Ok , so I have a new term. And by new I mean I haven’t heard anyone else use it, so I’m going to claim it as my own.
It’s called Library Rage. And I have it. Bad.
I’m not totally old school. I do advocate libaries being places of light and laughter, as well as houses of literature and learning. However, I do like to have enough quiet, just a little, so that I can concentrate on the many many choices before me.
The last two times I have visited Wellington library, I was not afforded this pleasantry.
Firstly, there was a woman with waist-length dreads, sitting at one of the reading tables, repeatedly BANGING her refill on the table. Like, repetitive, lifting it up and smacking it. Over. And over. And over. And one by one, the librarians came and peered at her – and backed away! Wtf? Ask her to keep it down or leave! There’s no way I can stay sane with that constant flapping in my ears.
Then today, things only got worse. I couldn’t find anything I wanted, even though the catalogue said it was there. None of the authors I like had anything new out. A bunch of tweens were waifing from aisle to aisle, criticising everything and laughing at the romance titles. Fair enough, I’m not that enamoured of ‘Mr Darcy: Vampyre’either, but seriously, the library is not a place to abandon your kids during the holidays. Especially not when they are Loud.
And don’t get me started on people who stand in the middle of the aisle so you can’t get past either side, and stare slack-jawed at the stacks like petrified zombies. Or even worse, those who decide it’s ok to reach in front of you and pluck something off the shelf. Um, no. That’s not OK.
How is a girl every supposed to be successful in the search for the perfect book with all these distractions??