The Reason I love what I do

Every once in awhile between the half listening slackers and the “I already know this” students you get the kind of student that becomes THE REASON I LOVE WHAT I DO. This semester it was a petite Latina girl in a college sweatshirt with a carefully made up face and waves of black hair. A typical freshman.

She never told me her name but she was attentive and engaged. She waited until class was over and all the students were gone before she asked her questions. She was doing her first college paper on global warming. She was planning to become an engineering major but the College of Engineering doesn’t accept “pre-bac” students (the ones that don’t pass the writing requirement). She was clearly stressed about passing this class. I HAVE TO DO REALLY WELL ON THIS PAPER. And after talking to her for a minute it became clear why.

“I am the first person on either side of my family to go to college. NO ONE at home can help me. My mom is a single mom and my dad was never around. My mom and grandparents came from Mexico and I am the first one.” I could feel the magnitude of her situation in her tone of voice and body language: This is a BFD.

I could feel the weight on her shoulders however, she wasn’t like a typical stressed student. While she was overwhelmed at the enormity of her accomplishments she was still determined to succeed. I could see an inner strength in her that you don’t always see in freshmen or first generation students.

I wanted to give her a hug.

Instead I gave her the most heartfelt advice of my life. I told her everything I wished I had done to take advantage of support programs in college. I told her about my other first generation students and assured her that others did it before her and she could do it too. She didn’t know it but she brought tears to my eyes. She left the classroom with a renewed sense of confidence and told me she would “see me around”.

So thank you for reminding me of why I teach six classes in one day. why I never dread coming into the office. Why I smile even though I have worked more than 10 hours straight. I hope I see her in a cap and gown within the next five years.

Because you, dear student, are a big fucking deal.

Why a librarian? And other paths of least resistance

When people ask me what my favorite job ever was I tell them the truth: Cocktail Waitress. I loved wearing too short skirts and fishnets with platforms, customers that were either drunk or tipsy but always happy and the ability to drink Pepsi and watch ESPN at work. The tips weren’t bad either.

As an undergrad I had my life mapped out. Political science major, top law school, move to Washington DC and turn politicians into rock stars everyone would vote for. My GPA and compulsive behavior made sure that plan wasn’t going to quite work out. I still got my picture taken with Bill Clinton on the tarmac of the executive terminal at the Oakland Airport. That’s as close as I got to world domination. On to Plan B.

I applied to library school because I didn’t want to be a teacher. I applied to library school because I thought what could be hard about checking out books and calling people to remind them their books were overdue? I applied to library school cuz I figured it was easy money and I had fun doing research. And I never wanted to work with kids. Ever.

Something magical happened when I started classes. I discovered my inner nerd. She must have been hiding behind all the late night clubs in SF and ultra cool vintage gear, waiting to break out. Information seeking behavior, systems design, the Zen-like art of the almighty reference interview, so many options. I thought I would design seamless interfaces with sophisticated search algorithms or top secret research for the RAND Corporation. But I have a compulsion to tell when I see the words “confidential” and I can’t program for shit. On to Plan C.

Oddly enough, I find reference at an academic library is almost like working at a bar. Instead of ESPN I have Meebo and Twitter, my students dress like they are going to a club. I still get to hear life stories although they are more coherent cuz it’s not from a rambling drunk. While I hung up the mini skirt and fishnets long ago, a peak under the “modesty panel” at the reference desk lets you know i still have a fetish for platforms. When I am thirsty I have a full sized Starbucks in the lobby. I miss the tips though.