Libraries are places of information, a place to find answers.
But take my word for it, sometimes at the library, ignorance is bliss.Take for instants the grease stained cloth I found in the elevator shaft. The cloth shaped suspiciously like a pair of men’s boxers.
I honestly would rather not know where those came from.
Or the parents who left their two year old in the children’s department by herself and when she couldn’t find them and audibly panicked they didn’t come back for her. The child was crying for her father, and he ignored her, and believe me, he could hear her, the entire library could hear the fear in that child’s voice, and yet it fell on deaf ears as far as her parents were concerned. It was up to me to calm the little girl and take her to her parents who then barely acknowledge her existence, only to turn around and take her back over by me and leave her again.
I honestly do not want to know what that child’s home life is like. I have to remain ignorant about such things in order to continue loving my job.
I have to maintain my bliss.
