Babyface

I don't look like I'm twelve. Seriously. For all my joking around about being a sweet young thing, I do not look like I am puberty-in-progress or anything. I'm grown, people. Not wrinkley, not gray, but definitely, certainly adult. So why do patrons sometimes treat me like I'm still pimpin' the Pampers? It makes me grumpy (note: "grumpy." A grown-up word. Not "crabby" or "collicky").

Here's what happened today. A dude in his 60s came up to the desk and asked for a book called "A Day In the Life." My two follow-up questions about this seemed to agitate him, and before I could say another word, his eyes lit up at the sight of my co-worker, a man who shares his same demographic. "You should ask HIM. He looks like HE would know."

Glaring subtext: you are obviously not a professional, and even if you are, you look like some kind of stunted-growth Emmanuel Lewis and I don't trust that you even have your driver's license, let alone your Master's learnin' papers.

The guy went on to talk at me, insisting that I should just KNOW what he was talking about, and that the reason I didn't was because I was "too young to remember good literature." After a few more prompts from me (and being twice interrupted by him admonishing me to "just go ask THAT librarian"), a light bulb went off and I asked "do you mean One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich?" and he grudgingly conceded, yes, that was it. It took all of my strength to not say "FACE!" and do a little end zone dance with that one.

Although this guy was not subtle, I have heard worse. I had a guy come in the morning after the 2004 Presidential elections, demanding exact numbers of voter turnout across the country. I tried to explain that getting an accurate number that early after the election might be difficult, to which he immediately responded with "how much experience do you have at being a librarian, anyway?" Listen. More than you, sucka, okaaay?

I notice that this happens much more often when I am at the reference desk with my male-in-his-50s coworker. Doesn't happen super often, but often enough. Almost makes me want to start with the bunhead hairdo and clodhopper shoes to age myself a bit to get that crap to stop. Ok, not almost. Not even a little, really. It just sucks.

Now I know how Doogie must have felt. How can I get across that I am indeed old enough? Play myself in Harold and Kumar Go to the Library? Worked for Neil, so it might work for me.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl