Echoes from the Past

Traveling to Stanford has not been a fun prospect.

As I walk down the main street toward the school quad I see beautiful people drinking fancy foreign alcoholic beverages as they sun tan. Off to another side is another group playing rugby in all brand new shirts sporting famous designer labels.

While I know that many people get into Stanford through hard work and financial assistance, these people, on the other side of the coin, I despise. Pft…snobs.

I sigh to myself and keep walking to the Green Library were I have some intense research to conduct.

Once I reach the library I step in through the doors, enter my name into their database, show my SJSU I.D. to a languid looking fellow librarian. Getting the O.K. I pass through the metal detector and sit down at a nearby computer terminal that will be home for a few hours.

My backpack opens and out comes the iPod, cables, and my laptop. I connect the iPod via USB to the computer at the desk and open up the library’s database catalog.

The Civil War left a good number of written records and it’s these that I’ll be going through today.

 

In the parking lot I place my head against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering sigh and get ready to drive home.

Excerpt from Letter from Jonathan Huntington Johnson to N Johnson, April 17, 1863

“Well my dear Wife, what do you do? I have no doubt but that you find enough to employ all your time. Do not work too hard. By the way, your photograph was very acceptable and the first thing that I did when I opened the letter was to kiss it. There, you will say that that was childish. Well never you mind, – once a man and twice a child, but I shall tell you plainly that I should a great deal rather have kissed the original. I do not think that
I have quite forgotten the features, if I have some other things. Keep them smooth. Do not let the wrinkles gather on that fair brow of yours; keep as light a heart as you can, trusting in God Who will ever stand by you. Give my love to Paul and Father’s folks, Sarah and her children and also daughter Sarah. Write often yourself and let me know how you get along.”

J.H. Johnson

Jonathan died only 6 months later.

Bum Shaving

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Beth, “hold down the fort.”

Fast forward:

As I exit my stall I hear water running. There is a bum shaving himself in the mirror.

What the…?

I just nod to the gentleman, lather my hands, wash them with obsessive compulsive fervor, and dry them off on a towel. I leave as quickly as possible.

 

 

Sorry if the blog today was a bit short. I’ve got finals coming up soon.

The Walls of Death

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity…and I’m not sure about the former.

-Albert Einstein

Now what do the title and the picture have in common with stupid people? Allow me to explain.

The large number of bound periodicals (magazines glued together in book form) are all stored downstairs in our library’s “dungeon” of the Lower Level where I work. Somewhere around 400 or so different magazines all have their old copies stored so you can imagine that it’s takes up a bit o’ space. How do we fit so many? Two words: Compact Shelving.

Compact Shelves are just ordinary shelves that have been mounted on rails and can be pushed together to conserve space. You move them by reeling a giant handle around and around in a circle. Sweet no?

No.

The sign on each shelve reads:

“Compact Shelving. Do not operate without supervision by persons 18 years or older. Please make sure that shelves are clear of any person before moving.”

But hey? Who actually reads those things?

Obviously not the guy who almost smashed me into boy-brarian jam. And here’s the other thing: iPods with jacked up volume + moving shelf in rear = one freaked out P.T.L.

“Holy crap!” I said as I turned around after shelving some books only to find the wall of literature behind me moving towards me.

Go Go Super-Tennis Sidestep!

I shuffle quickly out and a few seconds later the shelves come together. I go see who’s responsible. It’s some guy about my age eying the Playboy magazines.  I wait for him to reach out for one. Hey I deserve a little revenge right?

*COUGH!*

Playboy Dude freaks out and turns to look at me.

“Yeah…you know I was um in that row that you just moved? Could you do me a favor and make sure that you look next time before moving the stacks?” I ask with a venomously nice voice.

“Oh…I’m…uh..sorry…,” stammers my white faced companion.

I stare him in the eyes for a few heartbeats just to make sure we understand each other and walk back to the desk.

“Why is he looking at me?”

Monday night, it’s quiet…….really quiet. Beth and I have been making light conversation for a few hours now on and off to pass the time in between tasks and now both of us have turned to Wikipeida to quench our boredom.

*THUD!*

We both look up and turn around behind us to see a gentleman (I use the term loosely) leaning against the desk.

…30 seconds pass and he stares right into my eyes. I’m about to ask if I can help him.

Beth beats me to the punch.

“Can we help you?” she asks nicely, managing to sound cheerful.

“Why is he looking at me?” says the man as he continues to stare at me.

“Well when someone comes to the desk we usually turn around to see if we can help…”she begins.

“Because his face is very offensive and I don’t like it,” he interupts.

I pretend to blow him off and turn back to my computer screen. My face is red and my collar is definately hot.

“Excuse me?” Beth asks.

“Do you have a dictionary, skank-hoe?” he says.

“EXCUSE ME?” Beth says again.

“I would like to look up the word ’skank-hoe’,” he announces as it he just said he was entering the presidential race.

I look at something “absolutely riveting” on the computer screen.

“Here’s our dictonary,” says Beth, “…but don’t think you’re going to find that word in there.”

The man begins furiously turning pages as if he has some grudge against each one.

“Skank…..hoe……skank……hoe…….skank…..hoe….” he repeats over and over.

This continues for about 3 minutes.

Beth finally has had enough and turns around.

“Sir you’re in the C’s. If that was in the dictonary it would be in the S’s.”

“I’m sorry…What was that skank-hoe?” he says.

Beth makes that laugh that says: “If there weren’t laws against it, my hands would be around your neck.” She calmly walk over to the phone and calls Security.

The man immediately slams the book shut and walks out and up the stairs. After giving the guards his description Beth turns around trying to not look mad.

“Well! THAT was interesting!” she says.

I see Security guards run up the stairs in pursuit.

“Well it will make on heck of a blog, that’s for sure,” I say.

New Library, Same Question

“Well this is such very good opportunity for you. I’m very excited for you,” says the slightly accented voice of Ashour Benjamin.

I am sitting across from him at his desk in the basement of the largest library in the U.S. west of the Mississippi River:

And I have just been given a job.

On the way back to the dorms there is a slightly noticeable skip in my step as I think about ways I might spend this money.

Heck yes! Now I can by some veggies and fruit to go with all the Ramen Noodles! Huh…and maybe every once in a while I can get some juice! Not to mention a bit of party cash…Booyeah!

Not that I’ve been starving. My parents have been saving since marriage to make sure that they could afford an education for their kids. They made sure that I would have enough money to make it through the year with nothing more than be conservative. But now I’ve got a little more freedom of the almighty dollar plus a chance to save for later days.

I start the first day off with the general introduction speech and a quick tour of the area in which I’ll be working. Ashour is giving me the grand tour and makes all points clear…he usually repeats himself about 3 times. When he’s finished he dumps me on the ladies at the desk and walks off to his office. I timidly introduce myself but cannot help feeling like a hillbilly come down off the mountain in this city. Hey though, no worries. The people who all work here are uber nice, despite my impotence in a new “environment.”

Two weeks pass.

Now things are pretty much routine. A few things happen now and again (one will be talked about in my next blog) but for the most part I’m comfortable here. In fact, I’m really starting to like it.

“Excuse me?” asks a woman across the desk.

I look up from my blogging.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I just wanted to tell you that I love that little blonde thing you did with your hair.” she says giggling.

Even here it gets noticed…though I’m suprized it took so long.

“Actually that’s my birth mark,” I tell her.