Saturday, August 18, 2018
I was back on our giant check in machine at the library when someone returned their books. They were kids' books, picture books, and they just kept coming, and coming, and coming and coming. There must have been 50 of these books. And while it is an automatic check in machine, it has its limits, and all these endless books rolling down the line, one at a time, take their toll on me. When materials are pouring down the machine rollers they create numerous chores I have to take care of instead of lolling about on the Internet, chatting, reading, making blog notes, or, my personal favorite: staring blankly into space. There are bins to change, exceptions to handle, and jams to clear up.
So naturally I wanted to be irritated at someone about it all.
But these are the book returns of a five-year-old. How can I be mad at a five-year-old? It's not their fault anyway. I've read, like, thousands of these picture books, and I can tell you that it takes five minutes total to read one of these books. It's ridiculous. Of course these children have to check out 50 of the things at once. And even that number hardly amounts to a few days reading. So they come back and do it all over again! Why wouldn't they? We give it out for free. For free!
So somebody do me a favor, get these little kids some proper novels. Oh, they can be about bunnies and thneeds and dinosaurs and all that stuff they're into, just put some damn words in the things. They're killing me.