Jobsworths in Libraries

I don't like jobsworths. And a large majority of them seem to work in libraries. I should know, I used to work in a library. I wasn't a jobsworth though, quite the opposite; I used to steal the books and spend most of my time flirting with the handyman. He became my drinking pal for a while, and one night, after discovering he'd forgotten to hand his keys back in, we let ourselves into the library in the early hours of the morning to see if it was haunted. There must have been about a hundred keys on that keyring. Now we've all had trouble putting the key in the door after a night on the lash, so imagine how long it took us to find the right key for this four storey building, boasting 50, 000 members.

We did get in though, and found ourselves on a kind of Scooby Doo adventure, where we ran around the building listening out for spooky sounds and looking for 'clues'. When we got bored of that, we thought we'd liven up those dull librarians a bit by writing rude words on post it notes and swapping their stationary items. Let me tell you there was uproar in that office the next day. It really doesn't take much to fluster a librarian. We did get quite freaked out at one point, when we kept hearing footsteps and whispers and made a hasty exit. In the cold light of the next day, it was quite obvious that it was actually the night guard, who probably was still freaked out by our footsteps and whispers the night before.

The manageress of this library, I shall call her Anne, although her real name was even more librariany than that, was your classical librarian. She wore spectacles, she was timid and she had twelve cats. She looked so much like a librarian that were she to turn up at a fancy dress party in her normal attire, she would probably win 1st prize for her outrageously stereotyped librarian costume.

Anyway, I hate jobsworths. When I went to the library yesterday to print out a booking form for my mother, having booked up a place on a coach taking her to Luton airport so that she can catch the plane to Turkey to have a get together with all her facebook poker friends, I was told I could not use the facilities using my son's card.
"But I always do."
"Yes..." said jobsworth, smirking "But your son is not with you today."
"But you only found out because I told you it was my son's card." I said, realising my mistake.
"Yes." She looked as though I had just made her day.
"Well let's start again then shall we. This is my library card."
She then looks at the code on the card, taps away at the computer and asks "What's your date of birth?".

I sighed. She's got me there. Because although I like to think I come across younger than my years, there is no way I would pass for a two year old. I'm potty training Ky at the moment, therefore he was at home with my mother, being coaxed into having a poo on the potty, completely oblivious to my predicament. So I have to pay to use the printer, or I have to go back home, take my son off the potty, have him wet himself all the way to the library, hold up my dripping wet son to show the librarian and half hope he shits himself, right there in front of her pointy librarian jobsworthy nose. I apply for my own library card instead (my suggestion). She asks for details and ID, helpfully adding "I know we've already got your details from your son's card, but you could have been anyone who just found this library card and walked in". Walked in, and what exactly? What's the worst that can happen? What is it that keeps this jobsworth awake at night? So I could have just found this library card on the street, then walked in to try and smuggle a free use of the printer. Normally, I raid banks, but when I fancy a light day, I try to use the facilities of a library of which I am not entitled to.

At my last visit to this library, another one of the librarians tried to fine me 15p for an overdue book. "But I tried calling to renew it but no-one answered the phone." This librarian had teeth like Janet Street Porter and she started having a goofy fit, stumbling over her words, teeth constantly getting in the way, so panicked by my audacity to question the rules; "yes, yes but, 15p, we have to charge, it's..it's...on the computer....you'll have to pay...it's in the terms and conditions...". I then stuck out my teeth and did a really goofy impression of her saying "well I'll just go and get my purse and lose my place in the queue then!" That was a bit childish really.