(Okay, so: Because I believe in journalistic integrity and personal honesty, I have a confession to make: I started writing this post based on observations made approximately 6 - 9 months ago. However, as a reporter with a dedication to the truth and nothing but the truth, I returned today to the scene of the unpardonable crime (a library branch with no available restroom) to ensure that my previous comments are still valid. Lo and behold, I was met with, as a friend put it, “a private L but a W for the public at large”: the realization that there are now two such defecation cubicles open and ready for business in the lower level.
While I would never mislead my battalion of dedicated readers, I must admit that I am awfully proud of my now-outdated opening paragraph, and thus am including it, with this disclaimer beforehand. Luckily—for me as a writer, not for anyone else as a human being—some of my other penetrating pronouncements are still relevant.)
Let’s get this out of the way first: there is no fucking bathroom available here. So unless you’re one of the 276 toddlers at this branch any and every hour of the day and can just utilize your Pampers, you are shit out of luck—for real. I’m sure they have their “““reasons,””” but it doesn’t make it any less irksome when, as we all know, libraries are supposed to be the final bastion of public respite, and the only facilities in which you aren’t obligated to purchase some new-fangled doo-dad to be granted the honor to relieve yourself on the premises.
Moving along.
Upon entering the multi-story branch via the literal alleyway that is “Jersey Street,” you will find, on ground level, one (1) reasonably-sized table surrounded by chairs between a few shelves of book and magazine offerings. Around the perimeter of the room are pew-like benches, containing a curious architectural feature:
Now, wouldn’t you think that this would be an excellent, convenient spot for something useful to be revealed, like, say, an outlet?
Well, too bad. It’s a hole. Go fuck yourself.
The vast majority of the adult collection (both fiction and non-fiction) is housed in Lower Level 2, meaning, if one is taking the stairs, one must endure passing through the middle level, which is very often packed to the gills with howling infants and similar creatures. (The “Stroller Parking” sign makes me queasy.) In addition to being home to almost all of the books, LL2 contains one of those wildly unnecessary “teen centers” found at so many libraries. For the uninitiated, this consists of an area with ample seating from which those of us old enough to 1) go to war (though who knows, that could be outdated soon) and 2) not force everyone in our immediate surroundings to endure Tik Toks blasting from a phone (with headphones often visible but unused) are hurriedly scurried out once the school bells ring, so that the 0 - 4 prepubescents with nothing better to do have all the space they [don’t] need. (Can you tell I wasn’t popular growing up?)
One thing this branch does have going for it is that the square footage of actual books proportional to the building size is substantial. Some of the tables in LL2 are equipped with electrical outlets, and there’s exposed brick which some people care about, apparently. The Mystery section here contains more than three (3) Agatha Christie tomes, which, in my opinion, is about a dozen too few, but considering I’ve seen entire Mystery sections not even briefly graced by the presence of the Queen of Mystery, this is adequate. The art is tacky but relatively inoffensive.
I will say that I didn’t appreciate the [appropriately geriatric, at least] librarian intercepting me as I strolled around gathering evidence to ask if I needed help finding something. To frolic through a library unmolested is one of the few luxuries we have left, so step off, Gramps.
Next installment coming whenever I get around to it!!!