Not in my usual rotash* in cafes with Wi-fi.
It should be.
Two hours of free time + a moment of inspiration = the library!
It’s a terrific library, ‘specially for a small town that’s growing like tundra wildfire! Very active. Widely used. Highly involved in the community. Good assortment of books, materials and resources.
Sadly, it’s a library endangered by serious and complex city budget issues I mean dire. I predict Prescott’ll be forced to file bankruptcy within five years.
Alas, matters for another day.
The library features a small cafe called “Libre.” Limited hours — i.e., it’s open two hours in the morning (before I’m up), two in the afternoon, thus often outside my wanderings.
Had an entirely different destination in mind for coffee w/ Wi-fi — lukewarm though I felt — so truly was that Aha! moment that brought me to the books today!
The library offers a dedicated space for visitors with personal computers. Large wooden community tables and semi-cubicles with ample plugs and wooden chairs. Old school. Takes me back to my library love affair of childhood some 5+ decades ago. That’s another post.
After scanning the ample available seating, I choose a spot in a semi-cubicle for privacy and offsides from the afternoon glare of the ample large windows.
Always a Bad Apple
In every bunch.
Cell phones are fucking everywhere. Really, it’s not the phone that’s the problem. It’s how they’re used.
Set up my station. Anticipate quiet writing time with the library’s Americano splashed with half-and-half.
Ahhhhhh. A perfect moment.
Not so fast.
The old lady behind me is yakking on her cell phone. Her personal issues pollute the silence and violate library policy clearly posted on the door and elsewhere. “Please silence cell phones or put them on vibrate.”
So I step over and politely inform her thusly.
By her reaction, you’d think I’d just told her I’d run over her cat. No intended harm to her cat if she’s got one.
To the effect of “In San Francisco, policies don’t matter” she replied, loudly.
Bingo. Speaks volumes. A**hole libtard.
“It’s posted on the door,” I said matter of factly.
Bitch all you want. Better yet, go back to San Francisco. Thought later.
“It’s important,” she said. As every caller ubiquitously claims.
What they MEAN to say is: I’M important. And I don’t give a shit about policy or you or public decorum.
I’ve yet to encounter an invasive phone user with the guts and awareness to recognize that.
“Please just take your call outside.”
Of course she didn’t.
Her call continued of course. Topic changed from some personal matter in the interest of no patron to me.
I remained undeterred. Policy was on my side. “Should I bring over a staff member?” I asked directly. I was heading that way.
She grudgingly ended the call. For the moment.
Ahhh. Silence. Beautiful serene library silence
Not so fast.
She packed up, stepped into my space (wrong!) and announced to the effect: “So what about policy. I’d think that saving my family is more important than policy!”
“Shhhhhh,” I responded. “I’m working.”
I’d had enough of her. First she’d violated posted policy. Then the silence and space of all patrons within earshot. Then my personal space.
Go back to fucking San Francisco. And take your attitude of “spit on policy and decorum because the universe IS me with you.”
Fortunately she’s gone and serenity has returned to this pocket of the library.
I mentioned my childhood passion for the library. Memories are fond and abundant.
And none involved patrons polluting the air with their selfishness.
Times have sure changed. PEOPLE have changed.
It was an Aha! moment that lead me to the books today.
And a bad-mannered bitchy buzzkill who tainted the fine moments.
I learned two things:
1. The passion for libraries and books is as true today as it was 50+ years ago.
2. Not even the library WITH ITS POSTED POLICY is immune from assholes.
Fortunately, in this case, there is recourse for those who can’t be counted on to do the right / courteous / respectful thing.
Still. That such postings are even necessary … telling commentary on people and Western culture, n’est pas.
All in all, a bittersweet journey to the books …