I'm going to the library today to pick up a book. It's the graphic novel, The Plain Janes, by Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg. I first heard about it through the Summer Blog Blast Tour in interviews with the author like this one. I later read intriguing reviews of it on other blogs like this one.
When I went to the library last week, (which, BTW, was packed with people) I searched for it in the library's computer catalog. The catalog said it was on the new JFIC shelves, but I couldn't find it anywhere. A live (no other description needed here) librarian helped me search for it. She eventually put in a hold request for me, and assured me that when it showed up, I would be emailed. She checked my email address and corrected an error in it. Today, the email arrived, and I'm off to pick up my book.
This is quite different from when I was a kid. Then, I would troll the shelves for interesting reads, find as many books as would fit in a stack between my cupped hands and my chin, and take them to the librarian at the checkout desk. She didn't have a bun, but she was old and rather tiny, and I adored her. I'm trying to remember why I adored her, and I can't even recall her name. I guess it was because I saw her as: SHE WHO WILL GET ME MY BOOKS.
The more modern librarian the other day also GOT ME MY BOOK.
I will discretely stare at your tattoo if you have one. I will give you bonus points if you have cute little artsy glasses. I may check out your shoes. But if you can't GET ME MY BOOK, then you don't fit my stereotype of a librarian.
See the post from kidsilkhaze (Biblio File) over at The Geek Buffet.
