Friday, August 04, 2006

Note to Self: Reconnect With Reality

Last weekend the kiddies were treated to a visit from several of their older cousins, the kind of cousins that are willing to entertain them in the pool for hours on end (incidentally one of my favorite kinds of cousins). By Sunday evening all three were beginning to look like a strange breed of raccoon, with pink rather than black masks around their eyes. So on Monday I decided, in deference to the evidence of sunburn and the pending heat emergency, to take them to the movies. Here’s what happened:

We arrived at the theater with plenty of time to spare, and I marched right up to the ticket window and said, “Four, please.”

Four, please? FOUR, PLEASE?!! I know I don’t get out to the movies much, but I have been there since the invention of the multiplex. Was I reliving a past life from 1952? Somewhere in my mind, was I planning to slide four dimes across the counter to pay for the tickets? Needless to say the rather exasperated grandma-type ticket lady at the window gave me a long stare and then finally said “For which movie?” I said, “Oh, I’m sorry, for Cars,” with a little laugh, attempting to indicate that I was just distracted by the kiddies and not focused on the transaction at hand. The ticket lady did not so much as crack a smirk or roll her eyes, she instead gave a small sigh and pointed at Marty.

“How old is he?”

“He’s two.”

“Then he doesn’t have to pay.”

Until she said that, I’d forgotten the time-honored all-American tradition of ripping off the movie theater (or at least trying to). I bought chidren’s tickets well past my sixteenth birthday (and I think I deserved them since I looked and was treated by most people at the time like I was twelve years old) even as I was sneaking in to R movies. I think she was offended that I wasn’t trying to get Marty in for free, whatever his age. In this area full of eastern European students working for the summer, she had probably looked to me, as a freckle-faced mommy-type American familiar with the English language, to at least perform my duties at the ticket window without needing so much assistance. So I tried again:

“Oh, okay great. Three please then... for Cars.”

“$21.”

The disgruntled ticket lady looked at the $40 dollars in my hand and asked if I had a single.

“Um, no I don’t,” I said, because I have reserved all of my small bills as tip money for the umbrella guy at the beach (I hate getting caught out without tip money for the umbrella guy). This little piece of information clearly shredded the last nerve of the ticket lady who probably had a romance novel under the counter that she was dying to get back to. She probably left home expecting a quiet morning since she works at a MOVIE THEATER at the BEACH and IT WAS NOT RAINING. Not only was I taking excessive amounts of time to buy my tickets, here I was planning to take all of her change

She gave another sigh, and suddenly I remembered that I had some of that shiny stuff in my wallet that can be used to buy things other than time in a parking meter. I counted out a dollar in dimes and nickels, and I hoped that I had redeemed myself a little in her eyes. However, her blank expression did not change at all as she said “Thank You,”and slid the tickets to me through the window. She didn’t even toss a grandmotherly smile toward my three little angels that were standing rather patiently considering the performance their mother was providing.

Into the theater we went to get our popcorn and gummy bears, and since we were so early, I had plenty of time to consider my self-inflicted problems at the ticket window. I decided I needed to get out more, to interact with people more so that a chore such as buying movie tickets does not prove so puzzling to me. In that spirit, today I went out alone to look for some presents for Marty’s birthday. And approximately 10 miles into my trip, I realized that my wallet (my real wallet, not the umbrella guy tip money wallet) was back at the house.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Overcoming Inertia

My legions of fans that read this blog know that I consider myself a person who was once a fairly intelligent scientist. Therefore, occasionally a law of physics (like entropy) that I once understood will suddenly leap to mind as I muddle through the mindless chores of motherhood. Lately, the law of nature that I have been pondering is the law of inertia, which states that "An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force." As I lie on the couch watching Project Runway reruns, it occurs to me that although I have formulated some of my patented crappy essays in my head, I somehow have not made my way to the computer. Sure I can blame my reluctance on the crazy antique computer parked in my parents' toy room, but really, it's just inertia. I have been unaffected by an unbalanced force. Until today that is.

Today I read an column in the Washington Post about DC libraries, and now I am angry. As I remarked earlier in one of my fascinating squirrel essays, nothing pisses me off more than someone (other than me) talking crap about my brothers and sisters. Now I must move away from the reruns on TV and inform the world that when this (ahem) columnist talks smack about the DC librarians, he has stepped onto dangerous ground. My sister is a DC librarian, and I really don’t appreciate generalized comments like this:

“You could pump mega-millions into the buildings and still have lousy, underused, irrelevant libraries if you don't confront a staff that too often lacks the skills or desire to teach children, help adults and sell learning.”

My sister went to Drexel for two years to get a Master’s degree in library science. Did she take her degree to a high paying law firm or corporation? A private school? Montgomery County? Fairfax County? No, she took it to the DC public library system because she wanted to help kids, kids who need attention from someone who cares about them. She has spent time, energy, not to mention her own money attempting to arrange activities and programs that might inspire a kid or two to come back to the library, read more, and maybe choose to stay out of trouble to remain in the good graces of the children’s room. Many times she has spent hours designing bulletin boards and preparing craft projects even though she knows only a few of her regulars are likely to turn up. Every weekend that I spend with my sister she is exhausted not only from trying to help kids learn to appreciate reading, but from spending a great deal of time and patience enforcing good behavior from kids who haven’t decided if they are in the library to learn or just to cause trouble in an air conditioned building.

And what about this pile of crap:

"The culture of this library is an anti-work culture," says Leonard Minsky, who has spent three years pushing to boost support for the libraries as director of Ralph Nader's D.C. Library Renaissance Project. "There are some good people at the top, but they're engulfed in a sea of apathy and indifference."

Yes, I realize that part of this is a quote from someone else, but Mr. Fisher didn’t choose to object to it, so I will. The “good people at the top” have for six months now delayed, screwed up, and otherwise ignored the raise that my sister earned and was promised this year. As the only remaining children’s librarian at her branch, my sister has skipped lunch many days this summer because the librarians in the “adult” rooms are unwilling to let the children stay in the library without her, and expect her to turn the kids out of the library when she is not there. None of the “good people at the top” has come up with a solution for this, so when she has errands to run on her lunch break, the kiddies must go back out into the heat and find something else to do.

Earlier this summer a group of campers arrived with no snacks or drinks for their afternoon at the library, so my sister ran out and bought gallons of water so that the kids could at least have something to drink. The other librarians there were reluctant to even lend her a book cart to get the water up to the children’s room. What happens when your own collegues won’t help you, when no one is interested in helping you track down the raise you have been promised, when you have poured every ounce of energy you have into helping kids who may never return to the library, when a columnist in the local paper lumps you in with the “anti-work culture” of the library system? Probably you will eventually move on to a job where your energies and efforts are appreciated. And as long as the DC library system is willing to let people like my sister get away, then I would answer the question “… does anyone really expect the crumbling libraries to improve?” with a resounding NO. I know that criticism and bad news is what sells papers, but it wouldn’t hurt anyone to occasionally notice that there are people (like my sister) busting their butts in an attempt to improve their little corner of the library system.