Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Miss Information is annoyed because Wednesdays are always annoying

The library has a certain number of computers that are optimistically called the Research Computers. They have Internet access but are filtered so the customers can’t use e-mail or chat websites. They can, however, conduct their very important research using YouTube, online game, or pornography sites. Miss Information just loves research.

Most of the customers prefer to use the unfiltered computers, unless it’s Wednesday when the library tries to live up to the whole “education” part of its mission statement and conducts computer trainings. This severely limits the number of unfiltered computers available to the rest of the population.

The man with the broken leg wanted a computer. Miss Information explained the situation. She could get him a computer, but it would be a filtered computer. So e-mail was out of the question. Did he want a filtered computer? But of course, the man replied. E-mail? Pah. Who needs it? Miss Information found him a lovely filtered computer with a sweeping panoramic view of the Loire Valley and wished him well.

Not so much time had passed when the man called to her. Honestly, Miss Information thought. What’s wrong with his legs? Oh, right. She could see the man’s computer had the “you tried to access a blocked site, dumbass” error message. She realized that she had neglected to mention the filtering of chat sites and asked him if he was trying to go to one of those. No, said the man with the broken leg. He was trying to open Hotmail. Some people have no long term memory. It had been about 2 minutes. Miss Information reminded him of their previous conversation. E-mail was not available on the filtered computers, so therefore the man could not use Hotmail. But the man protested, he didn’t want to use Hotmail. He just had to read an e-mail in his Hotmail account, because somebody had sent him a link to a website that he wanted to look at.

Miss Information refrained from beating the man senseless with his own crutches and wondered if his leg had been broken by a frustrated library staff member.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Miss Information has lost the will to live.


Miss Information had been scheduled to attend a library training session on Wednesday. She wasn't looking forward to it. It was inconvenient to get to and she would have to pay to park. She really hates paying for parking. But what the hell? It was an afternoon away from her usual venue and that's got to count for something.

Tuesday, her supervisors let her know that she is no longer going, because--get this--she isn't considered "important" enough to attend.

Sweet. If only they hadn't mentioned this a second after she arrived at work, part of the day might have been salvaged.

Miss Information put on a brave face and tried to get on with her day. She's spent several months on a big weeding project and she decided to carry on with that. As she was pulling books off the shelf, she was approached by a page. (For the uninitiated, pages are the lowest paid, hardest working staff members. The library couldn't function without them.) The page told her that the weeding project had been completed while she was on vacation. She was mystified. Completed by whom? It was her project.

She stormed off to clarify this with the guy in charge. It turned out the page had been misinformed. The project had not been completed. It was just decided that the project was no longer "important" enough to care about.

Sweet. Miss Information spent the rest of the day trying not to mind.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Miss Information is annoyed by the coffee situation

Miss Information has returned from her vacation. She spent much of the time drinking the most glorious coffee-esque beverage. Since returning home she has spent every waking moment attempting to recreate this infusion of the gods. Alas, her local baristas are growing increasing less sympathetic to her plight. (Apparently their espresso machines "can't do that sort of thing". Bastards.)

So, instead of leaving her in peace to search for employment in a part of the world where good coffee is plentiful, her customers and colleagues are pestering her with meaningless requests. Bastards.

She opened an e-mail dated August 24 asking her to update a file. The deadline for updates to that file was August 15, you know, when Miss Information was still in the country? Sorry, pal. Miss Information was half way around the world and couldn't update your file for you. Perhaps you noticed she was uncharacteristlically quiet at the time? It's because she wasn't actually there.

Nice to notice her presence was missed.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Miss Information is falling apart

When Miss Information was a young thing she thought it would be a really cool thing to have one of her fingernails or toenails turn black and eventually fall off. She just thought it would be neat.

The years passed. Miss Information found herself in a large airport hurrying to get on a plane that had been delayed. It was not necessary to hurry. She had plenty of time. In her haste to board the plane she tried to overtake another passenger with a large wheelie carry on bag. Contact was made between the large wheelie bag and her toe. It hurt. Lots.

So Miss Information spent a couple of days gimping around with a sore toe. Then she noticed the toenail is turning black and may soon fall off.

You know, it really is neat.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Miss Information rubs it in our faces

Miss Information has sent an appropriately tasteful postcard to her beleaguered co-workers back home. Nothing lewd, nothing silly, just a perfectly acceptable and terribly dull modern city skyline at dusk. The tone is uncharacteristically chipper.

She is surprisingly succinct in her evaluations: nice people, good coffee, friendly marsupials. Evidently, there is self-censorship at work here. Miss Information knows full well the postcard will be passed around the staff room and commented upon by her more irony-challenged co-workers and supervisors, so she must play it safe: no withering, blood drawing commentary here. No pithy observations about the natives and their quirky customs (they put sour fermented yeast on their toast, and then they eat it!!). A typical, cute, funny “ha ha” postcard you would expect your thirteen year old niece on an exchange trip to write.

It’s almost -- shudder – earnest. Like she’s actually having a good time. This is unfathomable.

We who know her are terrified. No good can come of this.

--Scooter (guest blogger)