Library Staff: Saints with name badges

I have blogged about my love of the library and some of the absurdity that our library visits can inflict upon ourselves and other patrons. But it is the staff who bear the brunt of our mayhem and for that they are Saints.

Our brand of chaos used to involve a toddler with a knack for finding power switches and flicking them before (and oft-times after) I have firmly asked him to leave the switches alone. He learned exactly how to switch off the library vending machine and the borrowing machine at the wall and I’m telling you the boy could not be stopped.

One of my girls took very slowly to reading to herself, but she finally managed to select a book and read to herself by about 6 years old. However it just so happens that at the time the children’s space in our library was larger than our living room, and thus much more suited to her all-time favourite activity: tumbling. So library visits for her consisted of 1.5 mins of choosing and reading books, 3 mins of snacking and 27.5 mins of handstands, cartwheels, and backbends.

One afternoon our library visit took things to an all-new, catastrophic level of craziness. I’ll set the scene.

After school, rain falls steadily. Parked the car just 10 meters from library entrance — you beauty. Kids tumble out of the car and race for the shelter of the library entrance. I’m left to phaff around with library bag, baby bag and toddler.

As I reach the entrance to the library foyer I hear the unmistakable sound of a fire alarm and the thought crosses my mind, “Great, we’re going to have to turn around and go home. I hope they think to open the out of hours returns chute.”. If only that had been the case. It would have been easier to handle than what actually happened.

As I walk through the front door of the library foyer to retrieve my children I notice the stunned and apologetic look on one of my kids’ faces. “I just pressed this.”

My child has, completely unintentionally, set off the fire alarm for the whole building and I see librarians donning hi-vis gear, collecting torches from drawers and herding unwilling patrons out of the library. People appear from the upstairs offices and join the exiting crowd.

As it dawns on me what is happening I run up and let the most in-charge-looking person know that it is a false alarm, there’s no need to evacuate. It is all a big accidental misunderstanding. But the well-trained staff continue to follow protocol because the alarm is still going.

Then I hear the worst news, it was just a mumble, “the fire brigade will be on the way.” Brilliant.

By now my there are tears from my older kids. I try to comfort them, “No one is hurt. Accidents happen. Everything is okay. Let’s learn from this that we don’t need to touch everything.”

I feel the need to apologise to everyone. The fire station is only 500 meters away, so they make it to the library in very quick time. They block off the road with their truck and race inside with helmets, jackets and other gear that is very foreign looking to me. As they stride past I try to issue another apology. Luckily they can switch off the alarm system and the crisis seems to be abating.

Only now I have crying kids who are scared of coming to the library. Mercifully, the saintly and well-trained librarians notice and spend time calming and reassuring my kids. They congratulate us on providing everyone with such an authentic fire drill experience and repeatedly promise that we are still most welcome at the library.

So we return our books, through the normal chute. We collect our wonderful reserve books, including some really ace suggested purchases. We spend half an hour reading (or cartwheeling) in the children’s section. We even manage to borrow our books without the toddler resetting the machine.

All in all, our library staff put up with a lot from us, and for that I am ever so grateful. My little free-range bookworms will be too, one day.