“I haven't had meth in five days.”
I believe that one of the most interesting, and challenging, things about being a librarian is that you never know what problem a person is going to walk through the door with at any given moment.
It could be something simple like needing to print from their phone or help with downloading an ebook. Some need computer access. Others want entertainment for themselves or their children. Some just need a place to get out of the the elements. Other issues are more complex and don't have a simple answer, or maybe they can't be solved with a visit to the library. We had one such instance not so long ago.
I can't remember the exact details of the situation, as it happened some months ago, but an individual had stopped by the library to use the computer. I typically don't help too much in this area anymore, but staff had come to me because this person had been making some off-color comments that were making them uncomfortable. So, I went out to the computer terminals and was helping the person locate the information they needed. During our very brief conversation this individual unloaded on me with stories of their time in jail, and how the feds were out to get them. Other than the fairly obvious mental health issues this individual was undergoing, they ended our conversation with, “I'm clean now, I haven't had meth in five days...” I was a bit flabbergasted at their openness. I stuttered through an awkward congratulations on their sobriety, helped wrap up their computer session and told them to have a good day as they walked out the door.
That statement, “I haven't had meth in five days” has been popping into my head off and on since that brief interaction. You just never know what a person is going through. I'm not sure if they were actively trying to stay clean, or if it was a matter of circumstance, but I do hope they got the help they needed.
The greatest thing about libraries is that they are an equalizer. We are available for anyone to use. No subscription required. When you step foot inside a library, your socioeconomic level, housing status, religious views, sexual orientation, physical or intellectual ability, or any other descriptor you may have no longer matters. Librarians are there to help.
The majority of libraries use The American Library Association's Library Bill of Rights as a guiding principle for how users should be treated. The first statement of the Library Bill of Rights is, “Books and other library resources should be provided for the interest, information, and enlightenment of all people of the community the library serves.” That final line “people of the community the library serves” is the kicker for me.
We, that is libraries, serve everyone.
The unhoused woman, the genealogist, the drug addict, the chatty Kathy, the noisy teen, the overwhelmed mother with the screaming toddler, the student, the teacher, all are welcome and able to come into the library and should be treated with dignity and respect. Yes, sometimes things get a little out of control and the authorities have to be called, but that's typically a last resort.
They don't teach this in library school, but if I have learned anything throughout my time as a public librarian it's that libraries are about the people. In library school they focus on how to catalog books or teach theory on SWOT Analysis (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats) or FRBR (Functional Requirements for Bibliographic Records) Tasks. An understanding of those things is great, but without the people that come in the door, libraries are nothing. The books, their information, the programs, exist to serve the people that use them. A librarian may curate those events, and the collection, but our primary responsibility is meeting the needs of our users.
People come to the library because they need something. Sometimes this involves answering a reference question or getting computer or Internet access. Often times though, it means being an active listener or a smiling face. I can't tell you how many times I've been caught at the desk for 30 minutes or more listening to an elderly patron tell me about their week. I may be the only person they have talked to in that same span of days. That to me is also customer service.
I can't actively help someone with their meth addiction. I'm not trained for that. However, I am trained to connect people with information. I could help find a rehab center, a homeless shelter, a hot meal. Maybe even a sponsor for a free night in a local hotel. I have done all of these things and will happily do so again.
That's my job. That's my passion. It's not always fun helping helping someone who is being rude or saying crass things, but they still have a need for information that I can help meet. Sure, I'd much rather teach the high school student how to access the library's databases for their research paper, but the other needs just as much, if not more, assistance.
Now, despite all I have just said, I wouldn't describe myself as a bleeding heart. I'm sure most of my coworkers would describe me as completely opposite of that, but I do believe very strongly in equal access to information. The ability to access information enables intellectual growth that in turn empowers people to make informed decisions, and creates a more equitable world.
I'm writing this in a library. Not the one I work at, but one down the road. Today is my day off and I wanted to get out of the house for a bit. I got here early. Had to wait for the building to open. Homeless individuals, moms with kids, business types, the elderly, and myself all stood on the sidewalk together waiting for the building to open. Equals in our right to access the information and resources inside. Once the doors opened, some headed to the bathroom, others to computers. Children hit the storytime rug while mom browsed the shelves. One went to an ongoing jigsaw puzzle. I headed to the quiet reading room for a comfortable chair and Internet access.
This motley amalgamation of humanity converging on public space to have our needs met.
The public library.
It's a beautiful thing.