Friday marked my one-year anniversary with the Wilhelmsplatz Regional Library. If I stay here till I’m 65, then I’m one fortieth of the way through my tenure. The end is practically in sight
Is it likely that I’ll stick around for another four decades? Statistically, no. The days of lifelong company loyalty are long gone. People change careers two, three, even more times. Working at the same factory from high school graduation till retirement is no longer en vogue. Besides, who wants to pump out widgets for a lifetime?
But I’m not pumping out widgets. I’m working in a public library. The details of the profession will evolve, especially with technology changing the way people seek information and entertainment, but librarianship will always be about service, learning, and (please, God) books. I think I’m one of those lucky few who lucked into her dream career straight out of college.
Will I stay with this library, though? Now that I have a year’s worth of experience under my belt, let’s speculate.
- I love my job. I love the work I do. Sort of a compelling reason to stay, don’t you think?
- The grass may not be greener anywhere else. Why risk it?
- I have good benefits and good pay. Good pay for a librarian, I mean. I’m horribly underpaid for my education and merit, but that’s true for librarians everywhere.
- My library emphasizes readers’ advisory, the very best aspect of librarianship. Not every library cares about RA.
- My boss is great.
- I have uncommonly low social needs, but dang. This is not a good environment for a liberal single twentysomething. I hardly know anyone outside work, unless you can count the cute clerk at Food Loin, which you can’t. And he’s not my type. Forgetting for a moment that any sexual relationship with someone his age would be A) illegal and B) immoral, he’s just not too bright. He hasn’t realized yet that I don’t use plastic bags. I go through his line at every available opportunity. He’s probably had fifty chances to figure out that I bring my own bag for a reason, but has he kenned on?
It would be nice to meet people who do not, in fact, work with me. I like the people I work with, really I do, but there can be too much of a good thing.
But I’m not knockin’ my coworkers, really I’m not. Consider Bookish Jet, who got me flowers Friday, in honor of my anniversary. Isn’t that swell? They were roses. I think. Botany really is not my forte. They were orange, at any rate, and smelled nice. I accidentally left them at work, but it’s probably for the best: At home, the kitties would eat/ravage/knock over the probably-roses; left at work, they can make everyone else jealous.
Or consider… drat, I don’t have a pseudonym for her. Um. Let’s call her Wonder Woman, ‘cos she likes graphic novels as much as I do, and will appreciate the comix reference. Plus she has the personality of an Amazon: great person, but she may kill you. Probably not, but I don’t want to get on her bad side.
So anyway, after In-Service Day on Thursday, Wonder Woman and I moseyed into Barnes and Noble. We then proceeded to scrutinize the graphic novels and the SF/Fantasy section, because those are our favorite types of books. Took us probably 40 minutes to browse through everything, what with our detailed commentary and critical analyses of the various authors, illustrators, and series.
“That discussion,” I said afterward, “was every man’s wet dream.”
Two attractive women talking nerdy about GNs and speculative fiction? We coulda filmed it and made a fortune, selling it to adult novelty stores. It was book porno for straight men.
Book porno. Wow. There’s a niche waiting to be tapped. If I ever quit the library, that is totally my plan B.