Library Confidential

I've got some big secrets, and they mostly end up in my "requests" queue on my personal library account.

Now don't go getting all Rummy Rumsfeld on me or anything. I'm not talking about getting books about how to make a bomb out of jello salad, carob chips, and O'Doul's, Macgyver-style. My secrets are much more sordid, and as a librarian and a staff person, they are right out there for all my co-workers to see.

The patrons at my branch get to have self-pick-up on their requests. This means that they can order whatever items they want from the public library's extensive Prince-of-Darkness collection (get behind me, Harry Potter), and come to the library where they can pick it up without the help of a clerk, go to Self-Checkout, and then spread their hoary wings and fly away with a harpsichord strummy sound like Agnes Moorhead always got in Bewitched.

This is not how it works when you actually work at the library, however. As the requests come in, the clerks scan them and if they recognize your name, they just put the item right in your inbox in the staff mailroom. No Self-Checkout for us! So there, right there, RIGHT THERE, are all my unmentionables for all my co-workers to see. My Vagina Monologues book, right next to my Little House on the Prairie series DVD, adjacent to Mimi getting Emancipated. This is worse than letting Anthony Michael Hall show his geeky friends my skivvies. There's nothing like the moment where I go up to my box (there's always, always someone else there too) and nonchalantly gather up my Solid Gold Dancers workout DVD (ok, I'm making up that example- I actually own that one) to put into my sophisticated Matt & Nat bag to take home. Priceless.

So you never know what us brainy, hipster librarians are using the library for. Unless you're one of my co-workers.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl