I hate when someone asks one question and you know immediately that they’re going to be a huge pain in the ass.
For instance, this dude today wandered into the library at about 6:15pm. We close at 7:00pm. I informed him of this when he asked at the desk, this happened after he’d already stopped and read the hours posted on the door and then stopped and read the hours posted in front of me.
It is never a good sign when someone requires a third confirmation. It means they’re going to test whatever it is they’re confirming.
He set up camp at the computers and I was hoping he just wanted to check his email and bail.
At this point on a gorgeous, sunny eighty-degree day there’s really no one else around. It’s just Me and NotMe here in the library and I was hoping he’d want to exit quickly and get out into the beautiful weather, much like I did.
After about ten minutes he started waving his arms and asking for help.
NotMe: “It’s asking me for an email address.”
NotMe: “What do I put in there?”
Me: “…your email address.”
Me: “Because that’s what it says to do.”
NotMe: “But why does it need my email address?”
Me: “I don’t know, what are you signing up for?”
NotMe: “I’m signing up to get articles emailed to me.”
Me: **BLANK STARE**
NotMe: “So what do you think I should do?”
Me: INNER MONOLOGUE: Go kill yourself and save everyone some time and trouble. “I think you should just enter your email. That way they know where to send the articles.”
I wandered back to the desk and he asked me a handful of equally retarded questions. Such as: What is my password? Why do they want me to pay for these? Will they sell my credit card information? What if I don’t want to pay? Do you have this? Can I have this? Etc…
Eventually I got him pointed in the right direction to go browse the stacks, but I told him we were closing in twenty minutes. He wandered off into the stacks and I assumed that he’d go grab a book or two and then leave.
Unfortunately, when he wandered back up to the desk I realized just how wrong I was.
NotMe: “I want to check out this book.”
Me: “Okay. Do you have your ID?”
NotMe: “I have a driver’s license.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it.”
Me: “Yeah, we need a Boston Library Consortium card or one of our MIT library cards.”
NotMe: “That’s dumb.”
NotMe: “I have an ID from college. Here’s another one. Here’s a credit card. Do you need more proof?”
Me: “Proof? No, we don’t need proof that you’re who you say you are, that’s not the issue.”
NotMe: “Then why do I need an ID?”
Me: “Because that’s how things get checked out, is with an ID.”
NotMe: “Like my license?”
Me: “No, not like your license. Like a library-issued ID.”
NotMe: “Come on. Do me a favor here, just let me take it. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
NotMe: “Come on, Buddy, do me a favor here.”
At this point there was about three minutes of awkward silence as he kept starting to walk back towards the stacks and then would stop, turn, wander back toward me and start to say something. Then he’d stop, run his hands through his hair and sigh and turn back toward the stacks again.
This process repeated about a half-dozen times.
NotMe: “You close at 7, right?”
NotMe: “You’re not open all-night?”
Me: “No, that’s why we close at 7.”
NotMe: “So you’re not open until like midnight or anything?”
Me: “No…we close at 7.”
NotMe: “So you’re closing at 7.”
Me: “Yes. We’re closing at 7.”
NotMe: “So, in ten minutes?”
Me: “Yes, in ten minutes.”
NotMe: I want to make some copies.
NotMe: How do I do that?
So I wandered off and showed him how to make copies. I reiterated that we were getting ready to close and he assured me numerous times that he understood and he’d be done before closing time.
So I’m going to sit here at the desk and see if he lives up to his end of the bargain. It’s currently 6:54pm and I can’t imagine he’s going to make it outta here in the next six minutes. Well I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. He did assure me he’d be out by seven.
UPDATE: He is a lying piece of monkey shit!!!
It’s 7:15pm and he’s now informed me eight times that he has just a few more pages to go and he’ll be outta here “in a minute.” I think it’s time for my serious face.
UPDATE: It is now 7:28pm. He’s gone. He does not like me. I went to politely inform him that he was finished and needed to leave and it went like this:
Me: “Okay, you’ve gotta be done here. We’ve been closed for fifteen minutes, it’s time to go.
NotMe: “Just a few more pages, Buddy.”
Me: “No, it’s time to go. It’s fifteen after. I quit getting paid at seven and it is time to go.”
NotMe: “Listen, Kid (author’s note: this INFURIATED me)…I’ll give you twenty bucks. Just let me finish up.”
Me: “Dude, I don’t need your twenty bucks. Pack it up, you’re done.”
NotMe: “You guys have awful hours.”
Me: “Okay. Send an email or a written complaint to someone who can do something about it, because I’m not the right guy to help you on that one.”
NotMe: “But I need this tonight!”
Me: “You’ve already had an extra fifteen minutes. Our hours are posted online. You read them on the way in. You asked about them when you came in. You knew when we were closing. This isn’t an ambush. Grab your stuff, it’s time to get out. Now.”
At that he dropped the book on a table all angry-like, took his copies and stomped off like an eight-year old who didn’t get the toy they wanted for Christmas. I walked him all the way to the door, listening to him mumble under his breath the entire way.
I politely wished him a goodnight and gave him a hearty wave as he stared a hole right through my noggin.
Some people are very easy to hate.