The Curse Of Change

I've been to the main branch of the Kansas City, KS, library twice since they were closed for a week to orchestrate yet another change.  Until today, the only change I had noticed was that the alphabetical guides did not match up with the order the books were shelved.  It was a little better today.  There did seem to be a lot less mysteries than previously.  Today, I entered right across from the tub for returning books and walked right straight to it.  There was a man there who volunteered to check in my books.


After I made my selections for new reads, I returned to the same spot.  It was a light day, and the same man reached for the books and asked if I were ready to check out.  I was instantaneously blindsided by another clerk who offered to teach me how to use "The Machine" to check them out.  Now, a machine for such purposes is not necessarily new.  I recall refusing to learn to use it after the last time they reopened.  I clearly told him (same man, I think) that I definitely did not want to learn something new that day.  I still don't.  Apparently, nobody else does either, as in the several years since then I have not seen it used more than once.  But, I guess we have no choices now.  We will use the blankety blank thing, like it or lump it.


Why might I not like to use a machine?  For the same reason anybody else wouldn't.  It lacks the personal touch.  Nobody is there to say, "Hey, how are you?"  Nobody is there to answer questions.  Nobody is there to tell that a book is falling apart.  Just a cold, you know, lacking in warmth, hunk of metal


And, then, there is the problem of accuracy.  The dude who showed me how to use it kept having to move the books around so all were recorded.  That requires paying attention.  That requires being on one's toes.  That requires a little work --  and at the library for goodness sake --  when they are the ones getting the paycheck.


Let's not forget the main problem.  As the job gets more and more automated, they will need less and less people to work there.  Less people needed, less people hired.  Less people hired, greater unemployment.


But then, there's a good side to less people after all.  I've already put in my request to the Almighty for which clerks should go, beginning with the hateful man who answers the phone if you need to renew, right down to the clerk who forced me to use "The Machine" today (and the girl who laughed because he did it).


Things could be looking up after all.  Don't let me down, God.  Too bad He never listens to me.


Then, again, I could just use another of our local, more patron friendly, libraries  --  Kansas City, MO, Johnson County, Midcontinent.  I've used them all at some point.  If enough of us did this, all these people would be unemployed.  It's a thought!  All of them could be the ones to deal with the curse of change.

Perky

I received a free copy of Reader's Digest this week.  I've always enjoyed the magazine, but when you have a "no budget" budget, some things just have to go.  I opened it at once.  By page 27, it had inspired this article.  It says "Finish This Sentence.  The title of my autobiography would be . . ." 


Patti Ebben of Appleton, Wisconsin says, "Why Does My Cheerfulness Annoy You So?"


Oh, Patti, let me count the ways.  I don't know you personally, of course.  I don't even know if you are a celebrity or a hard working school teacher.


Let's just describe a few ways.  I get to bed at 11:30 for a change.  I'm just slipping away into dreamland and the idiot that leaves the neighborhood fire pit powwow revs his engine a few times, then takes off.  Tonight it isn't enough to set off my car alarm just once.  He goes around the block and tries again.  Between 12:30 and 1:30, a neighbor slams the front door and moves rather noisily up the stairs.  Somewhere around 3:00 to 3:30 another door is slammed.  If I'm lucky enough to get back to sleep at this one, another neighbor makes up for it with a slam around 4:30.  At 7:30 during the school year, the little guy right next door starts getting ready for school.  He really loves those boots of his.  I get to be grateful for silence for another hour.  Then, it starts again.  Finally, if I haven't given up already, I do it now.


I sit on the side of the bed waiting for my head to quit spinning (Eustachian tube failure), then as I pull myself up by holding onto my dresser, I'm reminded of the Robert Redford character in Electric Cowboy saying it takes a little longer for the "broke parts" to work.  I throw on my robe, find my keys and billfold which I must carry all day, stop by to water the commode and then limp my way down the stairs.  I flip on the television and there is little Miss Perky doing her thing.  Well, actually, there is a perky 1 and perky 2 on this one sometimes.  It depends on what life experience the other is letting it all hang out about, whether she is manic or morose.  So I switch channels where the male anchor periodically has to calm their somewhat preferable version of cheerful.  I give up and wait until 9:00 when I can get Perry Mason reruns.  That show hasn't "changed" in decades (LOL) and I can always count on Della Street for a classy, upbeat, well-mannered version of cheerfulness.  There's no dealing with a frisky puppy or an uncontrollable teenager before I get my morning cup of coffee.