Tardiness doesn’t bug the shit out of me unless it’s done too many times at work. I had a talk with Loretta TWICE about being late too often.

“There was a train!”

“The stop light took too long!”

“Ok, I think the stop light is broken now.”

Really, Loretta? Really?! Then explain to me how I live 15 minutes farther from work than you and I almost always manage to drive into the library parking lot 10 minutes before my shift starts?! Tell me right now, Loretta since you know everything and all!

I overheard her talking on the phone with her husband about a new Kroger’s opening up in their area soon. She wanted her husband to tell their youngest son about it, who’s god forbid, enrolled in PUBLIC high school. (Read my previous blog post, The Good Catholic.)

Why would her son be interested in a new Kroger’s? I’ll tell you why. This sorry excuse for a 16-year-old teenager was over 10 minutes late to his first job interview at Kroger’s as a bag boy. I wonder where the fuck he learned that shit from! The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree.
I walked into her very angry phone conversation with her son about it. She was practically screaming into her cell phone.

The thing I absolutely hate about conservatives is that the majority of the ones I’ve had the displeasure of interacting with always criticize Millennials. They incorrectly consider anyone at least 10 years younger than them a Millennial. Ok, I’m sure there are worse generations than Millennials. For one, we certainly didn’t try to fight to legalize slavery, or anything heinous like that.
I’m a Millennial and I’ve never been over 10 minutes late to a job interview. I’ve been working since I was 16 years old too. I’m almost 30 now. How’s that for being a Boomerang Peter Pan Snowflake, bitch?! My mom didn’t even have to tell me to go anywhere on time. I just did it on my own!

Anyway, try to think twice before you criticize my generation, or any generation again because you’re probably a pathetic excuse for a human being anyway and raising your kids, Generation Z into hapless, hopeless asshats.


The Applegates are a married couple who frequently visits the library to use their two hours of internet access playing FarmVille. I shit you not. The date is April 29th, 2017 and yes, FarmVille is still around. I had no idea until I started working here.

I think the year was 2009 or 2010 when FarmVille debut during the early states of Facebook. You remember almost all your friends were playing it and you’d get these notifications, hoping it was friends liking your well thought out and profound status updates, only to discover that it was Morgan asking you to buy a Sad Cow for him.

Mrs. Applegate must have been a bearded woman from a circus at one point. Her beard should be envied by all facial hair challenged men. It covers 2/3 of her face and is nice and thick, and symmetrical. I sometimes notice her shopping online for clothes, though I dunno why because she always wears large mumus. She can’t fit into anything else.

One afternoon, Vivien went to the women’s bathroom and found herself in a dangerous shit warzone. It was everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on the stall doors, on the handicapped rail. Vivien claimed she saw Mrs. Applegate go to the bathroom, left the library, then came back wearing a different mumu. Clearly Mrs. Applegate was responsible for launching the Shit Missile from her ass on our poor bathroom.

Mr. Applegate has a look on his face like he’s slowly undressing you, or slowly killing you, or maybe both. Those dark beady eyes see right through your soul, I’m sure of it. He also looks like he suffers from permanent chicken pox. I have no idea what causes all those tiny red bumps that cover what seems like every inch of his body and I really don’t wanna know. I have a feeling that maybe a few extra showers would resolve the issue, but I would never suggest it. I noticed recently he’s been wearing jelly sandals. He’s the type that wears sandals with socks, of course. His jelly sandals are a matte black. I wonder if he thinks they could pass as men’s sandals because they’re black. I wouldn’t think twice if he wanted to wear hot pink, glittered jelly sandals, though.

As mean as my descriptions of the Applegates are, they are two of the nicest library patrons I’ve ever had in my entire library career. Did I mention I’ve been working in public libraries since I was 18 years old? Anyway, they’re super nice and sweet people, if not just a tad bit gross. Then one day, Lauren mentioned Gerald’s name, our Reference Librarian in a conversation and Mrs. Applegate exclaimed, “oh, that little fucker!” That’s basically how most of us feel about Gerald. The Applegates are literally all of us.

The Good Catholic

Lauren called me yesterday to vent about work. We don’t have a lot of opportunities to have hushed and rushed vent sessions with each other at work. Lauren is the circulation supervisor at my library and she too deals with the woes of supervising petulant adults.

Somehow the conversation lead to Loretta. I mentioned how Loretta has been mysteriously taking a lot of sick time to take her son to the dental hygienist and doctor. It’s been often enough to wave a red flag at me. Maybe her son’s teeth are atrocious and maybe she’s got him going to gay conversion therapy a couple of times a month. I have no idea. It’s illegal to ask her unless it’s for a prolonged period of time and that calls for medical documentation.

Loretta has three strapping sons. Her youngest is still at home in high school. I can’t tell you how many times Loretta has bitched to me about having so many kids and having to pay for their private school tuition. Apparently all three went to the same catholic high school. I mentioned that to Lauren over the phone and she interrupted me.

“Which catholic high school?” she asked.

I told her I didn’t know. She then went on and on about how there aren’t any catholic high schools in the area. Lauren’s been living in this area for over ten years so it wasn’t like I could doubt her. I Googled it and she’s right! There aren’t any catholic high schools within a twenty-mile radius!

I just went into our shared office space and looked at Loretta’s pictures of her and her sons. In one picture, her two oldest are wearing soccer uniforms and she has her arms around them. Her t-shirt says ____ High School. I know for a fact that’s a public high school!

What the fuck? She’s been lying to me and possibly other people about all her children going to catholic school?! In fact, she bitched to me last week about how her youngest is failing his history class and she has to pay for him to go to summer school!
What the fuck is the point of lying about something like that? Does she think people question her devoutness? Or is this another weird form of Keeping Up with the Joneses?

Mama Bear, Papa Bear, Bubba Bear and DooBeeDoo-2

If you work in customer service, you probably have regulars and most often, those regulars are god awful. You know exactly what I’m talking about. As soon as that person walks through the door, you cringe inside and might even find a way to duck and hide away until they leave. I have many, many customers like that and they all have their own stories.

All the worst patrons I had were adults. I even got hit by an old Chinese herbal medicinal doctor once because I wasn’t going to stop helping a patron to help her use the copy machine. She had to wait in line like everyone else, but she thought she was above lowly things like lines. She also kept telling my coworker she was a stupid pregnant bitch, even though my coworker wasn’t pregnant…
Thank god that crazy bitch died because not only was she a terrible person, I’m pretty sure she was malpracticing and I wouldn’t put it past her to have endangered lives.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, all my worst patrons have been adults. Until this current job. I have a child patron I can’t stand! There’s a first for everything, I guess. Should I rejoice? Do I get a medal of achievement?

I call her DooBeeDoo-2 because it sounds like a cute little astromech droid’s name. She’s loud, obnoxious, whiny, but cute as a damn button. For weeks, I was absolutely certain she was speaking an entirely different language and her negligent mom occasionally responded to her in English. What was this mysterious language I was hearing? It doesn’t sound familiar at all. I grew up in the diverse Bay Area of California. I probably grew up hearing all the languages. But DooBeeDoo-2’s native tongue was more than foreign to me.

One night, I stopped what I was working on and listened hard. I mean, I had to strain really hard. My listening skills were probably at their all time high at that moment. I jotted down what each word sounded like. To my horror, I discovered the truth. DooBeeDoo-2 wasn’t speaking a different language. In fact, it was English, if you could even call it that. You see, DooBeeDoo-2 added the “d” sound to all her words except Mama, Papa and Bubba, her older brother’s name. I don’t get it either.
So when she says, “Die dant dat dook dover dere!” that translates to, “I want that book over there!” I mean, some words she’s adding an extra letter and that seems like adding extra problems to an already bad speech problem, right?

Do you know how fucking crazy this makes me? It was already hard enough listening to her roaring voice almost every day. Now I actually know what she’s saying! Somehow that just makes it worse! I find myself doing what I do with Spanish when DooBeeDoo-2 speaks – I translate it in my head! Ugh! The distraction! I need to focus! Work productivity is dying here, DooBeeDoo-2!

Specific parties I loathe constantly gripe about how everyone in America needs to speak English. Our current president even said, “while we’re in this nation, we should be speaking English.” Well, I’m a child of immigrants and my second language was English. My life got a lot easier when I learned English. So I sorta, kinda agree with that quote to a degree, but that shit needs to also apply to little white kids like DooBeeDoo-2. What she’s speaking can’t even be considered English. It sounds like some basic Star Wars Outer Rim galactic slave language.

Cheap Caitlyn

Years ago, way back when I was a freshly new librarian, unaware how civil service and customer service could slowly suck out my soul like a Dementor, I had a coworker named Caitlyn. Caitlyn was very cheap. She rode her bike everywhere, refusing to drive her car, or pay bus fare. If you read my first blog post, you will know that such a lifestyle is beneath me. Why waste time travelling? Unless the point is to enjoy a road trip, biking to get from Point A to Point B and back again is beyond my understanding! NO, this wasn’t a healthy lifestyle! This was pure cheapness! Caitlyn and her husband by no means were in good health. They once rode their bikes for hours to get to a little local theater in a neighboring city where they volunteered to usher so they could watch the play for free. Not exactly what I have in mind when supporting local community theaters.

I find that cheapness to such a degree is normally found within individuals equipped with all the means necessary to live a privileged life, but they choose not to and prefer to inconvenience themselves and often times other people. We threw a retirement party for a supervisor and were left with a lot of unopened leftovers. The staff responsible for hosting the party wanted to return the leftovers to Costco, but they couldn’t because Caitlyn took all of it home, leaving only half a packet of deli ham slices.

On Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, the circulation supervisor went to the library to empty the book drop. In case you didn’t know, book drops fill up fast when libraries are closed. And if you’re closed for several days, the thing could be overflowing. So it’s common for someone, normally the employee that lives closest to the library, to go to work for maybe a couple of hours during the holidays just to empty the thing out. The circulation supervisor found Caitlyn and her husband having dinner in the staff lounge, watching TV!

Now, if you ever worked in civil service, you know that you cannot use work resources for your own personal, selfish needs. Everything down to the measly paperclip must be used for work and work only. So watching TV with your spouse, who shouldn’t be in the staff only area, when the library is closed due to observing a national holiday is definitely on the list of things not to do. Who knows how long that was going on for! They didn’t wanna pay for their own TV and cable bill. Like I said, cheap.

I never found out what happened to Caitlyn because I left my job not long after that and moved onto what I thought were greener pastures, only to find the same bullshit, but with different folks. I wanted to buy egg shakers to be used during storytime and was willing to shell out $50 since these things last years. Someone at work suggested to save money, I use toilet paper rolls and fill them with beans instead. Hello, Caitlyn 2.0.

Who’s the Boss?

Jon and Gerald are supposed to do Adult Summer Reading and Teen Summer Reading. It’s literally in their job descriptions. Surprise! They don’t. So in previous years, the circulation staff have done it. Now that I’m here, that will all change this summer and those two lazy bastards are gonna do summer reading.

But Vivien was very upset upon hearing this. She apparently liked running the programs and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t anymore. I was frank and told her she’s been taken advantage of and certain people are going to have to do their own jobs from now on. She rolled her eyes in disbelief. Yes, sister. You better believe it. Your Saint Jon could give zero fucks about you! As long as you’re doing his job, he gets to do his Library Trivia and book thieving in peace! I didn’t say the last part to her, of course.

After I walked away, she told the other staff that, “Bunny Librarian is not my boss and she can’t tell me what to do!”

Come again? You might wanna run that by me one more time. I was hired as a supervisor. I am her boss. What the fuck does she think I’ve been doing here since I was hired?! Hanging out because apparently a young, attractive 30-year-old has nothing better to do with her free time?! Does Vivien think I’m only here because I enjoy the ratchet stories of her youth?! Being married five times is not an accomplishment, Vivien! If I were you, I would keep that heinous fact a secret. Because anytime someone has to wonder why the fuck you are the way you are, they’ll just think to themselves, “how the hell did Vivien not know I was also her supervisor?! Well, she’s been married five times so I shouldn’t be surprised.”