Sexual Harrassment is Serious...So Seriously, Knock It Off

Today is a beautiful September day, crisp enough to want to wear leggings with my skirt and sport a modest, long-sleeve shirt. I'm sure I look nice, but am conservatively dressed, not that it should matter.  It's true, I probably care about my appearance more than I should. I was, after all, a bit of a plump kid and was made fun of a lot all through grade school, which left me with poor self esteem in high school and college. My story is, however, in no way unique, but it may explain why I enjoy looking nice sometimes. I like to think that I've grown out of my awkward stages and into a mature, caring, lovely, and professional woman who no longer needs to care what other people think because she knows that how she feels about herself is infinitely more important. So I like to look nice, for myself. I like to wear what I want, whether it is trendy or not, simply because I feel like it. I have a choice.

I don't feel like I dress particularly provocatively, and in fact would feel very uncomfortable doing so, but I do enjoy wearing feminine clothing-- skirts, blouses, and my red leather Danskos at least once a week. Red shoes are kind of a family tradition. Sure, maybe I try to look nice. But that's no excuse for the insulting, demeaning, derogatory comments I'm subjected to on a daily basis. I am not the cause; I am the victim.

It took me a long time to realize how severely the sexual harassment was impacting me. The men always act so suave, making passing comments that they never get called out on, or saying "sweet" things in public places where I feel awkward bitching them out. But after working for two years around dozens of men who hit on me persistently and occasionally cornered me in my office, I realize that it was, in fact, affecting my ability to work. Fortunately, my workplace took my complaint very seriously and made some rapid changes that helped make it more difficult for patrons to harass me: my office was rearranged to provide me with two emergency "escape" routes, and I was given a "code word" so that if I felt threatened I could call another staff member and they would show up at my office to bring me to the front desk, away from the persistent men.

Unfortunately, this could not be repeated outside of the work place, and although I managed to escape the negative comments at work, I continue to be haunted by them in my daily life. Just today, on this crisp, beautiful day, I walked the three blocks to my lovely community garden plot to harvest the rest of my tomatoes before they got frosted, and not ten steps from my front door the comments began. In that short walk there and back, a mere six blocks total, I was catcalled by ten or more men. These are a selection of different comments I heard from complete strangers hollering from porches and street corners:

"Look at that ass! You gonna say hi, girl?"

"Hey librarian, where you goin'? You look nice today."

"Mmm, hey beautiful."

"Hey gorgeous, come here."

"Damn, girl! You're so sexy with them glasses!"

"How are you doing today, beautiful? Lookin' fine, lookin fine."

Plus, even though I was obviously on the phone having a conversation with someone, a man who passed me on the street turned around and started following me, hollering inappropriate and aggressive comments (they went something like, "hey beautiful, mmm you have some sexy dreads! How long you had them? Hey, you're not gonna talk to me? What's the matter gorgeous? Come on bitch, let me introduce myself! You just gonna walk away?" etc, etc for two blocks) while I completely ignored him and tried to finish my conversation. As soon as I was off the phone the man physically obstructed my path by jumping in front of me, and began harassing me persistently. The first words out of my mouth were, "I have a boyfriend, I'm not interested," so he continued in a manner which made me instantly feel guilty: "What, a guy can't make friends? Why can't I just be your friend?" to which I tried my best to reply firmly, "I don't even know you, how can we be friends?" The conversation continued, with him smoothly talking around my every reply, dodging my questions but asking a million questions of me, and mixing in harassing comments (ex: "Where do you work, beautiful?" to which I replied, "Where do *you* work?" to which he replied, "hey, give me a break, I'm new here. We could go smoke some bud sometime, how 'bout you give me your number?" to which I replied, "I don't do that, I'm just trying to go to my garden," to which he replied, "well I like to do other things too, like watch movies. You wanna go see a movie? How 'bout you give me your number? I can't wait to see those sexy dreads of yours again." Etc. Etc. Et fucking cetera.).

I somehow managed to finally walk around him (it took me several tries, with him repeatedly stepping in my path) and I dashed to the Pine Street garden and locked myself in (thank goodness I have a plot in a locked garden!), heart racing, blood boiling. I kept playing the episode over in my head, growing angrier and angrier, and trying to dissect it. Want to know what the fucked up part is? My first thought was, "I shouldn't have worn this skirt today." My second thought: "Was I too mean?"

And then I realized... fuck! I have EVERY right to wear that skirt!! I have every right to walk down the street wearing whatever I want! I have every right to be firm and bitchy to a guy who is only pretending he wants to be friends. What he really wants is obvious, and it's degrading to myself and to other victims to allow that kind of behavior and those kinds of comments to continue. In fact, I wish I had been ten times as mean and aggressive! I wish the badass Dreaded Librarian side of me had reared up and come up with something witty and pointed to say, something that would show him what a strong, intelligent and professional woman I am. Something that would intimidate him in the same way he intimidated me. I wish I had pulled some Lisbeth Salander-style move on him.

But mostly I just wish that I could walk the three blocks to my garden in peace, relishing the sunshine and autumn air. I was raised in the sunshine and crave it, yet too many days are spent inside in our tiny apartment by myself merely because I, Molly Ladd, am afraid to walk out the door. To clarify, I'm not afraid that anyone will physically hurt me. Sure, it could happen, but I'm pretty sure I could kick the shit out of someone just enough to get away if I needed to. I feel physically safe in Lewiston. But what most people don't seem to understand, but what I assume 99% of victims know in their subconscious, is that sexual harassment is terrifying. It instantly makes you feel diminutive, objectified, and worthless. It can turn your bright, September day into a dreary, cold, dark day in March. It makes you feel worthless, and no one wants to feel worthless. So, all too many times, I stay inside.

So I'm writing this to get some of these feelings out. And I'm asking, begging, for two things. First of all, I'm asking for those being subjected to sexual abuse to stand up for themselves. Don't let the abuse continue. Report it, and support each other. Secondly, I'm begging everyone to pay attention and stand up for people who are being subjected to harassment. If you see someone on the street catcalling or following someone, speak up! Tell them to knock it off, and offer to walk with the victim. Call the police. Do whatever you feel comfortable with given the situation, but don't let it just slide by unnoticed. Sexual harassment it serious, and I'm seriously sick of it.

The Mad Crapper

Public bathrooms have long been my cold, dark, nemesis. They seep with discomfort, some more reminiscent of a Dark Ages torture chamber anything else.There are the usual misdemeanors: derogatory graffiti written in stolen Sharpie marker; phone numbers, names and dates etched into walls in pointy lettering; soggy toilet paper littering the corners waiting to get stuck to unsuspecting shoes; and of course the odd smells and stains that beg the question, “What happened here?”

Ah yes, the joys of public bathrooms, with all their lurking shadows, drips and creaks. Yet, surprisingly, none of these offenses have anything to do with my dislike and outright horror towards public restrooms: Until I went to college and discovered a few dorms and buildings with single-stall, unisex facilities, I thought all public restrooms were highly gendered and uncomfortable places wrought with hard feelings.  From childhood to adulthood, exploring the intricacies of public restroom norms has been an exercise in tolerance, terror, and courage.  In many ways, working in a public library has furthered my education of restroom etiquette (or lack thereof) in ways that are so grotesque you’ll probably think I’m making them up. If only that were the case...

As a child, I was terrified of the rest stop bathrooms on highways. Just think about it-- you’re 6 years old, 3 feet tall, and you walk into a giant maze of stalls with your adult monitor (aka parent or other legal guardian). It’s overwhelming! Inside the stall, there are rolls of toilet paper bigger than your head set inside giant plastic dispensers with jagged teeth that never tear the paper off correctly. On the opposite wall a little bit of tissue paper peaks out of the bottom of another strange-shaped dispenser (“That’s the seat cover,” mom later explains. You decide not to mention that you thought it was toilet paper). Plus, in the women’s bathrooms there are those darn metal boxes for disposing of feminine items, which as a child pose yet another mystery. When you ask about them, the best answer you get is, “You’ll find out when you’re older. Let’s go!”

And everything runs on sensors.

There you are, sitting on that cold seat in a mustard-yellow stall covered in phone numbers and obscene messages trying to squeeze your bladder dry before another three hours on the road. From beneath the door you catch a glimpse of what appear to be hundreds of feet right outside, waiting for you to finish. It takes a while for you to get over your ‘stage fright,’ but when you finally do and the satisfying sound of water-on-water begins, you shift your weight the slightest bit to get more comfortable and suddenly--

WHOORSSSHHHHHHHH GLUG GLUG GLUG SHHHHHHHHHHH

--so deafening that it sounds like a whirlpool has opened beneath you and you’re going to get sucked down into the depths of the sewer forever to live in the company of the alligators you heard about from the other kids at school!  After the terror subsides (and after you’ve lurched off the toilet in an attempt to save yourself from the sewers), you realize that the whirlpool was, surprisingly, just the toilet flushing itself. But you didn’t even touch the handle! Ah, those pesky sensors that you are now beginning to be enlightened about. Such a strange, terrifying place! You continue to be amazed after you exit the stall and head over to the sinks where your public bathroom sensor education is fulfilled. The electronic sinks, soap and towel dispensers seem to possess a miraculous ability to wash and dry your hands with almost no personal effort. What a strange, terrifying place indeed!

Obviously I am no longer afraid of public bathrooms for the same reasons as a child.  Unfortunately, with age bathrooms became even more horrific. There was middle school, when every girl would cram in front of the mirrors before school to apply make-up, and then cram in again at the end of the day to wash it off before going home. An innocent bystander like myself could get trampled to death in the stampede if they weren’t careful.  And it was around those middle school years when kids first began finding it humorous to write scrawled messages like “there’s a BOMB in the TOILET” on the walls for the custodians to find, causing an immediate forced evacuation of the school. This would only become a more frequent event as school progressed.

Then there was high school when navigating the bathrooms required a degree in high school hierarchy systems: the potheads owned the second floor bathroom, the cheerleaders claimed the one by the front stairwell, the drama geeks used the cafeteria stalls to rehearse during lunch, and the one in the science wing always smelled like a noxious perfume of formaldehyde, lighter fluid and rotting potatoes.  As an unsuspecting and rather unpopular “outsider,” I had the unpleasant experience of walking in on girly gossip in the “wrong bathroom,” and being given the angry eye until I left. On several occasions, I’d push open an unlocked stall door in the lady’s room and find a popular couple (the type waiting to be nominated “Prom King and Queen”) making out with such fierce passion you’d think the world was about to end. Add to that the fact that our school was so old that most of the stalls were missing their doors, and it just made infinitely more sense to hold it until school was out.

And then college changed everything.. Suddenly alcohol was a readily available addition to the public bathroom horrors. Girls would vomit their guts out while sobbing hysterically over the porcelain god about some boy and/or sociology paper due the next day; socially active students surveyed all bathrooms on campus and determined that handicap accessible and gender neutral bathrooms were discriminately few and far between; and bathrooms housed the perfect “hook-up” location for couples seeking solitude from their roommates. When I studied abroad I also had my first peek at pub and bar restrooms, and while I found the drunken mob of female strangers surprisingly supportive of one another, I still couldn’t help but notice that all of the gossip centered exclusively around boy troubles-- jealousy, resentment, cheating, lying. The supportive circle of female restroom users was a necessity to counter the excessive negative vibes loosened by liquor!

When I finally joined the working world, having experienced and dealt with many of my public bathroom demons, I suddenly found myself exposed to “the other side” of the restroom story: the side that deals with the complaints and maintenance of said restrooms. People frequently come up to the Reference Desk and make remarks about the condition of the bathroom:

“Just thought you might like to know that there’s some really offensive graffiti in there.”

“That bathroom’s flooded, someone stuffed paper towels down the sink and left the water on.”

“The smell in there is unreal! That bathroom should be out of order until you guys get some air freshener! I coulda passed out and hit my head on the sink, man.”

And so a maintenance report is filed and the offensive graffiti is painted over again, the young person who flooded the bathroom is suspended because of the extensive damage to books caused by the water leaking through the floor to the bookstacks below, and a canister of air freshener is replaced only to be stolen the following day. These acts become the routine.

What scares me most is when the routine is broken.

We’ve had some scandalous and almost unbelievable things happen in the restroom on the Reference Floor. Reverting back to one of the examples above, when the bathroom was flooded, I almost didn’t understand how such an incident could happen. Why would anyone plug the sink with paper towels, turn the water on and leave? Sure, maybe it gets a laugh from a few friends, but is it really worth the 6 month library suspension? Unfortunately, it is for many of our patrons.  It’s also a routine occurrence for the elevator to be used as a urinal by mischievous youth looking for a laugh.

There was even one day when I was working on the Teen Banner project (described in a previous post) when an older youth tipped me off to the fact that amateur nose piercing was raging through the high school like wildfire. I didn’t think much of it until I looked around and realized that several girls who had just been working on the banner had disappeared rather suddenly, and after a quick sweep of the Reference floor they were nowhere to be found. It was about at that moment that I noticed several voices emanating from the public restroom and approached the door. I knocked and the voices fell silent instantaneously.

“Anyone in there?” I hollered, knocking again. “I’m coming in!”  

At which point a young girl, only 12, opened the door and exited, turning the light off behind her. “Sorry, I was just washing my hands,” she said innocently. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t fool me for a second. I switched the light back on to find 5 teenage girls all huddled by the sink holding needles they had stolen from the sewing project they had been working on in the Teen Room. Two sported small gems in their reddened noses, painfully obvious new additions to their faces.

Being the teen-savvy librarian I am, I refrained from harsh scolding and instead focused on safety.

“Ladies, this really isn’t the place to be doing this, but since I caught you... are you disinfecting your needles? If you took them from the Teen Room--”

“No, we didn’t steal them!”

“--then they’re probably covered in germs from all the kids who have been touching them. I definitely saw someone’s little brother sneeze into his hands and then use some of those needles.”

“Ewwwwww, oh my god did you make sure you burned that before shoving it through my nose?? Who has the lighter??” A flurry of worried voices chimes in and some girl mutters something like, “I forgot the lighter, but I’m sure it’s ok. We wiped it off first...”

“And I don’t want you to get in trouble with your parents. If you’re reverting to piercing each other in the public library bathroom, I assume your family doesn’t know you are doing this. I’m not going to tell on you, don’t worry, you guys should think about this, ok? I know I’m not one to talk [since my nose is pierced] but I waited until I was 18 to get mine done, and did it at a piercing parlor where everything was sanitized.” I paused a second for effect while looking around the bathroom sketchily before continuing. “I’m sure you realize this already, but this is definitely not a sanitary place.” The girls glanced around too, and the young 12 year old mumbled, “Eww, is that poop on the wall??”

Mind you, we do have a fantastic cleaning crew that scrubs the place down thoroughly, but everyday wear-and-tear seems to be particularly rough. Just yesterday an older gentleman suffering from incontinence literally ran up to the desk and started shouting rather incoherently that he needed the bathroom NOW, GOD DAMN IT! and the poor librarian at the desk had to essentially evacuate the person who was in there to make way for this man, who was already peeing himself by the time he entered the restroom.  In the afternoons, the bathroom gets particularly messy and slippery because many of the youth who attend homework help are Muslim, and they must wash their hands and feet in the sink (which is quite messy as you can imagine, leaving puddles of water on the floor) before the afternoon prayer. Yes, the everyday wear-and-tear is quite extensive!

There is one final anecdote that must be shared in order for you to fully understand my disgust of public restrooms, but which also merits a good amount of humor just in time for April Fool’s day.  While I was not ‘blessed’ with the opportunity to see this first-hand, I heard a detailed description from my coworker who described it, laughingly, as “the most disgusting thing [he’d] ever seen.” It took a while to figure out who the culprit was, but thanks to our security cameras we managed to fill in many of the missing details. Here’s how events played out:

A patron approached the desk with a horrified look of shock on his face. He simply stated, “You need you place that bathroom out of order. It’s definitely unusable.”

My coworker thanked the patron and said to me, “I’ll go check it out before we put up the sign. A lot of the time it just needs to be plunged a bit.”

Less than a minute later, he emerged from the bathroom with a bemused but disgusted look on his face and remarked, “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” He then proceeded to describe the state of the toilet-- a paperback book had been spread open in the toilet, cover-side up, so that all of the pages became saturated with toilet water. The culprit had then proceeded to take a shit (“the biggest dump I’ve ever seen!!” he said) on top of the book, and had flushed the toilet several times so that the saturated pages dissolved a bit and swirled around in the nearly-overflowing toilet bowl. The whole mess had completely blocked up the system and musked the air with a thick stench that rendered the bathroom unusable for the next two days.

The librarians colloquially referred to the culprit as “The Mad Crapper,” and set off on a mission to identify him. After reviewing several hours of video footage, we finally noticed a suspicious patron who entered the bathroom holding what appeared to be a book. When he exited, the item was no longer in his hands, and he had a maniacal grin on his face. A police report was filed for destruction of library property (the book) and a suspension put in place in response to the poor behavior.

The episode definitely solidified my negative opinion of public bathrooms; they abound with mischievous misdemeanors, poor etiquette, and repulsive acts. Yet I found myself realizing that I no longer was afraid of them. Sure, they are uncomfortable places that I try to avoid at all times, but  I now have a new respect for the endless humor they provide to this unsuspecting, public-bathroom-hating librarian.

Yes, as sick as it was, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the Mad Crapper. His seemingly senseless behavior led to the disgusting and horrific destruction of a book, but he had a sense of humor (albeit a twisted one).

Admittedly, this was one of the most creative book reviews I’d ever heard of.  

Repeat Offenders: Put That Away!

Time to play a little game. Imagine it’s a weekday morning, a bit brisk but the sun is warm. Spring is in the air and as you walk to work (at the public library) you can’t help but look up at the blue sky and smile at the city doves overhead. In the distance you hear the faint sound of laughter and smile as a warm breeze combs through your hair. Ahhh, you think, what a delightful morning.

Yes indeed, what a delightful morning it is! There’s a spring to your step as you turn the lock to the back door and bounce up the steps to the Reference floor. You smile at your coworkers and exchange sincere, “Good morning!” messages before passing through the public computer lab to your office. You sit down, open your computer and set to work catching up on correspondences, tracking program participation, and updating the monthly program stats. You begin to hear a quiet, steady flow of people entering the library, the beeping of the computer reservation station, and the soothing clickety-click-clack-click of keys typing away next door. Occasionally a cell phone will ring or the muffled sound of music through headphones can be heard coming from the lab, but for the most part all is calm.

Around mid-morning, you decide to take a short tea break. You grab your mug, put your computer into “sleep” mode, stand up and walk out of your office. Out of habit, you glance around at the faces in the public computer lab with a friendly smile--

And then you see it.

Any semblance of a smile disappears when you notice the screen filled with close-up images of amateur hardcore pornography: a grainy video maximized across the entire monitor displaying a side view of some overly-busty woman’s gyrating butt cheeks slapping together to the rhythm of some paunch-bellied dude’s vigorous thrusts. It’s a ‘deer in the headlights’ moment where you freeze, confused, and can’t seem to tear your eyes away even though your brain is churning a million miles per hour trying to process and respond to what is taking place. You notice a baby in a stroller beside the offensive computer user; it coos a little bit and spits up on itself. You follow suit and vomit a little in your mouth.

At my library, we do not have any filters in place (except for in the Children’s Department) because they sometimes will filter out the ‘wrong’ websites. For example, if someone is trying to research the long-term psychological effects of, say, child sex slavery (a recent homework assignment for some of the high school health students), the combination of “child” and “sex” search terms may bring up some academic articles, but presumably many inappropriate websites as well. A filter may not accurately tell the difference between the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ sites and could block them all. Thus, in order to give the public the best access to any and all mind-enriching information, we function almost exclusively on an honor system. Each computer user has to accept the computer policy prior to beginning any computer session, and it is then their responsibility to use the computers appropriately. For the most part, staff do not ‘spy’ on computer users, but on occasion when we do notice illegal computer activity on the screen we will boot the offending user off with a warning.  A second offence warrants a temporary (30 day) computer ban, and following offences may receive heftier reprimands.

The challenge, of course, is that libraries are built around free access to information-- and personal privacy. Thus, records of ‘repeat offenders’ on the computers are not kept except mentally by staff. If we are aware that someone has looked at pornography two or three times, then we can act accordingly, but with hundreds of people passing through and using the computers each day it gets increasingly complicated to remember who has had one warning versus five.

So what do you do? There you are, gaping at a disgusting and demeaning video trying to figure out how to confront the offender. Maybe half a second passes, maybe less, but it feels like an hour. Then all of a sudden the offender seems to notice you and quickly minimizes the video to reveal another window--Facebook--as an innocent cover. You think to yourself, Do you really believe that I didn’t just see that? I know you weren’t looking at Facebook! How dumb do you think I am? And at that moment the offender catches your eye in an attempt to tell if you saw their little video or not. Apparently your face is very revealing because they quickly avert their eyes and slump lower in their chair like a guilty 15-year-old.

It’s always so awkward to approach these individuals and reprimand them publicly because they often protest and sometimes  revert to using derogatory language. It’s especially awkward to approach them if they are in the midst of some personal ‘heavy petting’ because, well, that’s just awkward in general! On a few occasions I’ve slipped back into my office and written brief notes that say:

Do you know it’s against library policy to look at pornography on the public computers? Not only that, but you can lose your library privileges. Please do not do it again.

I fold the note in half and drop it next to the offender’s keyboard as I walk past. I feel like making a personal connection like that-- the whole ‘I know you know that I know’ thing-- may be intimidating enough to at least make them take a break for a while. But the frustrating thing is that often people just don’t care. They’ll be back the next day watching their grainy videos and rubbing themselves ‘discretely’ in the public computer lab, no matter how many times staff talk to them, suspend their cards, or otherwise reprimand them.

There was one noteworthy incident where I was in my office when all of a sudden a loud commotion broke out in the computer lab. Some woman with an incredibly shrill voice started laying into a guy that she obviously observed engaged in inappropriate conduct:

“That’s fucking disgusting, this is a public library! I don’t want to come in here and see that shit every time I want to send an e-mail! You fucking lowlife, go hide in an ally and do that shit, don’t do it here!”

“What, I’m not doing anything,” was the man’s mumbled reply. It only sent the woman further into a frenzy.

“You most certainly are doing something! Every time I come in here you’re watching nasty ass pornography and rubbing your penis. I have my daughter with me, and she’s got to sit next to some pervert rubbing himself while I’m trying to print off my taxes. Fuckin’ sick, that’s what it is! You’ve got to be sick to be doing that shit here, fucking sick in the head.”

By this time, everyone in the computer lab had stopped typing and were obviously watching the antics. I wondered why no one at the Reference Desk had stepped in to mediate the situation, or at least get the two to quiet down. Then I realized that a fellow patron laying into this guy was probably more effective at embarrassing him than any of us librarians (who have probably warned him multiple times already) would have been. Thus, despite my natural impulse to step out of my office and quiet things down, I decided to let it run its course.

“Shut up, bitch, I’m not doing anything!”

“This is a LIBRARY! It’s posted in the rules that you can’t watch pornography in here! It’s a public place, pervert! There are kids in here, and I can’t sit by quietly while you’re grunting and rubbing yourself in front of not only my daughter, but all the people in this room!” Her voice was getting louder (if that was possible) and I could hear the man push back his chair and start putting his jacket on.

“Yeah that’s right, walk away, pretend nothing happened. I know you’ll be back in here tomorrow doing the same nasty ass shit. Fucking sick, this is a LIBRARY!”

The man mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Fuck you, bitch,” as he exited the computer lab. The woman hollered after him, “Don’t forget to zip your fly!”

This whole incident was exceptionally loud, and after the man left it felt like a shocked quiet was suffocating the room. I almost expected everyone to start clapping after a brief pause, but no one did. Generally I get tense around direct confrontations, but this time I found myself almost ecstatic! I wanted to shout, “You go, girl! Thank you!” I knew exactly who she had been yelling at, and apparently her aggressive tone and public humiliation stint did a number on the guy, because he hasn’t been back to the library since.

So there you are, burning holes in the back of the offender’s head and contemplating your next move. Do you confront them verbally right then and there? Do you end their computer session immediately? Do you give them a warning?  If I was a fellow public computer lab user, I’d probably follow the lead of the woman above (to a lesser extent) and firmly ask the offender to put that shit away!

What would you do?

Librarians: Check It Out

Sometimes I wish I were a sassier librarian.

Being the youngest on staff and also being female seems to imply that every lonely guy wandering through thinks he's being original by hitting on me. To be honest, sometimes it's funny— the best 'pick-up' line recently was this guy who gave me the eye-over and then asked with a laugh, "Hey, are you Mother Nature or sumptin?"  I wasn't sure how to take it so I looked him in the eye and gave a curt, "No." Unphased, he laughed again and remarked, "Aw man, I was hopin' I'd get to ask you about the weather!" 

Screeeeeet. Wait a second, back that up. You were hoping you'd get to ask me about the weather?

...What?

I can't even begin to describe the seemingly countless men who have sauntered up to the desk and asked me, "Where can I find this book?" only for me to lead them into the isolation of the stacks where they proceed to get increasingly sketch. Sometimes they'll start off with what I like to call the availability questions:

"How long you worked here, beautiful?"

"You married? No? A'ight!"

"How old are you?" 

Other times they'll jump straight to the point:

"Can I get your number, girl? Forget about the book, I just needed an excuse to get you alone!"

“You wanna, you know, go somewhere?”

Or, one of my all-time favorites: "Roses are red, violets are blue, angels are perfect and so are you. How ‘bout a hug, dear?"

The directness can either result in extreme awkwardness or immediate shutdown, depending on how confident or patient I'm feeling on any given day. My inner voice is shouting, "I'm working here, and not a street corner, so get the hell out of my bubble!" But I am too introverted to give in to the temptations of these outbursts, and would probably find myself blushing with embarrassment and tripping over my words if I even tried. Besides, anger only spreads anger, and I'm sure that if I negatively shut down some hopeful guy there’s a good chance he’d spread that negativity to the next lady he came across. Yes, my feminist side dies a little every time I have to ignore a crude comment. Fortunately, I have a very active imagination which I use to pretend I’m a taser-wielding, crotch-kicking, badass dreaded librarian who rides around on a motorcycle tracking down perverted men to obtain revenge for their womanizing deeds. Ok, yes: basically I imagine myself as a dreadlocked version of Lisbeth Salander from the Steig Larson trilogy.  Hey, a girl can dream.

I know the whole “sexy librarian” fetish may be an explanation for some of this behavior, but I honestly don’t understand how a gnarly headed girl in corduroy pants and lumpy wool sweaters can act as a magnet for so many men. There are a number of guys who visit on a near daily basis just so they can “see my smiling face.”  There are others who stare at me and try to start conversations and then awkwardly stumble away mumbling to themselves.  And then there are the guys who are interested, but will vocalize aspects of myself that should change to better fit their fantasies or preferences. I find one visitor particularly entertaining—he’s a big biker dude with tattoos crawling up his neck from below the collar of his t-shirt, with a pitted nose that looks like it’s taken a few too many punches. Not necessarily a bad looking guy, but he definitely has a good 30 years of age on me.  Anyway, he comes in regularly to read the paper and look at hot biker chicks on the internet, and about once a week he’ll make the same comment to me:

“I don’t get that hair of yours. I have this girl, looks just like you but without that hair. She could be a model if she wanted to. But with that hair… I just don’t get it.” Then he’ll launch into some variation of the same lecture about what makes a woman beautiful and how a woman should look and act if they want a guy to pick them up. Somewhere, a ‘subtle’ hint will be dropped that I should get rid of the hideous deformity covering my scalp or I’ll end up an ugly spinster.

Thanks, buddy. Unfortunately for you, I’m not interested in what supposedly makes a woman beautiful in your perspective.  I can do whatever I want to my hair and no amount of influence from you will convince me otherwise.  Besides, it's presumptuous on many levels to assume I'm looking for male attention.

Then there’s the guy who comes in several times a week and will loiter around my office or the Reference Desk waiting to tell me his latest stories. He always manages to slip in some comment about me ‘being his girlfriend,’ and I’ve given up trying to correct these delusions because it only launches him into a frenzied monologue about how he wants to take my boyfriend into the wrestling ring and fight for my undying love. That might be considered chivalrous to some damsels in distress, but not this dreaded librarian.

Working at a public library has forced me into some exceptionally awkward situations, but over the past 18 months I’ve learned a lot of life lessons that explain a lot of classic “stern librarian” behavior:

1.      Don’t smile very often—it only encourages romantic delusions.

2.      Do not engage in ‘normal’ conversation. This means asking no questions other than those related to library services, maintaining persistent and (hopefully) intimidating eye contact to dissuade creepy behavior  (the whole “I’m watching you sternly over the top of my spectacles” thing), and attempting to “shush” people into silence when they start awkwardly asking personal questions (Excuse me sir, you’re being too loud. Sorry, but this is a library).

3.      Wear lumpy, shapeless sweaters even in the summer time to hide any suggestion of feminine form. 

Yes, sometimes I wish I was a sassier librarian, one who would stand my ground and shut down interested individuals in a Lisbeth Salander kind of way. However, doing so would probably result in the loss of my job. For now, I’ll just have to make due with lumpy sweaters and stern glances over my plastic-rimmed glasses.

Despite the potential judgmental (and overly stereotypically heterosexual) nature of this blog entry, I intend it to be humorous and hopefully non-offensive. Additionally, I would like to conclude with a giant kudos to all these gentlemen who, of all places, choose the public library to try and pick up girls. To me, it implies that they are seeking intelligence and potential nerdiness above superficial characteristics, which is rather flattering. Perhaps that is a personal delusion of sorts, but I like to occasionally give in to the benefits of doubt. 

So to all of my gentlemen admirers-- stay classy, and best of luck finding a nerdy partner. Now please leave me alone!