How Do You Manage? Case Study: Interference
By Michael Rogers -- Library Journal, 2/1/2008
Mary Anne “Kat” Katsoulas, Margaret Newell, and Rhonda Samet rode along in Kat's Honda on their way back from a quick lunch. The trio were gabbing when the familiar guitar riff from a song of their youth spewed from the radio. “Well, she got her daddy's car and she cruised through the hamburger stand, now.” Riding shotgun, Newell cranked the volume, and together the women shouted, “seems she forgot all about the library like she told her old man, now!” and burst into laughter.
“That was always my favorite part,” Newell said.
Katsoulas turned into the Butler Public Library's parking lot. “Back to the grind, ladies,” Samet said from the back seat. “Let's hope it's nice and quiet.”
Newell and Samet took their posts at the circ desk. Katsoulas was heading for the children's room just as a woman stomped in from the street, all but dragging a child by the arm. The boy's nose was running, and he wiped it with his free hand and sleeve.
“Didn't I tell you not to do that?” the woman said. She twisted the boy's wrist, the pain registering on his face. “Where are the tissues I gave you?”
“In my pocket,” he winced.
“Then use 'em,” she said and pulled the child into the stacks.
“Tear the kid's arm off why don't you, lady,” Newell said under her breath to Samet, who just shook her head.
Minutes later, the woman, now with several volumes under her arm, dragged the boy from the rear of the library to one of a half-dozen small tables in the middle of the main floor. She dropped the books on the table and whipped the boy around to a chair and pushed him into it. “I gave up my afternoon for this, so you'd better look through these books to find what you need for your report,” she said threateningly. “And wipe your damn nose. I'm going to the bathroom. You'd better be working when I get back.” She stomped away, leaving the boy alone.
Obeying, the boy took a notepad and pencil from his coat pocket and opened one of the books. He wiped his nose on a tissue and sniffed. He flipped through the pages of the book, then closed it. After going through all four books, he began drawing on his pad.
The librarians were at the desk checking out books when they heard the first slap. Newell, Samet, and patrons turned to see the enraged woman standing over the boy with her hand raised as he covered his head with his arms.
“Didn't I tell you to get to work?” she hissed through clenched teeth, slapping the boy. “Didn't I?” she said and struck him a third time, “and now I catch you here drawing.”
“I looked through the books; there's nothing I can use in them,” he answered, his head down to protect his face.
“Don't give me that,” she said, slapping him again. “How could you have looked through all those books so fast.”
“I did,” he said. The boy was crying now, his nose running harder than ever.
“Don't lie,” she said, grabbing the boy by his hair. “Now cut the nonsense and get to work.” The boy rubbed his head and wiped his nose and eyes, looking up through his fingers to determine if the assault was over.
The librarians and other patrons stood still, stunned at the violent display.
“God, that poor kid,” a patron said. “Imagine having that for a mother.”
Newell grabbed Samet's arm and whispered, “Should we call the police?”
“I don't know,” Samet answered. “I don't know what to do.”
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