The network was DOWN. All catalog function - unavailable. Internet research sites? Not for us! And do we have a backup, paper card catalog system? Why, this is the twenty-first century? Well, it felt more like the Dark Ages, with all the blind groping through the stacks in futile attempts to find the books for which patrons were clamoring.

About a week or so ago, somebody on Diary-L sent a link to a Weekly World News article wherein some kooky preacher was claiming that one out of every ten computers was possessed by a demon. I chuckled quite a bit over the notion. Let me tell you, it's not so funny when it actually happens. Not only were the library's computers going down, but several of the phones in the building, including Boss-Zilla's, were insisting on sending every caller straight to voice-mail. Of course, this was hampering efforts to get in touch with the people who could fix the network. Then several of our phone lines began to die, one by one.

Yes, I'm joking when I blame our tech problems on demons. I don't honestly believe that the Prince of Darkness has sent his minions to northwest Ohio to play with our card catalogs.

Anyway, it made for an interesting evening. It became quickly apparent just how dependent we were on the little computer screens to tell us where the books were. While I do remember being made to memorize the ins and outs of the Dewey Decimal System as a grade-schooler, it's just too easy to let all that knowledge slip away and let the computer do all the thinking. "Books on leopard frogs? Sure, let me just look that up for you..."

Without technical aid and with only Mr. Skittish and myself on duty last night, things were primed to go terribly. In fact, there were several incidences in which we were unable to be of even minimal help to the patron in response to such questions as:

"I'm looking for a book called something like "The Millionaires." I don't know the author, and I'm not sure whether it's fiction or nonfiction."

I looked at Mr. Skittish, he looked at me, and we both shrugged and sighed. We were the very essence of the word "impotent." We tried our mightiest, but were unable to leave the patron with any better advice than, "Please come back tomorrow; we should be able to find it for you then!"

Thankfully, if they return today, we will indeed be able to help them. The problems disappeared with the dawn, or at least by ten o'clock. Oh, frabjous day!

The boys, twins, were completely out of control, and I was impotent, once again, to do much of anything. I could have put the book down and put a stop to the nonsense, but the other children were busy listening and I hated to interrupt their story. I stopped to ask one of the mothers to please pull them out from under the table, but her attempt was so passive that they simply ignored her. I understand her reluctance to do much more; we live in a litigious society, and the boys' mother could have gotten angry if she had picked them up and moved them bodily. Still, that's exactly what I had to do, in the end, to even get them out of the room when storytime was over. I know their mom, and I knew she wouldn't be upset with me. Indeed, she apologized and says she'll begin sending them in separately.

I hate that she has to do that. As I said before, these are normally well-behaved boys. I'm in awe of the mother: five boys, each one full of energy and spark. They were just having a rare bad day, or else the library demons have struck again.

My head is hurting a little. True to form, I couldn't sleep for more than an hour at a time last night without Eric lying next to me. In addition, my chest is hurting a bit from breathing loads of cardboard dust.

Why, you ask?

A patron made a wonderful donation to us of a life-sized model of one of those little ball-robots from Star Wars, Episode One. I don't know what they're called, but they're the little robots that roll around, and then unfold into gun-toting bringers of death. Anyway, I've just spent the better part of an hour trying to assemble the thing, assisted by two wonderful little girls who love to come in and help me with whatever I need them to do. (Yes, they actually exist! I was shocked to meet them, myself!) The trouble arose when, after punching out the myriad of parts, we realized that nothing was labeled. The directions said to keep the head pieces with the head pieces and the leg pieces with the leg pieces, but nothing was marked as a head piece, a leg piece, or any other kind of piece (though we did find some mysterious, orb-shaped things...).

We tried folding things to see what body part they would resemble; well, it's a robot, and everything looks like a random piece of machinery. A little boy wandered over to help us, and he thought every piece we picked up "must be the helmet!" Eventually, the girls had to leave, so we threw everything back into a pile and stashed it in a storage closet. I'll see if some of the teenage volunteers want to take a crack at it later tonight. Some of those guys look much more "mechanically" inclined than me.

Let's cross our fingers and hope those demons are out of the computers for good...