11.20.2006

The Librarian: Quest for the Job Part I

So you've read the last two entries (presumably) and wondered "Who the hell is this person?" The next series of posts will attempt to set your troubled mind at ease.

It all starts a few years ago. I was a young and naive undergrad studying International Studies. My counselors and professors had all told me "No problem! You can do whatever you want with whatever major you want! Want to be a doctor? All you need to know is the quadratic formula and Keats." That sounded good to me for awhile because... well, I wanted to believe it. Then I started talking to people outside the academic would and they had a different response to my enthusiastic optimism. They laughed.

My face grew cold. I started shaking. I couldn't sleep at night. I mean, what does one do with a degree in International Studies? I had staked my entire future on the possibility that there would suddenly be a huge demand for professional travellers in 2006. I didn't like law, I couldn't see myself teaching and I didn't want to get any closer to politics than my local polling booth. So, after several sleepless nights, knowing that the decision I made now, as a 20-year-old college student would irrevocably change my life, I knocked on the door of the career counselor. She was polite and happy and just as optimistic as everyone else at first, but then she noticed my trembling hands and surmised that I had seen through her glamour.

I sat perched on the edge of my seat like a baboon on heroin. "Well, what do you like to do?" she asked, politely.
"Um, read?" I asked. She nodded, politely encouraging me. "And knit. And watch movies. I like knowing random trivia and writing. Oh, and throwing theme parties that my friends all pretend they like."
She opened her book o' jobs and flipped it so it faced me. I expected it to glow as her perfectly manicured hand pointed to the title.

"Grant Writer"

Oh, I thought. I had expected something perfect and glamorous. Something that clicked in my head and made me shout "Hallelujah! I've found my calling!" This didn't do it, but then again we were being realistic here and I was pretty sure she kept the "Professional Traveller" guide sheet with "Actress," "Rich Folk-rock Singer" and "Unicorn Trainer." Well, I figured, I'd have to toughen up and accept the real world.

The next week I met with a real-life grant writer. She was very nice and described her job in detail while I nodded and tried to keep my eyes from glazing over. The interview went pretty badly. I even forgot to send her a card so professional humiliation was added to the list of reasons to avoid grant writing.

That night, I went home and sadly flipped through the career books I'd taken out. I was sure that my only other option was garbage person or politician. I was depressed. Then, I notice a faint shimmering between the pages. I turned back a few and there it was. Red lights surrounded the title and big sign said "ARE YOU STUPID?!" An arrow pointed from the sign to the title. "Librarian." Oh, I thought. Oh. That makes a lot of sense. I like to read and write. I enjoy researching, but not writing research papers. I like programming. I'm always suggesting books to people. I also, unbelievable, like working in retail.

I couldn't understand how I didn't think of it before. I mean, I spent hours every week in a library since I could remember. I saw librarians on a daily basis. One of my aunts had been a librarian and I'd been accused by my cousin just last Christmas of looking like a librarian. A wave of relief spilled over me. I wasn't going to have to change my major or spend extra time at my uber-expensive undergraduate school. Everything was going to be great. And for the first night, I slept well.