I love me some books.
Yes, I’m bookish.
I read about a book a week.
Almost exclusively it’s fiction.
It’s a pretty expensive pastime. I almost never give it a thought because I absolutely enjoy reading and relaxing at night. And I look forward to regular trips to Barnes and Noble to browse, drink a coffee and take in the atmosphere. It makes me happy.
But it’s pricey and I’ve got a library just a couple of miles from my new house. I’ve driven by a few times and it really looked like a kid-focused library. And if you know me much at all, you know Aaron and kids are like oil and water…with a little TNT thrown in.
But I checked out the website for the library and they had a nice rotating banner showing the new books that had just arrived. They were all adult-oriented books, including the latest from Clive Cussler, an author I often enjoy.
So after work yesterday I went to check it out.
The parking area was pretty full, but I was lucky to find a spot.
The library sits nearly in the center of an open, grassy square near the center of town, across from City Hall. There is a water feature, a few small trees and some planting beds.
The building, made of tan-colored brick, sits squat and low to the ground and has a flat roof. The plaque on the side of the building indicates it was built in 1965. It fits that time period. But it looks, in terms of condition, like it was completed just a few years ago.
When I walked in my ears were assaulted with the sounds of crying, loud children. Little feet, many with those irritating sneakers that have the flashing lights in them, were charging about. Parents, standing nearby, in the modern tradition, were clueless and mindless to the chaos created by their seed.
My confidence was boosted by the belief that I could take most of them in a fair fight, I pressed through the milling short creatures and entered the facility.
What a nice place. Again, it looks like it has been very well cared for. There is a skylight in the center of the building with plenty of oak woodwork all around. And the place is clean, uncluttered and just felt nice.
It’s a small town. It’s a small library. But nice.
All of the “children’s” stuff is downstairs. I didn’t learn that through the help of any signage. No, I found it out by accident by actually going down the stairs. To the children’s section.
Yeah.
I can only imagine what onlookers imagined as they saw this odd-looking, 43-year-old bald guy reach the bottom of the stairs and all but soar back the way he came. It was a close call.
So back on the main level I milled about for a little bit to make a determination if this was a library that I could use. I found books by familiar authors, a nice little collection of DVDs and magazines and such. Plus I had already learned that by being a library patron, I could access a lot of nifty-looking sources online. So I took a place in the queue at the counter to get my library card and associated privileges therewith bestowed.
“How may I help you?” the lady behind the counter inquired.
“I’d like to get a library card.” I replied.
“Have you ever had a card with us before?” She asked.
“No, I’ve recently moved here.” I said.
“Have you, or anyone in your family, filled out the paperwork already?” She queried.
“No.” I said.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“I’m sure.” I said.
“Okay, I just hate to see someone fill it out twice.” She said. “Okay, we’ll need a picture I.D. with your current Spanish Fork address and some other identification.” She said.
I handed her my driver’s license and asked “Do you need something else besides a driver’s license?” I wondered what else they would possibly need.
“We need something with your address on it, like a magazine subscription or something.” She responded, taking my driver’s license in her hand.
My tired mind started to process the new data. I had a government-issued I.D. that proved I was a resident of the city. That wasn’t quite enough. However, if I had a copy of my latest issue of Guns and Ammo or American Woodworker, that would clinch the deal. I hesitated a second longer, pondering why they don’t have a list of addresses and taxpayers from which to check potential patron privileges.
“Oh, this is probably fine,” she said, making a sudden determination that I was not a bad guy (or at least not too bad a guy). “Please fill out this application.” And she handed me a paper form…she kept my driver’s license under one of the feet of her computer keyboard.
The form asked for some pretty hard-hitting information that the library needs in order to bestow upon me the privilege of borrowing books and whatnot. The complete list of fields included:
Last Name
First Name
Street Address
City
State
Zip Code
Date of Birth
Phone Number
As you might imagine, it took me quite some time to enter all of that information. It would have been faster if she hadn’t taken possession of my driver’s license…from which I could have copied this information, except for my phone number. Information vetted by the State of Utah.
Um, yeah. I had to write it all out on this piece of paper. The exact same information that was on my driver’s license. On the driver’s license that was being held down by an HP keyboard.
Once I was done scribbling she returned my driver’s license and proceeded to enter the information from the paper form into the computer. In the time it took me to hand-write all the information on the paper, in my finest printing, she could have entered the information directly from my driver’s license. OR turned the keyboard to me and had me type it in myself.
But then perhaps the most comic part arrived. After she has entered my information, she tossed the paper upon which I had so carefully entered my vital information into the recycle bin! That form had a useful (and I’d debate the “useful” aspect) life of about 90 seconds.
The lady behind the counter then gave me a few pieces of paper to take with. One was a bookmark that has all of the fines printed on it. Very subtle.
The other dead tree product was a small, orange square of paper that told me that I now had massive online privileges and I just needed to go to a web address, enter my 14-digit library card number and use my last name, all lowercase, as my password, to access all the glories therein.
I thanked the lady for her help and turned to look for a book to bring home. Unfortunately it was minutes until closing time and I didn’t find anything that pushed my buttons, so I left with my paws empty.
Upon getting settled in the cozy confines of my residence I went to the library’s website in order to prowl around. The login screen repeated the information from the orange paper square: “Enter your 14-digit library card number below. Use your last name, in all lowercase, as your password.”
I did that.
I did that again.
And again.
One more time.
Let’s try nine times.
Each time it said that my login or password was not recognized.
Grrr….
So I called the library on that telephonic device which I dislike so much.
“Spanish Fork library, how may I help you?” A woman inquired.
“I got a new library card last night and I’m trying to access the online page, but it says my login or password are incorrect.” I replied.
“Oh, I’m sorry. What’s your name?” She asked.
I recited my name, spelling my first and last name a few times (apparently she was totally uninterested in my 14 digits).
“Here we go…you didn’t sign up for online access. Would you like to?” She asked.
“Yes, please.” I said, wondering what kind of operation this was. Everything up until that point indicated that online access was free and automatic just for being a patron of the library.
“Okay, Mr. Kuehn, you’re all set up. Your logon is your last name and your password is 1234. Is there anything else I can help you with?” She asked.
“That’s it, thank you.” I said.
Whew, I don’t have to enter that blasted 14-digit code.
Like a giddy child with a new puppy, I went to the website to try it out.
Hurrah, I’m in!!!
Oh my, so many cool databases to explore! Let’s see, maybe I’ll look for “woodworking plans” and see what kind of free stuff I can get….
That was 27 minutes ago.
Infinite grains of sand continue to drop through the little spinning hourglass.
If you need me, I’ll be at Barnes and Noble.
Booking It
I love me some books.
Yes, I’m bookish.
I read about a book a week.
Almost exclusively it’s fiction.
It’s a pretty expensive pastime. I almost never give it a thought because I absolutely enjoy reading and relaxing at night. And I look forward to regular trips to Barnes and Noble to browse, drink a coffee and take in the atmosphere. It makes me happy.
But it’s pricey and I’ve got a library just a couple of miles from my new house. I’ve driven by a few times and it really looked like a kid-focused library. And if you know me much at all, you know Aaron and kids are like oil and water…with a little TNT thrown in.
But I checked out the website for the library and they had a nice rotating banner showing the new books that had just arrived. They were all adult-oriented books, including the latest from Clive Cussler, an author I often enjoy.
So after work yesterday I went to check it out.
The parking area was pretty full, but I was lucky to find a spot.
The library sits nearly in the center of an open, grassy square near the center of town, across from City Hall. There is a water feature, a few small trees and some planting beds.
The building, made of tan-colored brick, sits squat and low to the ground and has a flat roof. The plaque on the side of the building indicates it was built in 1965. It fits that time period. But it looks, in terms of condition, like it was completed just a few years ago.
When I walked in my ears were assaulted with the sounds of crying, loud children. Little feet, many with those irritating sneakers that have the flashing lights in them, were charging about. Parents, standing nearby, in the modern tradition, were clueless and mindless to the chaos created by their seed.
My confidence was boosted by the belief that I could take most of them in a fair fight, I pressed through the milling short creatures and entered the facility.
What a nice place. Again, it looks like it has been very well cared for. There is a skylight in the center of the building with plenty of oak woodwork all around. And the place is clean, uncluttered and just felt nice.
It’s a small town. It’s a small library. But nice.
All of the “children’s” stuff is downstairs. I didn’t learn that through the help of any signage. No, I found it out by accident by actually going down the stairs. To the children’s section.
Yeah.
I can only imagine what onlookers imagined as they saw this odd-looking, 43-year-old bald guy reach the bottom of the stairs and all but soar back the way he came. It was a close call.
So back on the main level I milled about for a little bit to make a determination if this was a library that I could use. I found books by familiar authors, a nice little collection of DVDs and magazines and such. Plus I had already learned that by being a library patron, I could access a lot of nifty-looking sources online. So I took a place in the queue at the counter to get my library card and associated privileges therewith bestowed.
“How may I help you?” the lady behind the counter inquired.
“I’d like to get a library card.” I replied.
“Have you ever had a card with us before?” She asked.
“No, I’ve recently moved here.” I said.
“Have you, or anyone in your family, filled out the paperwork already?” She queried.
“No.” I said.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“I’m sure.” I said.
“Okay, I just hate to see someone fill it out twice.” She said. “Okay, we’ll need a picture I.D. with your current Spanish Fork address and some other identification.” She said.
I handed her my driver’s license and asked “Do you need something else besides a driver’s license?” I wondered what else they would possibly need.
“We need something with your address on it, like a magazine subscription or something.” She responded, taking my driver’s license in her hand.
My tired mind started to process the new data. I had a government-issued I.D. that proved I was a resident of the city. That wasn’t quite enough. However, if I had a copy of my latest issue of Guns and Ammo or American Woodworker, that would clinch the deal. I hesitated a second longer, pondering why they don’t have a list of addresses and taxpayers from which to check potential patron privileges.
“Oh, this is probably fine,” she said, making a sudden determination that I was not a bad guy (or at least not too bad a guy). “Please fill out this application.” And she handed me a paper form…she kept my driver’s license under one of the feet of her computer keyboard.
The form asked for some pretty hard-hitting information that the library needs in order to bestow upon me the privilege of borrowing books and whatnot. The complete list of fields included:
* Last Name
* First Name
* Street Address
* City
* State
* Zip Code
* Date of Birth
* Phone Number
As you might imagine, it took me quite some time to enter all of that information. It would have been faster if she hadn’t taken possession of my driver’s license…from which I could have copied this information, except for my phone number. Information vetted by the State of Utah.
Um, yeah. I had to write it all out on this piece of paper. The exact same information that was on my driver’s license. On the driver’s license that was being held down by an HP keyboard.
Once I was done scribbling she returned my driver’s license and proceeded to enter the information from the paper form into the computer. In the time it took me to hand-write all the information on the paper, in my finest printing, she could have entered the information directly from my driver’s license. OR turned the keyboard to me and had me type it in myself.
But then perhaps the most comic part arrived. After she has entered my information, she tossed the paper upon which I had so carefully entered my vital information into the recycle bin! That form had a useful (and I’d debate the “useful” aspect) life of about 90 seconds.
The lady behind the counter then gave me a few pieces of paper to take with. One was a bookmark that has all of the fines printed on it. Very subtle.
The other dead tree product was a small, orange square of paper that told me that I now had massive online privileges and I just needed to go to a web address, enter my 14-digit library card number and use my last name, all lowercase, as my password, to access all the glories therein.
I thanked the lady for her help and turned to look for a book to bring home. Unfortunately it was minutes until closing time and I didn’t find anything that pushed my buttons, so I left with my paws empty.
Upon getting settled in the cozy confines of my residence I went to the library’s website in order to prowl around. The login screen repeated the information from the orange paper square: “Enter your 14-digit library card number below. Use your last name, in all lowercase, as your password.”
I did that.
I did that again.
And again.
One more time.
Let’s try nine times.
Each time it said that my login or password was not recognized.
Grrr….
So I called the library on that telephonic device which I dislike so much.
“Spanish Fork library, how may I help you?” A woman inquired.
“I got a new library card last night and I’m trying to access the online page, but it says my login or password are incorrect.” I replied.
“Oh, I’m sorry. What’s your name?” She asked.
I recited my name, spelling my first and last name a few times (apparently she was totally uninterested in my 14 digits).
“Here we go…you didn’t sign up for online access. Would you like to?” She asked.
“Yes, please.” I said, wondering what kind of operation this was. Everything up until that point indicated that online access was free and automatic just for being a patron of the library.
“Okay, Mr. Kuehn, you’re all set up. Your logon is your last name and your password is 1234. Is there anything else I can help you with?” She asked.
“That’s it, thank you.” I said.
Whew, I don’t have to enter that blasted 14-digit code.
Like a giddy child with a new puppy, I went to the website to try it out.
Hurrah, I’m in!!!
Oh my, so many cool databases to explore! Let’s see, maybe I’ll look for “woodworking plans” and see what kind of free stuff I can get….
That was 27 minutes ago.
Infinite grains of sand continue to drop through the little spinning hourglass.
If you need me, I’ll be at Barnes and Noble.
<hr size=”2″ />