The Ways That They React

Working with the public, in any capacity, has to be the most interesting way to spend one's days. Only through interacting with different people on a daily basis can one become aware of - and amazed by - the variety of personalities that human beings possess.

I'm thinking about the ways in which people react when they're told that they have to pay a fine.

It is a pleasure to work with those who approach the desk and, in response to the question "How can I help you?" reply candidly that "I'd like to pay a fine on my card" or "I'm returning this book, and I think that I owe a fine on it." These responses are not only made by people who owe fifteen cents; many times people with a twenty-five dollar fine on their record (and therefore currently unable to borrow materials) are just as likely to admit their mistakes, want to pay their debt, and continue to use the library. They are the most satisfying interactions.

But then there are the others.

Our staff informs patrons about fines as soon as we notice them. The moment that we scan their library cards and see their record on the screen the computer alerts us that they owe a fine. It is our responsibility to say, lightly, "Did you know that you have a fine on your card?" Then, as long as the amount is under twenty-five dollars, we inform them that they don't have to pay at that particular moment.

While some people are gracious, laugh lightly, and dig the change out of their pockets or their purses, others have a different reaction. For example, I recently had a conversation with a woman named Caroline, a woman who was perfectly friendly when I searched for a book for her, but hardened when I told her about her - gasp - one-dollar fine.

"It looks like you have a dollar fine on your card," I said as I was about to scan the books that she wanted to borrow.

"For what?" Caroline snapped.

"For two DVDs that were returned late. They were each a day overdue." I turned the screen so that she could see her record.

The elderly lady standing next to Caroline (who was not with Caroline, but was waiting to check out her own materials) looked shocked. "You charge fifty cents a day for late movies? That's expensive!"

I decided that it was unwise to tell her that we had recently reduced our late fees from one dollar a day to fifty cents a day. Nor did I say that those who return their movies on time - or who call to renew them - don't pay a fine at all. I turned my attention back to Caroline.

Now even more aware of a great sense of injustice, Caroline puffed.

"I remember returning those DVDs. On time. I put them in the bookdrop. I always return my library materials on time."

I sighed inwardly. Arguing about fines is not my favorite aspect of providing library service (not many library employees would claim that it is, I imagine), and is one reason - albeit a small one - that I far prefer assisting with a reference question. I certainly couldn't respond as I wished - with a gentle reminder that anyone could claim that they always return their materials by the due date. Nor was one dollar worth risking the loss of a library user.

"All right," I replied. "I'll waive the fine for you this time. But please be sure to check your receipts for the due date in the future, okay?"

"I will. Thank you," Caroline walked off with a smile.

My interaction with Caroline, as briefly uncomfortable as it was, is just one example of how excited people become at the very idea of owing the library (of all places!) money. Waiving one dollar is not a big deal (although if every staff member did so, every day, the library would certainly lose much-needed money!). Needless to say, I call a supervisor for assistance if I need to question whether I should waive a fine, or if a patron becomes absolutely incensed (oh, how happy I am that I'm not a supervisor!).

Later, I checked out DVDs to a patron named Mark.

"You have a book that's overdue," I told him when I saw his record. "Would you like me to renew it for you?"

"What book is it?" he asked.

"A book by Fern Michaels," I showed him the screen.

"I never took out that book."

Okay. "Is it possible that someone else used your card?"

"No."

Well, then. "All right. Why don't I go check the shelf to see if the book is there?"

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it."

Sure enough, the item was not in the stacks.

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't see it. According to our system, the book is not in the building. I'll renew it for you. Please look at home. Sometimes people find things that they had forgotten to return."

"I'll do that, but I know that I never took it out." Mark gathered his DVDs and left.

Perhaps Mark was right that he had never borrowed the book, that a staff member accidentally checked it out on his card rather than on that of the person who was actually borrowing the book. That seems unlikely, though. And as I mentioned earlier, although we are often inclined to act in the patron's favor, I wonder at the consequences of continuously doing so. Although Caroline and Mark may very well be honest people, many others are not - and those people, too, can easily claim that an item checked out on their card was never actually checked out to them, or that they returned the items on time.

The Program That Wasn't

I've written about this topic before, but it's such a huge aspect of working in a public library (affecting nearly every workday) that I'm going to blog about it again.

Programming is an immensely rewarding aspect of library life - when the events draw a large audience and lots of praise from the participants (a pat on the back from one's supervisor doesn't hurt, either). Of course, I hadn't been out of library school very long when I discovered that it is extremely difficult to convince our adult patrons that the library offers special events for them. After all, the library has been offering storytimes for children since the institution was born; providing seminars, concerts, and craft demonstrations for adults is a much more recent development that continues to surprise many patrons. But the challenge of programming is what makes it so satisfying.

I recently held a program that, despite my initial optimism, did not go well. It was a pottery demonstration, held on what should have been a busy Thursday afternoon (Thursdays are usually busy because our patrons get to keep DVDs for an extra day; our branch is closed on Sundays). Thinking that the demonstration would be a drop-in program, I arranged for it to take place on the main floor of the library rather than in our meeting room. Because the artist would be visible to every patron, the program would attract people who hadn't seen the flyers or read the newspapers, people who had visited the library only to borrow books or DVDs.

Unfortunately, the result was not what I had imagined. Six people, who had heard about the demonstration from flyers, arrived just prior to the start of the program and remained for the entire two hours. Another person joined the "crowd" later. But none of the patrons who were in the library for other reasons paused to watch.

Although our extremely talented artist was accepting (even claiming that she liked having a small audience, since it gave her the opportunity to answer more questions), I was embarrassed and disappointed. I shouldn't have taken it personally, but I had devoted time to finding an artist, scheduling the event on what I had felt was an appropriate day and time, creating flyers and press releases, navigating the bureaucratic maze to arrange for the artist's $150 fee - and I had honestly believed that our patrons would enjoy it. Quilting and painting demonstrations had been well-received; why shouldn't a pottery demonstration be equally successful? The thought that our film festivals draw a crowd, but that people would not come to the library to watch a piece of artwork being created, both frustrated and amused me.

But there was also some satisfaction in the knowledge that having an audience at a library program depends on many factors. We always take a chance when we schedule an event, realizing that personal errands or the weather may keep people away. I hadn't publicized the event any differently from the way that I'd publicized those programs that had drawn a crowd (in fact, I promoted it even more, sending flyers to other branches). The lack of an audience just - happened.

I'm looking forward to arranging future programs - and trying again.

Mr. Samson's Dilemma

On Saturday, an older gentleman named Mr. Samson approached the Reference Desk and asked for assistance. He explained that he wanted to complete a job application for a major big-box retail chain. However, when he asked for an application at the nearest store, he was told that he would need to fill it out online. Paper forms were no longer available.

There was just one problem. Mr. Samson does not know how to use a computer.

Because our branch serves a large senior population, we encounter this situation consistently. Company executives, thinking that "everyone" is Internet-savvy (or at least that "everyone" has a friend who is willing to assist them with the Web), have stopped supplying hard copies of job applications. What this means is that many older adults, who are already encountering age discrimination in the workforce, now cannot even apply for positions because they lack the skills to complete the forms online.

It is, to me, another form of discrimination.

In an ideal world, every public library would have a staff that is large enough to accommodate those who need one-on-one assistance. Many do offer librarian-by-appointment service, but ours is among the many more that cannot. We have a student assistant who is available to meet with individuals on Saturday mornings, but she will be away during the summer. We also offer computer classes, but it could be some time before he progresses from the "Basic Mouse" to the "Beginner's Internet" course. Mr. Sampson, wanting to move forward with his job search, cannot possibly wait. For him, the process of completing the online application would most likely be made even more complicated by the fact that he would have to supply an e-mail address - which he would first have to create.

Why don't companies understand that at this time not everyone is familiar with the Internet? In twenty years, probably. In thirty years, for certain. But in 2008 there are still many people who would like to be employed who do not have computer skills (and the positions for which they are applying to do require computer usage). If the companies don't wish to maintain stacks of paper applications, which is understandable, then their staff should be able to access an online application and print it out for a specific individual. To require every applicant to fill out an online form is unrealistic and, as I mentioned earlier, discriminatory.

So what did I tell Mr. Samson? I explained, politely and apologetically and truthfully (while concealing my wrath at the company) that the library is unable to provide someone to assist him in completing the job application. I then suggested that he contact our local senior center. It's not the first time that I referred a patron to the senior center for this type of information. Despite his frustration, Mr. Samson seemed satisfied - but I wasn't.

Collections

For the past two years, I've worked in a twenty-one branch library system. I had taken a step down from my previous position as Head of Reference in a municipal library in order to concentrate on nonsupervisory tasks - reference, programming, and teaching computer classes. I quickly discovered that the bureaucracy in a county-wide system is vastly different from that of a one-building facility (how could it not be?), but I adjusted to my new environment and learned the system's policies and procedures.

I have no regrets about the career change that I made; in fact, I'm still awed by the number of departments (and hence, the vast array of opportunities) that the system offers. Nevertheless, this morning I found myself musing with a colleague about one vital aspect of librarianship that I miss performing - collection development.

For the sake of efficiency, the ordering and processing of materials for the entire system is conducted by staff members whose offices are housed in our main library. Because it's important to maintain consistency, particularly in such a large organization, this procedure is understandable. And yet, there is something missing. Something missing from the inability of the staff at each branch (who know their users' needs much better than a central committee every could) to decide for themselves what should and should not be purchased. Something missing from the vague procedure in which librarians can submit handwritten requests for more books on particular topics to the collection development staff - a process which allows no room for follow-up. And something missing professionally - for what is more gratifying than selecting the materials that our patrons read, watch, and listen to?

Friday at 5:00 (or, "The Man")

It was Friday at 5:00 - closing time. As I've explained numerous times to our patrons, most public libraries simply don't have the funding that would enable them to remain open late on the weekends and our building, like most others in the state, closes at 5:00 on Fridays.

Admittedly, the rush to leave the building on the part of the staff (both librarians and paraprofessionals) is almost tangible; it can certainly be felt by our patrons. Nevertheless, we don't shut our doors before 5:00. Sometimes this means stifling our desire for freedom from work while a lingering patron checks out a book or pays for printouts, but we always abide by our policy. Still, unlike retail stores, where employees remain to complete business after the last customer has left, we tend to follow our last patron out the door.

At just after 5:00 this past Friday, I had gotten into my car when I was approached by a man carrying DVDs and videos. He was so close to my car that I had to roll down the window in order to talk to him.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do you work here?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Well, it's not 5:00 yet."

I checked the clock inside my car. "It's just after 5:00."

"I was bringing back all these DVDs and videos. I don't want to get charged for them!"

"I'm sorry, sir," I responded firmly. "They had to have been returned before 5:00 in order for you to avoid fines. I can't reopen the building."

The man's tone, which had been filled with anger before, became even more aggressive. "Well, who can I talk to about this? I was here before 5:00!"

I thought for a moment. "You can speak to someone on Monday." (It was after 5:00 on Friday, I was not working on the weekend, and in my own preoccupation with the upcoming two days off, I didn't think to tell him that he could come in the next day!)

"What about tomorrow?" he growled.

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, you can certainly come in tomorrow."

At that point the man, thankfully pacified, turned away. Fortunately, a colleague of mine, who had witnessed the entire interaction, mentioned to the man that she was working the next day. She told him to bring his materials to her in the morning, and she would waive his fines.

It was not my best customer service moment, and I thought about the interaction as I drove home. I was brief, bordering on hostile, and unsympathetic. And though my workday was over, I was still, at the moment, representing the library to the man who wanted to enter the building. Ouch.

And yet, as I've told several staff members, the public library is the only setting in which a user would feel entitled to approach an employee who is already in her car to argue about a particular policy. How many customers would approach a store manager or clerk after the store has closed for the day? This patron's gall, above all, is what angered me and caused me to lose the customer service skills that I have developed over the course of so many years. Nor is it the first time that I've had a "conversation" with a patron after hours.

We need to have respect for our patrons, but our patrons also need to have respect for us and for the library's policies. Unfortunately, too many people fail to recognize that and believe that, because they are taxpayers, they have certain entitlements - that established policies and procedures don't apply to them. This man should have paid his fines, but we are often willing to waive fines (particularly if they are low) in order to avoid ostracizing a patron. That I accept and agree with. But he should have simply waited until Saturday to explain his situation to the staff, rather than approach me as I was prepared to drive away from the building.