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.

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.

-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.

*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.

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.

*SMACK!*

“Gruugh…..damn,” is how I decide to greet the day.

Chai Tea.

It’s the first thing on my mind as I make my way through the dark house on this pleasant Saturday morning being sure to stay quiet for all the lucky ones that can continue to snore. 20 minutes later my fast is broken, my dog is fed, and I’m scraping the nightly frost off my car. I go back inside and get dressed and collect my things. I then load my “special equipment” into the back, get in, and turn the key:

…nothing.

I try again.

nothing. OK. One more try.

…nothing.

The calm lasts for about 5 seconds (a record).

“You *%$#@:+)”^!`~?*….piece of crap!” goes the edited version.

After about 30 furious seconds in which I practice for the local drum and bugle corps on my steering wheel. I go inside and work out with my groggy parents an arrangement to borrow the “family” car is made. In seconds I’m on the road and driving like a madman. I arrive miraculously on time for once. Everyone else seems surprised as well as I walk through the unusually crowded back room to place my stuff in the lockers. I peek into the break-room and see a cornucopia of tasties laid out for later. I walk to Lynn’s office and announce my arrival and set down the dance stuff.

The meeting begins with everyone telling each other what book they are currently reading. Mine are Six Frigates by Ian W. Toll (a book about the 1st U.S. navy) and The Hard S.F. Renaissance a collection of “hard” Science Fiction short stories. Next comes a detailed listing of statistics from Connie on library services, including which specific services are doing well and which are not. The news is not good. Example: In poll of over 2,000 people from various walks of life, when asked 95% of those questioned answered that Google.com was their #1 place to go when they had a question. Libraries only accounted for %1. A few people through out ideas on ways to improve, but to be honest the facts stare down hatefully from the PowerPoint projection. I notice a number of the ladies quietly reaching for chocolates that have been set out on the tables and know things are bad. Next a visiting librarian fresh out of college gives a short lecture on what blogs are. (Hmm what are those anyway?)

30 minutes later lunch is on. And so am I.

I wait until the ladies all get settles around the T.V. in the break room and then I walk in with my GameCube, dance pads, and good ol’ DDR: Mario Mix. Questions begin. I eventually stop even trying to answer them as I connect everything in a frenzy.

“Here let me show you,” simple I’ll admit but effective.

I start dancing. And laughter begins…the good kind.

Soon enough Maggie and Lynn are dancing off in a VS match to tunes from the Mushroom Kingdom and I’m sitting back sipping on a Coke and wondering what I was all worried about.

A number of the ladies ask me how they can get “one of those.”

I stop gathering up my things and turn away from my locker to hear what she has to say.

“Yeah what’s up?” I ask hoping that I haven’t made a mistake on one of my card applications.

“Connie asked me to ask you to bring your dance stuff tomorrow to the staff meeting,” she says.

My brain handles the inital shock, but I have to recover for a minute untill I can find my voice again.

“Uh…ok…?” is about all I can manage to say.

“Alright then. Make sure you get here 10 minutes early so you can setup,” she says and walks back to her office.

Perhaps a little background would help? Hands down I am the biggest DDR (DanceDance Revolution) fan within miles. Since I started playing last summer I’ve devastated DDR Extreme, Mario Mix, Supernova, and Stepmania(an open source pc copycat). Lately I’ve been practicing on perfecting my 8th note steps with a reasonable amount of success and with breaking that barrier I had been harboring a bit of pride. This pride eventually got the better of me during one of my backroom shifts, which can can be pretty boring without a bit of conversation now and then to break the silence. Anyway, a conversation was struck up between me, Maggie, and one of the volunteer workers that was centered around exercise in general. I spoke up in defense of DDR claiming that “recent research” had shown that DDR was an excellent aerobic workout and was good for continual cardio vascular health. Needless to say the voluteer worker would not believe that a person could get moving fast enough on a simple game.

Well what could I do? My pride was on the line and I had every intent to prove myself. An agreement was reached that I would bring some of my “equipment” and demonstrate the awesomeness that is DDR.

Ass. Fool. Moron.

So one week later I found myself dancing away on my lunch break and being watched by a stunned backroom staff. One round later I was bombarded with questions. It was then that Maggie stepped up and asked to try it out. It took her a few trys but after a few songs she actually became quite good at keeping the timing up. And just then my boss Connie (the head honcho) walked in.

You are so fired.

But actually Connie did nothing but watch and then went back to her office after a few minutes. It was not long after that that Lynn asked for my presence at the staff meeting.

It will be a long time until I forget that staff meeting…and I’m sure the same goes for everyone else.

As you might have guessed I was also unable to keep my job since a commute of about 3 1/2 hours seems a little much for a part-time job.

BUT HAVE NO FEAR!

But lucky you! It turns out I have been hired as a librarian here as well so the Part-Time Librarian lives on! No doubt this will be celebrated by few and read by fewer, but there it is. Also in celebration of my “rebirth” I will preform two (yes two!) blogs today after this which I had saved in my “archive” for release but was too busy with school to post.   After which I shall attack my latest batch of school work like drunken barbarian.

A point of intrest: Every post has the number “1″ in the date so far.

btw: I’m not that guy in the picture and don’t intend to be.

They say that the hundred dollar bill is the dirtiest object in the world. Many are said to have once sat in the basement of some drug lord awaiting laundering. Well after working at the library I would gladly lick the nastiest looking bill if it would keep me from having to do the same with any of the books around here.

These things (bless em’) are disgusting. They are covered with traces of dirt, grime, sweat, urine, feces, various chemicals, mucus, blood, and I wouldn’t doubt semen either (feel free to swab the “How to Make a Baby” books). A CSI teams could make the building as bright as disco parlor with some of those nifty UV black-lights. Those books would be glowing like HAL’s memory bank in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

What brought this to mind?

Well I just recently had a large lady return a book to me that she had been carrying under her armpits. She places the book down on the counter and I (doing my best to be Mr. Johnny-on-the-spot) pick it up for check-in.

Big mistake.

Yuck, I’m holding a smelly, warm, and rather….damp book. I force one of my best “It’s good to see you” grins and try not to stare and the crook of her arms. I quickly check it in and help her sign on to one of the public Internet pc’s.

Afterwards, I promptly excuse myself and walk in the break room where assault my hands with biological warfare in the form of various antibacterial soaps and sanitizers.

Whew!

Glad to be clean I’m out front again when I see Frank breeze on through the doors with a stack in his hands.

“Back so soon?” I ask razing an eyebrow.

“It’s that public T.V. station.” says Frank with a frustrated grin, “They’re having one of those damn marathon runs for funding. I just don’t understand why they do those.”

“You got me,” I say, “those things just piss me off.”

“Same here. Well at any rate the wife sent me in for resupply duty,” he says.

“Happy hunting,” I say nodding towards the “mystery” section.

“Will do,” he says placing his small tower of crime novels on the desk and walking of.

A smell rises from the pile. Oh crap. Frank’s a smoker and his books always reek of burnt tobacco. I can feel the tar on the covers as I check them in. I wipe my hands on my pants and hope that the keyboard won’t smell.

The first person I see that makes me stop and look is an elderly woman with eyes that dart around. She stealthily creeps through the sensor towers as if each contained some sort of lethal ray that were specifically designed to annihilate aging women. Once through the door see seems to relax and calmy continues on towards the easy chairs for our readers.

Next comes the gentleman I like to call “The Business Man.” Each time I see this guy  he’s always dressed in an expensive suit and speaks in a very smooth, precise, and overall condescending manner. He is a short man with a head so bald I swear that it could be used in high density laser experiments.

Hmm…there seems to be a reoccurring theme here involving particle weapons and the library’s entrance. Do I have some sort of deep seated hatred towards patrons you ask? Well I’m sorry to say this but… *heavy sigh* no I’m not the librarian of the closet psychopath variety. Boring? Maybe.

Wait a sec! I just heard the towers click like 20 times! Ahh! Oh wait it’s just a little kid going in and out in order make the sound. Those damn kids! I would yell at em’….if I hadn’t done it myself about 10 years back.

And how do I make my entrance? Four words:

“I own this place.”

And don’t you all forget it!