance, which can be fun to watch. Sometimes they entertain us with outlandish stories about why they didn’t show up to work for a week. And last year, one of the girls brought cupcakes on Valentine’s Day, which was doubly nice because, even though I didn’t tell anyone, it was also my birthday. It’s just that I really wasn’t in the spirit to induct these kids into the art of library management this morning. It’s a cold, wet day outside, which always puts me in a foul mood because I walk to work. When I arrived, soggy and chilled, I discovered no one had made any coffee. In an attempted gesture of magnanimity, I decided to make coffee for myself and my coworkers. But, being a person that needs his blood:caffeine level to be at least 50% in order to accomplish the simplest of tasks, I forgot to put the carafe under the coffee pot. So, when the assistant librarian found me, I was kneeling in the break room wasting a rain-forest’s-worth of paper towels to mop up a veritable sea of wasted caffeine. “Uh, Mr. Saxon? The work study kids are here.” I looked up and saw her peeking apprehensively around the partially open door. I sighed. “Let me do that for you,” she offered. I stood up and walked out of the break room without saying thank you. I know- I’m an asshole.
They were loosely assembled in front of the circulation desk. None them were talking.
“Good morning,” I said without meaning it. “I’m Mr. Saxon, the head librarian.” They looked at me blankly, as though they were expecting a beam of light to shine down from Heaven and illuminate me. I wished it would. It would warm me up, if nothing else. “Well,” I said, when the beam failed to appear, “let’s get started on the tour.”
The five of them followed me to the elevators. We stood for a long time in silence waiting for an elevator to arrive. I felt like it was my job to be saying something, to break the ice, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Not being able to think of anything to say is one of the hallmarks of my experience on Earth. This is also why I am a librarian.
In the elevator I was able to closely scrutinize the new members of my staff. They were:
DeVon: A tall, polite young man wearing multiple layers of grossly oversized athletic clothing, and an assortment of gold jewelry. The only one that said “good morning.”
Connor: A stocky blonde kid with his hat on backwards, and a faded camouflage t-shirt with some deer on it. Poster child for the American Anti-Culture Movement.
Katie: Petite, with spiky brown hair. A tattooed ring of tiny roses encircling right wrist. Black eyeliner. Cute, but seemingly world-weary.
Jessica: Overweight. Bad haircut. Tiny bookbag drawing attention to her size by being juxtaposed against her broad back.
Dave: One of those faces that’s easy to forget, hard to remember. Me at age 20. I’d go out of my way to be nice to him, but I’ll probably forget he works here.
Now that I’ve performed the requisite tour of the library and explained the functions thereof (in case these particular students happened to be unfamiliar with libraries), I’m safely ensconced in my office. I’ve left my door ajar to sub-textually communicate my openness to them approaching me and asking any questions they might have in regard to their duties. Next week, I’ll start closing it again. That will be nice. I feel weird with my door open. Exposed.
From my desk, I can see Katie. She is sitting at the circulation desk with her back is to me. She is looking at her myspace page.
5 Comments
January 25, 2008 at 7:56 pm
I recently participated in on-campus recruiting at a local university for student interns. Upon my arrival, I introduced myself to the student worker and told her that I was there to meet the director and prepare for the interviews. She said, “He’s at lunch. It will be a while.” No offer of a drink, no pleasant conversation, no showing me to the interview room. So much to learn, so much MySpace to peruse.
January 26, 2008 at 11:23 pm
Allison,
Oh, yes. I know that feeling- the one where you feel like some sort of annoying insect fluttering around a person who disdains to even swat at you. Was that student worker you mentioned using an ipod? I had to chastise one of my workers the other day for such an infraction. “Connor,” I said to him, from just behind his shoulder. He didn’t hear me. I, on the other hand, could hear the whining buzz of the music leaking out from around his ear buds all the way in my office. I tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, looking startled, as though he’d forgotten he was stationed at the circulation desk in a library, where, at any given time, there are hundreds of people. “Do you think,” I asked him, “That a person who needed your assistance would be able to get your attention when you’re not able to hear them?” A shadow of irritation flickered across his face.
“Prob’ly,” he practically sneered, “because they’d be in front of me.I can still see, you know.”
“Take them off, Connor,” I told him. I attempted sounding stern, but the command came out like a question.
I don’t like Connor.
January 27, 2008 at 4:13 am
A shadow of irritation being shown to one’s supervisor? Oh, the insubordination.
Does anybody like Connor? (I don’t think I do.)
February 2, 2008 at 12:12 am
Thanks for sharing
June 30, 2008 at 7:59 pm
I think I know who Allison does like, lol.