#61 Sophie

Dear diary,

Phew, it’s good to be back. If home is where the heart is,, and in my case, it’s 612.1. And I think I’ve found someone who loves the library just as much as me.

It was a quiet afternoon, and I’d been rushing through the shelving with ease. I’d chewed my way through Bibliographies and devoured Non-Fiction, and was just contemplating dessert – Junior. I made to move the trolley but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled the handlebars again experimentally, but the far corner was rooted to the spot. I circled the trolley but couldn’t find the cause of the problem, and whenever I tried to move the trolley, it was always the corner furthest from me that was firmly stuck in place.

So I climbed on top of the trolley (I would later receive a dressing down from Boudecia about my neglect of the sacred I swore to uphold OH&S regulations), and peered over the edge. There was a small girl standing there, her head barely topping the height of the trolley, brown hair camouflaged against the varnished mahogany of the wooden tiers. Hey, we’re receiving extra funding from BiblioTech now, so we can afford to indulge a little.

At first the girl just stood there staring at me with the wide, honest eyes of a preppie. Falling back into talking-to-kids mode, I squatted next to her – they tend to bond with people their own height, rather than looming authority figures – and asked her what books she’d like to read from my trolley. She blinked at me, and I realised she was going to be tricky. I asked if she wanted me to read to her, as this either makes them feel comfortable or gets rid of them, either option looking favourable at this point.

“I don’t like you. You’re patronizing me,” she stated. Her tone and vocabulary took me by surprise. She was very more cleverer than I’d thought.
“Well, you are a patron of the library, so by coming here you’re choosing to be ‘patron-ised’,” I replied. Take that, small child!

But she was unfazed. She held me in a staring contest, one that any child can easily win, and soon I was forced to cast my gaze downward. She began sifting through the books on my trolley, selecting one every now and then and asking me where it belonged. I pointed out the different sections to her: Junior Fiction, Junior Easy, Junior Ridiculously Easy (a.k.a. Blue Star), Picture Books, Bored Books (very simple stories designed to put kids to sleep), Chewed-on Books (a.k.a. donations or ‘pre-loved favourites’), Talking Books (like TV without the vision impairment later in life), DVDs, Videos, Magazines (including the woefully named young boy’s mag, Play Boy), Graphic Novels, Lame Joke Books, Junior Non-Fiction and Junior Biographies (half of which are about the kids from Harry Potter).

“That’s too many!” she exclaimed.
“No no, Junior’s the largest section in the library, it needs to be this big,” I explained. “We always need more books here. In fact, if anyone is reading this, then please put more money towards furthering this section of the library, wink wink, nudge nudge.”
“Who are you talking to?” she asked.
“Never you mind.” She thought for a moment, then returned to her interrogation.
“Where does all the money come from?”
“From the Council, next door. We also get money from a company called BiblioTech. See that robot putting books away? Or that scanner which makes the words in the book appear really large on the screen next to it? That’s where they came from.”

She absorbed all of this for a couple of seconds before asking me to explain other things in the library to her. She was full of boundless energy, but unlike many kids her age she seemed genuinely interested in all areas of the library, not just those that applied to her. I admit, as I showed her around the different areas I felt a surge of pride stirring I me. Se was just like me when I was that age, so curious and full of vim, with a passion for reading… I’m so glad I never grew out of that.

Eventually Sophie (we’d formally introduced ourselves after half an hour) asked me the ultimate question: Why do you wanna work in a library, mister? I’d had an answer prepared for years before I’d even started shelving here, but this was the first time anyone had asked me outright. Before I could help myself I’d launched into my spiel about the importance and the joys of lifelong learning and how the community benefits from education and how vital it is that we as the human race continue to push the boundaries of our imagination and understanding, and oh yeah, don’t you just love the smell of paper?

Sophie not only put up with my soliloquy, she nodded enthusiastically in agreement the whole way through. When I was finished (well, pausing for breath), she then asked the infuriating question which I am always asked: Do you get paid? I explained that Council jobs pay remarkably well, especially for Casuals, and that the hours are fairly flexible (I once turned up 6 hours late for a shift, and ended up keeping the library open overnight so I’d have company whilst shelving). I also explained weekend rates of pay (if you thought the normal rate was good, what I get on Sundays could cripple a small nation) and accruement of TIL (Time In Loo – paid toilet breaks).

The time flew by as we discussed the intricate details about the library. After a moment’s hesitation I told her about some of the ‘secret’ stuff, like the resident ghosts, the new ‘upgrades’ coming soon, and the fact that the boss can morph into an owl. Little Sophie took all of this in, and was clearly loving hearing about the library. We lounged around in the beanbags in Junior, and I recanted to her all about my adventures in the library.

As night approached and Sophie made to leave, I thanked her for showing an interest in the goings-on of the library. She curtseyed, a very old-school gesture for such a young one. As she walked out the door I thought to myself, there goes the next generation of shelver. The future looks bright indeed.

-Jay, shelver explorer