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Post new topic   Reply to topic I Work at a Public Library
Chu
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 PostPosted: Wed Feb 06, 2013 11:49 am Reply with quote        
I work at a public library, assisting people in the computer lab. Because my job is so relaxed, I am permitted to do homework on the clock, but, I sometimes find it hard to concentrate here. It’s not because I lack a certain degree of focus or devotion; instead, I think that I am more focused and devoted than I should be – just not necessarily for the right things.

Today, I’ve met many interesting new people… and most would consider them strange. Unstable, even. But it is with these people that I feel very secure: and not secure in myself, at the expense of their misfortune, but secure in a deeper sense. Despite the sometimes eccentric or disturbing personalities that I interact with every day, I still feel very calm and safe. Here, I’ll explore why.

The first outstanding character was a young woman. She was maybe only a few years older than myself, but it was evident that things outside of age had matured her appearance. When she spoke to me, she seemed very uneasy. She was asking if she could purchase headphones, although she was ten cents short. Without a second thought, I pulled the ten cents from my wallet and gave her the headphones, and carried on with my homework. However, about twenty minutes later, she asked me for computer help.

Now, we all know how slow and irritating computers at the public library can be. Even still, one thing that I’ve observed about library patrons is that they get very impatient with these ancient devices – and their frustration goes beyond what I’d naturally expect. Maybe it’s that ticking timer at the top of the screen, counting down your 60 minutes as they drift away in the vastness of the internet. Maybe it’s because they are out of the comfort of their homes, and already on edge. Or, maybe people just want answers waiting at their fingertips, with no wait or delay. Whatever the case, everyone does it: no matter how patient you are, you will throw a fit sitting at a library computer; even if you don’t show it.

But this woman – loud music playing through her headphones – kept her cool. She was getting frustrated, obviously, but she remained calm as I tried to assist her. At a certain point though, after waiting five minutes for a page to load, she called someone. “I’m at the library. I got out of therapy and I’m waiting for a ride.” she said. Immediately, rather than forming a bias against her, I connected with her. She probably didn’t even notice, but it was then that I wanted to learn more about her. I wanted to hear her story, her past, how it’s affected her, and where she feels she is now. I wanted to hear what she wants to do with herself, where she’s going, what her hopes and dreams are, and how she plans to get there.
Of course, such things are inappropriate to discuss in public – much less in a library. So I assisted her and went on with my day.

It wasn’t long after that that a couple came in. They weren’t young, but they certainly weren’t old: maybe in their forties or so. And what was strange about this couple was that they came in with what seemed like bags of trash. They had big, clear garbage bags hauled over their shoulders, filled with anything from pillows to soda cans to cardboard. The pair set the bags in a back corner of the room and went straight to work on the computers. They still hadn’t spoken a word to anyone. I’d like to know what those items are, and why the pair is seemingly collecting them. I’d like to know their history together as a couple, as it seems much more interesting than a more traditional union. I’d like to know what compels them to behave as they do – and what they think of their own actions and appearance.

Another interesting person brought less attention to herself, but she stood out to me nonetheless. She hadn’t originally gone to me for help, but I approached her anyway; and when she spoke, I noticed her outstanding attribute. I believe that she was partially deaf. She spoke with that unmistakable accent: intelligent, just lacking in composition. I took her to the front to get a library card, and she silently sat at the computer the entire time she was there. I wanted to know her story, as well. I wanted to know her condition, and how she coped. She was a gorgeous young lady, with bronze skin and an intricate hairstyle. She had a serious, almost tired face: a face that spoke of deep thought and even deeper character. I wanted to know what made such deep lines in such a young face. I wanted to know her name.

There are many, many more interesting people here, and I’d like to know almost every single one of them. It’s people like this that make me feel at home. I look at them as fellow fighters: people who do all they can to cope with what life has dealt them. I look at them as brothers and sisters. I look at them as people who I can relate and connect to. And, in all honesty, I feel more at home here than I do in my own classrooms. Because amidst the tests and essays and debates and projects, there’s a sense of entitlement. There’s an almost sickening degree of luck. It is only by luck that those people are there, in that room. To be born into a certain family – into certain circumstances – and be practically given a college education. People in that environment typically don’t know real struggle or pain. They know these things to certain degrees, absolutely, but for the most part, they don’t understand what it’s like to fight day-by-day just to eat or live. They don’t know what it’s like to be discriminated against for doing what they need to get by. They don’t know what it’s like to be on the absolute bottom of society, with no opportunities but the ones you make yourself.

But… really… I’m getting further away from that, as well. I’m pretty lucky, too. And even still, I feel drawn to these people. Drawn to the struggle. In some ways, this is how I know that I want to be a counselor. Even if I don’t work as a marriage and family therapist in the future, I think that I’ll always want to work with counseling. At the end of the day, I just can’t leave these people alone. I want to know more – to learn more – and I want to help. I may be an entitled young white woman, but I’ve still been at the bottom, and I still remember the struggles I dealt with. I can’t just walk away from that.

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 PostPosted: Sun Sep 22, 2013 11:30 pm Reply with quote        
I'm always noticing interesting people, on the bus, or while I'm walking somewhere. It's my writer's tendencies, probably, to want to know the backstory behind an outfit or object.

On the bus the other day was a young man wearing a black hoodie pulled right down over his eyes. He didn't look at anyone or anything, just stared at the ground for the duration of the trip. But one stop before mine, he stood up, caught me looking, and flashed me one of the sweetest smiles I've ever seen, a smile that his bright green eyes joined in on. He might not have been anyone exciting, but he intrigued me, and I wanted to know more.
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