Disabled
I work in a library. We have three public computer terminals that, not coincidentally, sit exactly where the card catalog used to sit. For years I heard faculty complain that they couldn’t find a book because too many students were using all of our terminals to check email. I did my best to shoo people off, and they did their best to be sneaky. We put up giant signs that read ‘No Email’, and the students just started minimizing their windows so we couldn’t see what they were doing. It caused me a great deal of stress. It became the scapegoat for all my rage at the unfairness of life.
Finally, the library administrators gave in to my demands that we be allowed to block popular email sites on three of our five computers. Now they get redirected to a page that explains that email is blocked on certain computers. It’s been almost a year since the email sites have been blocked, and I’m discovering a perverse satisfaction in the results. Instead of my build up of anxiety as users approach a terminal, I find myself wagering on how many times they will try to login before giving up. The record is seven. Despite four signs encircling each monitor, the brightest of which reading ‘Email Disabled’, they somehow believe they will find a bypass. They seem so confused when they do not. My overdeveloped need for justice is appeased. Let them waste their time, as they used to waste mine.
Finally, the library administrators gave in to my demands that we be allowed to block popular email sites on three of our five computers. Now they get redirected to a page that explains that email is blocked on certain computers. It’s been almost a year since the email sites have been blocked, and I’m discovering a perverse satisfaction in the results. Instead of my build up of anxiety as users approach a terminal, I find myself wagering on how many times they will try to login before giving up. The record is seven. Despite four signs encircling each monitor, the brightest of which reading ‘Email Disabled’, they somehow believe they will find a bypass. They seem so confused when they do not. My overdeveloped need for justice is appeased. Let them waste their time, as they used to waste mine.
posted by Sylow_P | 1:37 PM
2 Comments:
I feel your feelings, Brother. My new joy at work is finding new people to tell off or new things about which to tell off the usual suspects. Twice this week, I've found myself bounding to the front of a conflict saying, "Oooh! Let me!"
Work is for chumps and it makes chumps outta nice people.
The only cool thing about work is how the fact that it almost always breaks down into an 'Us vs. Them' scenario probably makes us a little better when we become 'them.' In my job, some of 'them' are doctor's patients, but recently, I have had to be a patient quite a bit. And I must say, I am a damned good patient.
Something tells me when you go to the public library, you don't act like a fucking moron.
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