I love books. I revere books with all of my senses. Okay, maybe not taste, as I've never licked a book (unless you count the time I dropped a tempting glob of chocolate chip chocolate cake batter on page 43 of my Fanny Farmer Cookbook, but that was a moment of pure sugar gluttony. I could not be held responsible for my actions.) But I certainly revel in the rustle of pages, the smell of the paper, the weight of a novel in my hands and the sight of row upon row of written words designed to take my imagination to new heights.
Libraries, bookstores both new and used--you name it. Wherever books are stored, I am in literary nirvana. So it will come as no surprise that I view disrespect for books and book lovers to be the highest form of discourteous behavior. This may place me in the minority, for libraries are no longer the bastions of contemplative quiet that they were when I was a child. Now bibliophiles must learn to peacefully coexist with readers who blab on cell phones while browsing the stacks, boisterous children running wild, teens and twenty-somethings with leaking ear buds that subject anyone within range to the cacophonous overflow, and the ever-present rat-a-tat-tap of other patron's keyboards.
And the librarians are the worst, engaging in in-person and telephone conversations that reverberate off walls, up stairs, out the window and blocks away. Some libraries are now offering quiet rooms where patrons can cloister themselves in the name of attaining a noise-free environment. In the Seattle Library system, they can't keep up with the demand for their 16 quiet rooms.
Some would argue that libraries should be a public space for all. On that point, we disagree. More aptly put, libraries are public spaces, so need to be structured so that all members of the public can benefit from them. If there is no possibility for separate quiet and noisy spaces in the library building, then I say those deserving quiet should reign. After all, those who seek noise can find it almost anywhere. Restaurants and nightclubs blare music incessantly, our own living rooms spew television babble 24/7. Car alarms, horns and car stereos blare music on every street corner; and if you're fortunate enough to be walking in a larger city, you'll also be treated to numerous epithets and insults screamed by frazzled drivers.
As far as the children having a place to blow off steam, the library isn't it. Children have playgrounds, after-school programs, backyards, bowling alleys, skate board parks, amusement centers and Grandma's house in which to leap, climb, run about, chortle, cry and yell themselves silly. But we who crave a quiet nook, where are we to go? The only places still revered as reserved for peaceful contemplation are places of worship--and just try reading a juicy Danielle Steel tome while Reverend White is delivering his weekly sermon! Besides, where would the atheists go for peace and quiet? No, until they are constructed differently, the library belongs to those craving quiet. So, here are our Common Sense Courtesies for the Library:
- Children belong in the Children's Room (hence the name) unless they are conked out in their stroller.
- Turn off your cell phone. No exceptions.
- If you must speak, whisper. You remember whispering, don't you? It's what you learned to do when you had a sleeping baby in the house, a conversation you didn't want your parents (or your spouse) to overhear or when asked to detonate a bomb.
- Check your electronic devices at the door, or find a library that provides a room with a door so that you can go into it and make all the noise you need. The one exception to this would be your laptop, as long as the only sound that emerges is the tippy tap of your ever-so-light touch upon the keyboard.
- Teachers, if you're taking your group of school aged students on a field trip to show them the joys and wonders of the library, talk to them in hushed tones. The patron on the third floor should not hear you extolling the virtues of the convenient self-check out machine from two stories up.
- If you're working at a library carrel (that's fancy talk for a desk in a cubicle) then you, too must be polite to your fellow quiet-refuge-seekers. Use a tissue; there's nothing worse then working next to a sniveler. Don't snap your gum while you're studying (and don't even THINK about sticking it under the desk...what are you, four?). Don't eat snacks with crinkly paper on them, jingle the change in your pockets, hum, whistle, break wind (unless it's silent one and you're sure it will be odor-free!), tap your teeth with your pencil, click your pen rapid-staccato fashion, jiggle your foot incessantly or guffaw out loud at things you're reading.
- And for heaven's sake, put books back where they belong, if you decide you don't want to check them out. Common sense courtesy is all about making it easy for the next guy.
- When you check out a book, respect it and the next person who will be reading it. Use a bookmark rather than folding the page back or (gasp!) leaving it open face down. And bring it back on or before the due date, unless you renew. So what if the fine is only a dime a day; maybe someone else is waiting to check out the book you've carelessly tossed in the back seat of your car to return when you get around to it.
- And this one is to all the librarians. Unless you're assisting a hard of hearing octogenarian, lower your voice. Other library guests don't want to hear that the patron you're helping is searching for a book on the mating habits of baboons.
