That being said, you may understand why today was something less than a stellar day for me at work, what with the zoo representatives coming to do a couple of shows for the kiddies and bringing birds into the library, both alive and dead. Sweet Lord, I wish I were joking. The ladies brought in a screech owl, who seemed to stare at me for the entire presentation, as well as various bits and pieces of other birds - a wing here, a pelt there. I was in agony.

"See this big owl wing?" the woman said. "It's built to be quiet as the owl flies. Close your eyes, and I'll walk around and wave it; you might feel it, but you won't hear it!" I shrank back against the wall as she came closer and closer, wagging the thing in all the delighted children's faces. It may have been my imagination, but she seemed to take a special pleasure in waving it in my obviously terrified face; I felt the tiny feathers brush my cheek, and I had to physically fight to keep from fleeing the room. A little girl sitting near to me was staring in amusement when I finally opened my eyes. I tried to smile at her, but my cheek muscles didn't seem to be working.

When the presenter announced that she had a dead bat in her hand, I couldn't keep my jaw from dropping. At least this time I wasn't the only person to be horrified; they had to ask several times before a volunteer could be found to walk around the room with plastic box that held the bat's corpse.

What really gets me going is the fact that my coworkers knew about my phobia, and they still left it to me to go and monitor the presentation. They found it funny. If I had been afraid of heights, would they have forced me to participate in a ladder-climbing demonstration? Well, I hope they got their jollies out of seeing me shake. Such pleasant people; I ought to release a box of snakes in the staff room. We'd just see whose fears were irrational then.

Don't mind me; it's been a long, long day.

What's most irritating, though, is that even if there is something obvious for them to do, such as, say, a huge pile of jigsaw puzzles lying in the middle of the floor, waiting to be picked up, these teenagers won't do it until someone specifically requests that they do so. By name. It's almost enough to make me scream. After the zoo program today, I found two of the girls giggling and drawing tattoo designs all over a male volunteers' arms, while the toy area lay in shambles.

I think that many of them are perhaps confused about the purpose of their time here. When we have programs that happen to coincide with the teens' work shifts, they are supposed to help in the running of the presentation. Unfortunately, they have translated that to mean, "Sit down, relax, and enjoy the show!" Last Thursday, when we had a presentation on astronomy and stargazing, I had to repeatedly tap on the volunteers' shoulders to remind them to help the little ones with their crafts.

How on earth do I fight this? I've got a few ideas. Starting with the next crew of workers, I'll be writing out a little list of tasks, complete with specific names for specific jobs, that are to be completed before anything else is done. If that means that only a few of the teens get to help out with storytime, well, then that's the way the cookie crumbles. If I have to get mean about this, then that's the way it will have to be.

A homeless man cam into the library tonight and verbally assaulted several of our librarians. You just know that things are unusual when the man standing at your desk opens the conversation by demanding to know where you live.

It rained today. This meant that everybody who would have otherwise have been at the pool, at the park, playing baseball, playing soccer, riding horses (it's a rich community), or going boating decided to instead spend a "quiet" day at the library. Except that, with the entire community sharing the same idea, we didn't even approach quiet.

I had to listen to the same, tired joke all afternoon: "It's like a zoo in here! Oh, wait, the zoo was here! Har, har, har!"

Somebody walked off with a copy of the first Harry Potter book. Naturally, we had no other copies on the shelf. Also naturally, at least four people decided that today was the day that they had to start reading the series, and they needed that book desperately. I couldn't prove that we didn't have it on hand, so everybody got frustrated and angry.

July is my month to be in charge of the kitchen and birthday parties. I'm paired up with one of our adult pages, a mentally disabled woman who, though absolutely sweet in nature, needs iron-firm structure and guidance in all things, or she becomes extremely distraught. I can't tell you how pleased I am about this development, especially since I've never done this before myself, so I have no concrete details to give to my partner.

Three different children "lost" their babysitters today and had to be led around by the hand to find them:

"Do you know what she looked like?"
"She was wearing a shirt..."

Thanks to the long weekend, I kept thinking that it was Tuesday and getting all confused as I stared at due dates on the catalog screen.

The Lego table broke.

So did the kids' printer.

I miss my mommy already.

I need another vacation.