The Library Without Us

I recently "read" a book called The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. I say "read" because I didn't really read it, I listened to it on audio book. It was read by a very proper Englishman with a very proper upper-class Englishman accent, which was nice. I like these sorts of narrators because I can pretend that I am being read to by the proper English nanny that I never had. I do this from time to time. It works very well with the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings: the amazing Robert Ingliss does all the voices and even sings all the songs, making it very easy for me to sink into my little fantasy world in which my grandpa Tolkein is reading me stories and singing me songs and maybe making me some hot cocoa or writing me into his will something.

The World Without Us is not exactly the sort of story any real nanny should be reading to their charge, unless they are the type of sadistic monster that enjoys causing children to writhe fearfully in sweat-drenched night terrors. Weisman writes, and the sober young Englishman drones on soberly about cities crumbling, rats crawling over desicated remains, floods, fires and gives detailed explanations of how the very houses we live in will fall like so much meaningless cardboard. What did we learn today, children? "Nothing we do will last, nothing you do matters in the long run, Mother Nature is just waiting for her chance to to see your rotting corpse fertilizing some trees!" You wouldn't hear that kind of bedtime story from Mary Poppins, kids.

Not that I'm down on this book. No, I really did enjoy it, and I love imagining scenarios just like this one. In fact, the other day at work I was trying to engage my coworker (poor, captive audience that she is) in just such a discussion. I was in the mood to indulge in a little dispassionate social hypothesis: my favorite workday time-passer. I wondered aloud (hoping she would take the bait and run with my little game--good for at least a 45 minute rap session, I figured) what would happen, and in what order, if her and I and the two other people running our public library branch that day just quietly walked out. Like, we left the building, got in our cars, went home and just left everything the way it was: doors unlocked, computers running, no one at the service desks to answer questions or check out materials, the coffee pot on, etc. No figures of authority (i.e. sensibly dressed ladies behind desks) on the premises, no rules, no explanations, no help.

Everyone knows that this type of situation would inevitably lead to chaos: the general public, when left to its own devices, when it KNOWS its on its own, will disintigrate into anger, disorganization, disillusionment and looting pretty quick. The DVDs would be the first to go. people would impatiently stand in a line that leads nowhere trying earnestly to check things out, but the endless waiting will become intolerable in a few minutes, maybe even 30 seconds. Someone will break ettiquette and peek into the back room, thinking they'll catch us indulging in private discussion, snagging the privledge to act put out as we scramble to their aid. They'll be flabbergasted to find it empty, throwing up their hands in exaggerated bewliderment to the others.

Most people would just toss their stack of books on the counter, cursing their bad luck and their waste of time and the unfairness of it all. Others will just take what they have and go, without checking out at all. The savvy ones will notice that we have a self checkout and use that, but all the old holdouts to technology and the indignity of DIYDS (Do It Your Damn Self) service (read: old people who have given themselves pains in the neck from shaking their heads at young people so often) will be the ones to hang around and simmer in their own juices: afterall, this is an opportunity to receive some injustice, and most people really shine when they are telling tales of injustice from personal experience. Their voice goes up an octave as they wave their hands around, shrugging their shoulders, scrunching their nose and grimacing in that pained smile most people show off when communicating scandalized bewilderment and disapproval. It's like watching classic Greek theater or kabuki, especially if you stop paying attention to what they're saying and just watch their movements.

As for everyone else, the ones using the public computers (and this group accounts for 80% of the population at my library at any given moment), theirs will be the worst reactions. They'll act out and gnash their teeth, mumble obscenities, say innappropriate things to their neighbors, and most importantly: they'll be the ones that finally invade the employee workstations. they'll take extreme umbrage that they have no one to solicit for extra computer time, extra printing privledges, general IT help and scathing complaint sound-boarding. They would be the ones that finally bring the building down. I say two hours tops.