This Blog Just Got A Lot More Library


“Say, chappies, have you ever seen such a meteoric and dizzying rise in status [we’re Brits, so pronounce it ‘stay-tus’] as all this?!”

Dear Readers, I have formally advanced into the magical world of meetings and red tape and politics known, in modern English vernacular, as Middle Management.

Thanks to positive karma (earned from letting people with less stuff in their shopping cart butt in front of me in line at the grocery store), a few years of decently hard work, some haphazardly-laid plans, a bunch of dumb library school papers, and a dose of old fashioned good luck, I have transcended directly from lowly part-time peon (no offense to my fellow peons…’tis a noble, underpaid profession) to Reference Manager Supreme.

REFERENCE MANAGER. SUPREME. (<– though I added the “supreme,” on account of its sounding important and fancy.)

Tuesday will be my first day in my new position at the “new” branch, which is actually the oldest branch in town — a Carnegie library with a slightly unfortunate late-90s makeover that I choose to believe has it’s own ghost creeping about somewhere amongst all the sleeping homeless people.

Twenty-seven years ago, more or less to the day, I appeared on the front page of the local newspaper dressed as a zebra and sitting on the floor of this very library, too distracted by whichever picture book the librarian was reading and dangerous levels of Halloween sugar coursing through my young veins to notice the camera. And now instead of the zebra I’m the librarian!

Full circle.


On Friday nights Margie let loose her silver curls and sipped brandy freely while reading the latest non-fiction, and she always swore to herself if Geoffrey came calling she would not turn him down this time — no, she would not turn him down at all.

We’ll see how this goes. I’m nervous and excited and nervous, but I guess the worst that can happen is that I fail miserably and get fired and have to start from scratch as an accountant or a plumber or perhaps the firing will be the final blow to my self-esteem and I’ll have to move back in with my mom and recover slowly and she’ll wheel me out each morning onto the lawn with a rug on my lap so I can get some fresh air and all the neighbors will say “Remember when Ingrid was vibrant and young?”…and…and…and. Well, let’s not think this through to the end. I CAN’T fail. I must succeed!


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