I spent last weekend putting together a proposal and contract for a new client. It all went smoothly and I was pleased as to how things came together. I felt certain the client might be please too in that I believed I had attended to and anticipated every detail or question. We were to meet Monday morning at ten- thirty.
Late Sunday evening after I had put everything in cover folders and then in my bag for the next day, it occurred to me that a certain document while not totally necessary, might be handy for the presentation. I found the document I wanted and giving it the once over thought that by adding a sentence it might be clearer. I had the document saved on a flash drive and came up with the bright idea that I would get downtown early, correct the copy on a computer at the main library, and then get myself a cup of coffee at the Starbucks across the street from where I was meeting the client. I have this thing about being on time. There at the coffee shop I could read through everything again and be over-prepared as I am oft to do.
Imagine my surprise when I entered the main library and walked over to the elevators that would have taken me to the upper floors where most of the internet and word processing computers were held. There were what appeared to be stanchion ropes surrounding off the area in front of the elevators. From the ropes hung a few signs that read something about the upper levels being closed to the public until 11:00am and that only library personnel were allowed to go up there before that time. Huh? I stepped closer not believing my eyes. Really, the main public library in this town is not open to the public until 11:00 in the morning? That couldn’t be, I thought as I stood in disbelief. My head swarmed with the implications of this policy. Was this everyday or just Mondays? What does that say about a town that cannot or cares not to have its main library open until half the day is over? All of my questions would be soon answered by a woman at the check-out desk.
The woman at the desk appeared either horribly disinterested or more than a little sedated. Apparently, the 11:00a.m. policy was for every day of the work week. That library branch was not opened on weekends. Also, I learned that the first floor where books could be checked out and many new titles were shelved, was however open at 9:00a.m. each weekday. The more incredulous I felt I was projecting, the more I felt responded to as if I had just arrived from another planted and asked to be taken to her library leader. She looked at me as if I were the oddest thing she had ever seen and offered no apology. Get with the program homeboy, this bi*ch be closed up in here; I am of course wildly paraphrasing. Feeling as if my head was going to spin off in a second or too, I gave the attendant a hard stare certain that I would detect the circuitry behind her eyes. I could not detect any and decided coffee was my best option.
All the way over to the coffee shop I was livid. “What kind of a friggin’ town is this” I even once asked aloud. How incredibly embarrassing that this town is building a multimillion dollar bus shelter to put all of the poor under one roof but, it can’t find the resources to keep the main branch of its public library open. “This is absolutely nuts” I thought. What does this say to visitors and potential business concerns that might be looking for a thriving community to work, play and prosper? I’ll tell you what it says. It says that we are a town of dullards and those libraries with all they hold, with all they offer to enhance the lives of young and old alike are not at all important to us. It says that we in a word suck! It says that we have no important priorities. It says that we are misguided and have paved a road to our own demise. It says that I am perfectly justified in being very ashamed.
The client presentation went well. I verbally added what I needed to the missing document and none were the wiser. After the meeting I went back over to the library to try to print out a copy again. (I don’t have the best memory and have found it a great idea to always do things when I think of them when I can). Here’s what happened. I got off of the library on the third floor. I walked over to the internet computer reservation desk and followed the instructions there. A slip of paper was spat out of the little machine informing me that I had a 35 minute wait for the next available computer. This was too long so, I thought I would go one flight up and just use the word processing computers and get it done. I told the woman at the desk there my dilemma. She told me that I could not use the word processing computers while I still had a reservation downstairs for the internet computers. I looked over my shoulder and directed her to notice that the six or eight computers for word processing were not in use. Not one person was there. I told her again that the work I need to do might take all of 60 seconds if I am slow. No, sir, “It is library policy.” If I were two years old or mentally challenged I might have interpreted her smile as empathy or even sympathy. I started to tell her of my ordeal earlier in the day and thought better of that. I then went down to the third floor picked up a copy of Advertising Age, Architectural Digest and Harpers. I sat and read trying to calm myself for oh, thirty five minutes.