LJIdol Entry - Week 29 Entry
Running the Weekend Gauntlet
(A Leon Trout story)
Saturdays are ridiculous. Thanks to budget cuts, we only have one librarian, two circulation staff, and a part-time shelver to cover the seven hours we’re open. We typically spend the day running around handling checkout, check in, reference, and troubleshooting computer problems with our public computers that are so old that they still have 3.5 inch floppy disk drives. By four o’clock, one hour away from closing, we’re all pretty cranky. That’s about when this girl walks up to me at the front desk, crying and red-faced. She’s twentyish. She manages to say between sobs, “I need you to call 911.” She’s drooling too, and her words come out somewhat gurgled. “I need an ambulance.”
I pick up the phone, start dialing and ask, “What happened?”
More drool spills out as she manages to utter, “I’ve got a fork in my neck.”
A lady answers, “911. What’s your emergency?”
“Um,” I lean over the counter trying to see exactly where the fork is in her neck, but I don’t see anything. I don’t even see blood. Great, she’s crazy and I’ve just called 911 for nothing, and now I have to fill out an incident report. “I have a customer here who says she has a fork in her neck.” I look at her neck again and then silently mouth, “Where?”
“I swallowed it.”
The 911 operator starts asking for the address, as I cut in to clarify, “Wait, not in her neck. It’s in her throat. She swallowed it.” The operator pauses before responding in a voice that has gone up an octave, “She swallowed a fork?”
“I know, right?”
“Is she able to breathe?”
“Yes, she can even talk a little.”
“We’re sending an ambulance. What’s the address...”
By this time, Lauren and Barbara, my circulation staff, are trying to comfort the girl. While still on the phone with 911, I tell Barbara to take the girl into the workroom, and I tell Lauren to get our shelver, Lloyd, and have him go out front to watch for the ambulance. Once Lauren returns and I’m off the phone, I head back to check on Fork Girl.
She’s sitting on a chair, crying, drooling and on the verge of hyperventilating. Barbara is holding a box of Kleenex, and she’s pulling out great big wads of tissues to hand to the girl. “OK. OK,” I try to sound soothing, “The ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine. Just try to sit still and not move your head too much.” I turn to Barbara, “Do you know what happened?”
“No, I haven’t asked because I don’t really want her to talk.”
“Yes, good thinking.” I look at the girl again, “How the hell did this happen?”
She tries to say something, but only starts crying harder. I look back at Barbara who is now giving me the stink face. The girl manages to say something about fried chicken, a plastic fork, and throwing up.
“What? I don’t follow.” At this Barbara pulls me aside and whispers, “She tried to make herself vomit with the fork, but accidentally swallowed it.”
I turn back to Fork Girl, “But why did you have to do that in the library bathroom?”
“Leon!” Barbara shouts.
“What? Listen, I’m going out front to see how Lauren is doing and check on the ambulance. I’ll be right back.”
Barbara shoots back, “Take your time,” as I head for the door.
Lauren is handling a queue at the front desk, and a phone call with a second call on hold. I head out to check on Lloyd. I hear the siren and see Lloyd in the parking lot, jumping up and down and waving his hands. I rush back past Lauren, hold button still blinking, customer in front of her arguing about a fine, and I swing into the workroom. “They’re here!”
Barbara already has the girl up out of her seat and they’re moving toward the door. “I know. We heard the ambulance.” Did Barb just roll her eyes?
We shuffle past the front desk, Lauren now at the register, having collected that jerk’s fine, hold light still blinking…
The paramedics meet us in the lobby and take over. I watch the ambulance leave with Fork Girl, and breathe a sigh of relief. I check the time: 4:40. Only twenty minutes until we close. I feel almost giddy, and then I remember: I was supposed to fill out an incident report.
I look around at Lauren, Barbara and Lloyd. “Did anybody get her name?”
(A Leon Trout story)
Saturdays are ridiculous. Thanks to budget cuts, we only have one librarian, two circulation staff, and a part-time shelver to cover the seven hours we’re open. We typically spend the day running around handling checkout, check in, reference, and troubleshooting computer problems with our public computers that are so old that they still have 3.5 inch floppy disk drives. By four o’clock, one hour away from closing, we’re all pretty cranky. That’s about when this girl walks up to me at the front desk, crying and red-faced. She’s twentyish. She manages to say between sobs, “I need you to call 911.” She’s drooling too, and her words come out somewhat gurgled. “I need an ambulance.”
I pick up the phone, start dialing and ask, “What happened?”
More drool spills out as she manages to utter, “I’ve got a fork in my neck.”
A lady answers, “911. What’s your emergency?”
“Um,” I lean over the counter trying to see exactly where the fork is in her neck, but I don’t see anything. I don’t even see blood. Great, she’s crazy and I’ve just called 911 for nothing, and now I have to fill out an incident report. “I have a customer here who says she has a fork in her neck.” I look at her neck again and then silently mouth, “Where?”
“I swallowed it.”
The 911 operator starts asking for the address, as I cut in to clarify, “Wait, not in her neck. It’s in her throat. She swallowed it.” The operator pauses before responding in a voice that has gone up an octave, “She swallowed a fork?”
“I know, right?”
“Is she able to breathe?”
“Yes, she can even talk a little.”
“We’re sending an ambulance. What’s the address...”
By this time, Lauren and Barbara, my circulation staff, are trying to comfort the girl. While still on the phone with 911, I tell Barbara to take the girl into the workroom, and I tell Lauren to get our shelver, Lloyd, and have him go out front to watch for the ambulance. Once Lauren returns and I’m off the phone, I head back to check on Fork Girl.
She’s sitting on a chair, crying, drooling and on the verge of hyperventilating. Barbara is holding a box of Kleenex, and she’s pulling out great big wads of tissues to hand to the girl. “OK. OK,” I try to sound soothing, “The ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine. Just try to sit still and not move your head too much.” I turn to Barbara, “Do you know what happened?”
“No, I haven’t asked because I don’t really want her to talk.”
“Yes, good thinking.” I look at the girl again, “How the hell did this happen?”
She tries to say something, but only starts crying harder. I look back at Barbara who is now giving me the stink face. The girl manages to say something about fried chicken, a plastic fork, and throwing up.
“What? I don’t follow.” At this Barbara pulls me aside and whispers, “She tried to make herself vomit with the fork, but accidentally swallowed it.”
I turn back to Fork Girl, “But why did you have to do that in the library bathroom?”
“Leon!” Barbara shouts.
“What? Listen, I’m going out front to see how Lauren is doing and check on the ambulance. I’ll be right back.”
Barbara shoots back, “Take your time,” as I head for the door.
Lauren is handling a queue at the front desk, and a phone call with a second call on hold. I head out to check on Lloyd. I hear the siren and see Lloyd in the parking lot, jumping up and down and waving his hands. I rush back past Lauren, hold button still blinking, customer in front of her arguing about a fine, and I swing into the workroom. “They’re here!”
Barbara already has the girl up out of her seat and they’re moving toward the door. “I know. We heard the ambulance.” Did Barb just roll her eyes?
We shuffle past the front desk, Lauren now at the register, having collected that jerk’s fine, hold light still blinking…
The paramedics meet us in the lobby and take over. I watch the ambulance leave with Fork Girl, and breathe a sigh of relief. I check the time: 4:40. Only twenty minutes until we close. I feel almost giddy, and then I remember: I was supposed to fill out an incident report.
I look around at Lauren, Barbara and Lloyd. “Did anybody get her name?”