It seems I've been blogging about being crazy lately. This post is no exception.
This is a story about my job. I am an academic librarian (which basically means I work at a college, not that I am exceedingly knowledgeable). Because I work at a very small school with an even smaller library, sometimes I get assignments that are outside of my "librarian comfort zone."
You see, toothbrushes are not normal fare to find in libraries (last I checked, anyway), but it just so happens that they are in my library. My daily routine involves more toothbrush distribution than information distribution. And sometimes that is extremely difficult for me.
I will openly admit to being somewhat snobbish about my education. Sometimes, I think to myself, "Hey, I got myself a masters in this subject! What am I doing?" I may be a classic example of "When [she is] learned [she] think[s] [she is] wise" (2 Ne. 9: 28).
However, even with my most positive thinking intentions, I begin to feel my job is obsolete. I've become not an individual, but a title: something allowing the school to say, "Look! We've got one of those!" I am not necessary because of my expertise and skill, but because I am a warm body with credentials attached.
The unintentionally cruel comments of students and faculty alike only serve to increase my desperation and fuel my discontent. Things such as "Don't you love your job?" spoken with sarcasm and security in their own chosen career. Will they leave this school behind with a false view of what librarians do? Will they retain in memory my listless body planted in a chair, my voice endlessly reminding them in vain to bring the necessary forms? If so, that will be my greatest regret.
"What do you do?" they query. "You see what I do," I think, "but not what I can do."
I still have small glimpses of what potential this position could offer. A student, asking me for help in finding articles on a topic - asking me to help them find information. These glimmers, however, come in increasingly rare instances. It is the students who starve me of this potential. They are the ones who do not seek my help, who fear to approach my awful presence for anything more than anesthetic and a toothbrush. (fortunately not this type of anesthetic :)
Lest I swell my vanity to an impossible size, I acknowledge my own contributions to this lack of questioning, this dearth of information-seeking. Sometimes I am the evil librarian - the mean, shushing, unapproachable monster of the shelves. Still, I crave those requests.
It would normally be at this point in this wretched, complaining, horribly depressing post that I mention I am getting another job, escaping this mindless torture.
But, thanks all the same for reading my tale of desperation and woe, and feel free to point out anything sorrowful I may have inadvertently left out.
from which I stole the title of this post, so go read it. It's much perkier.
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