Aim to please

A crabby old man approaches me at the front desk of the library.  Decrepit, but feisty, he is using one of our little rolling shopping carts as a walker. His shirt is filthy and old, covered in blood stains. He has never been so angry in his life!

Or so he tells me. I think it might be a small exaggeration provoked by the trouble he is having printing out some old tax forms off the Internet. He gives me a long story about the agonizing difficulties he is having printing these forms. He can't believe it!

I direct him to the librarians upstairs, up the elevator.

"Can't someone help me on this floor?"
 
I have to say I predicted this when we designed this library. No one, absolutely no one around here likes to go upstairs unless they have to.

I start to direct him to the librarian in the teen room, but then a thought occurs to me. A question: Would I be referring this man to someone else if he were young and able and pleasant and not covered in blood stains?

Yes, actually, I would. The truth is that this could go on for awhile. But the hell with it. I decide to see what I can do to help him myself mostly because he's so miserable. If it doesn't work I'll deal with that then.

It turns out the forms are incredibly easy to find and I print out beautiful copies for him. He's delighted! He thinks I'm a magician!

Oh, we don't just aim to please here, we deliver ecstasy. Enjoy your beautiful tax forms old man. Remember me fondly, in luxury and joy, as you fill them out.