-Excellent
Labels: computers, excellent help bitch, internet, spring break, taxes
Labels: gross, hygiene, internet, odor, smellFeb 24, 2009
Games to play in the library: What’s that smell?
It smells like something dead. The smell permeates throughout the entire library, but it is at it’s worst somewhere around my desk. Check the hamster cage (He smells fine. Clean bedding. Alive.). Check the aquarium (Nothing floating. All good). Check yourself (Did I put on deodorant today? Yeah, I did. I’m good.) Surreptitiously check your coworkers (What are you sniffing around me for?).
Pointless. Because I know it is coming from the old guy who just borrowed our paper. How can a person get so unimaginably filthy that they smell like a corpse? But rather than telling him: "Sir, you stink. You are making me nauseous,” I spray a liberal dose of Lysol around the hamster cage and pretend that it is only the critter after all.
At least the smell has cleared out the Internet crowd.
See: cleanliness, hygiene. See also: sanitation, public health.
Labels: crowd, insanity, internet, putersJan 9, 2009
Today’s Internet line-up:
Computer’s one and two have asked me three times for a pencil. (the same people each time, and they are here together. Each time I remind them that there are pencils in the cup next to their computer monitors.)
Computer three is surprisingly empty so far.
Computer four is a college age girl who keeps muttering “Oh shit, oh shit” under her breath like a mantra.
Computers five and six are mysteriously empty
Computer eight keeps coming up to my desk and demanding that I make his webpage smaller so he can see the whole page without “using the scroll thing.” Another task for my not-issued-yet magic wand.
Labels: complaints, computers, internetOct 15, 2008
Start with the guy who was pissed off that he had a ten minute wait on a computer.
“I’ve already been here for 45 minutes and you never came over to help me.”
“This is the first time you said anything to me about needing help. I wish that you had told me you were having difficulty.”
“This is bullshit. That kid was here after me and he’s getting on a computer now. And I have to wait?”
“There is nothing I can do about that, the computers are first come first serve.”
And so on....
This guy is about 6 and ½ feet tall. I am not. I went in the staff room to compose myself and when I poked my head around the door again he was actually sitting on my desk. Not AT my Desk. ON my desk. His massive ass was wedged next to my keyboard. (He is waiting his ten minutes to get on the computer. He is making sure that I have to acknowledge his presence for those ten minutes.) This is so completely harassment....
When I finally get my desk back and sit down for ten seconds another woman approaches me and complains loudly that our Express computer (Express, meaning at high speed. Expanded meaning: computer to be used for a very short amount of time for quick work) is on a stand-up desk.
“I’m sorry. But it is only intended for quick work.”
“But no one could sit at that desk in a wheelchair.”
“Ok. But we do have handicap accessible terminals....”
“No. I work with the disabled and I know what I’m talking about. You’re being discriminatory.”
So in conclusion: Thank you. Thank you to every patron who thinks that it is my job to create library policy. Thank you to every patron who takes every inconvenience as a personal affront. Thank you to the patrons who think that “Information Desk” means “complaint department.” You give me reason to get out of bed every day. What would I do without you?
Aug 20, 2008
Computer I-Spy
First terminal: MySpace.
Second terminal: MySpace. Patron is scratching his crotch. I hope that’s all he’s doing....
Third terminal: MySpace
Next: FaceBook
Next: Two teenage boys sitting in the same chair. RuneScape.
Next: Email. Patron is scratching his crotch.
Next: MySpace. Patron is scratching HER crotch
Next: Solitaire game. Patron has visible ass crack, complete with thong and lower back tattoo.
Current average wait-time to use a computer: One hour and ten minutes.
Glad to see we are providing such a vital business and educational resource.
Labels: computers, internet, mah jong, schoolAug 13, 2008
Eerily quiet in here today. I shouldn’t say anything, I might jinx it...
A nice break from Tuesday night, when a group of five men started a shoving match in front of the Internet Reservation station over a woman who was taking too long scanning her library card. And then there was the woman who waited ten minutes at a computer before telling me she was having trouble signing in, and told me that I was being snippy when I softly suggested that her reservation had expired five minutes ago.... and then solidly sat in front of the computer, refusing to get up until I “fixed” it. And there was the woman who threw her headphones at me because she couldn’t get the sound on her computer to work. The sound which just consisted of beeps on her Mah-jong game.
Oh, wait. Duh. School started back this week. That’s why it’s been so quiet all morning. I probably have about 30 more minutes of quiet before all hell breaks loose again......
Labels: computers, internet, putersJun 10, 2008
We have only been open an hour, but already every conceivable computer problem that could occur, has occured. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with our computers. These are cases of operator error.
“Maaaaam this machine isn’t working. I hit the button and nothing happens.”
Translation: they have hit EVERY button on the copy machine, and tried to feed a sheet of paper through the auto-feed that looks like it was originally printed sometime in the 1980s. Now there is a paper jam... among other things.
"My card isn’t workiong.”
Translation: Even though you are here EVERY DAY promptly at 9:00 to use our computers, you still don’t know to click on the icon on the screen that says “Reserve a PC” before dumbly scanning your card through the card reader. You dumb fuck.....
"I put the money in but it’s still not working.”
Translation: I didn’t click on print but I still expect the computer to psychicly know that I want it to send my documents to the printer.
And now there is a message on my phone from the IT department saying that they are working on the network. So the choruses of “my puter aint working” are sounding throughout the library, and I just don’t give a shit. My puter aint working either.
Labels: computer, internet, lobotomy, patrons, typingMay 14, 2008
A young-ish guy came over and complained that his computer wasn't working and he wanted a different one. The keyboard was sticking. I went over and did some test-typing and it seemed fine to me, but he was insistant that when he used it, it didn't work, and he wanted another computer.
Ok. I'm getting pretty sick of fighting with people about computers (incidentally, when you have 6 windows open of your web-based email service, it slows down the computer, therefore there will probably be a little bit of a lag between when you hit a key and when the letter shows up on the screen. It's not the fucking keyboard's fault), so I decide to humour him. I told him that I couldn't assign him to a specific computer, but I would take that one out of service so that the automated system would assign him to a different one. He seemed happy with this solution. I figured that after he left I would boot it back up again and everybody would be happy.
Stupid me. I walked away from the area for a minute and when I came back he was attempting to log-in to the "broken" computer again.
"I just took that one out of service, it's not going to let you login, remember?"
"Yeah. But I saved my file on here and I need to get it before I can work on the other computer."
"........"
Which led to a conversation about what happens to your files when you save them to temporary folders, and why his files are gone, and WHY THE COMPUTER IS OUT OF SERVICE.
I'm just going to start telling patrons: "All of the computers are broken. We have shitty equipment. Also, I am an idiot. And yes, I am the only idiot who is trained to help you. This in no way reflects on your ability or inability to operate a computer. I'm sure you know exactly what you are doing.
That should just about cover it. Meanwhile I'm going to go have a lobotomy. I think I'll be much happier.
Labels: balloon, children, computers, internet, mouse, mousepad, tax forms, taxesApr 28, 2008
I’ve had some doozies today. And if anyone makes another comment to me about my inability to “deal with Mondays” I’ll prove them right.
And no. I haven’t had nearly enough coffee. So I admit that the cause of my frustration probably originates in my own head. It’s not a case of the Monday’s; it’s a case of being unable to deal with the teeming masses cheerfully without a significant dose of caffeine.
So when the woman asked me for tax forms from 1906 I just said “O.K.”, despite the fact that Income Tax Filing as we know it didn’t exist until 1918, and the IRS didn’t exist until the 1950s. Sure. Let’s find you a tax form for 1906. An EZ. From 1906.
But when you take the mouse off the mousepad, of course it’s not going to work. “You have to leave the mouse on the pad for the little roller ball to make contact. No. Don’t pick it up. Leave the mouse on the pad. Here, why don’t I do it for you?”
And www dot gov IS NOT a web address. Didn’t they give you anything else to type in? Something in between the www and the gov? No? “Sure. We can try to search for it with Google. But you have to leave the mouse on the mousepad.”
And I think there is a mathematical ratio that determines the amount of help a person is going to need to use the computer and the amount of time that they actually sign up for. So, the person who doesn’t know how to use a mouse is automatically drawn to the Express computer, where they will wait until they have four minutes of time left to call me over (“Miss! This thing aint working!”).
And kindly keep your child off of me while I help you. It’s not that I don’t like children; I help children all day as a normal part of my job. It’s usually fun. But having a sticky four year old climbing all over my lap and fondling my breast while holding a limp, torn, and wet balloon in her mouth just might push me beyond my tipping point.
“Oh. I mean 2006. Why would I want 1906?”
