Checked Out: Bedford Part 4
There are times when problem patrons present not so much as people looking for trouble or looking to push boundaries. Sometimes the problem patrons are just completely and utterly unaware of how what they do can have an impact on others.
The library is a public space, one in which many people feel fairly safe. But that, unfortunately, is not always the case. Some library parents have a healthy sense of stranger danger in the public library and will accompany their children wherever they go. Other adult patrons take the feeling of safety for granted and allow their children to run free without any supervision.
I am not a mother, but I maintain the hope that I will be one someday. And as a hopeful future mom, I am constantly baffled by the parents who do not keep an eye on their children inside the library. Do you know how many strangers are there? How many people who have who knows how many germs on them? How many people who are mentally unstable? Public libraries are where everyone gathers. EVERYONE. Including those who are unsafe to be around. And yet parents allow their kids to walk to libraries by themselves, or play in the children’s area by themselves, or use the computers by themselves. Some parents trust their kids to know how to stay safe. Other parents just have no idea.
While working at the Cinderburg system, I observed a kindly but scattered old woman fawning over an adorable toddler seated on her dad’s knee. The kindly old woman, after cooing at the girl for five minutes, looked at the parents and said, “Can I take her to the bathroom?”
Warning bells went off collectively in my head, the dad’s head, and the mom’s head. The dad very politely said “No,” then, oh-so-casually, they left.
Not every dangerous stranger in a library will ask permission to take your child away from you.
And yet parents let their little ones wander around a place like that alone.
There are a number of parents who treat libraries as free daycares. I’ve worked in some systems that absolutely will not allow children under the age of 8 inside the library without an adult. Other libraries have no age restrictions.
Unattended children have led to a number of behavior issues that unprepared staff have had to handle.
But they have also led to missing children.
In my history as a librarian, I’ve never had a child actually be abducted. There was a single attempted kidnapping. For the most part, children have just gone missing for maybe an hour or two, but they have always been found, and they’ve always gone missing because they’ve wandered away.
Despite that, it doesn’t calm your mind when a parent approaches you frantically crying that they can’t find their kid.
This very thing happened at the Bedford branch.
It was a warm summer day and a number of staff were gathered around the children’s desk when a mother approached me.
“I can’t find my son,” she said calmly, “Is he down here?”
I did what I normally do and said, “It’s possible. If you come around these bookshelves here, you can see better.”
She did, but still didn’t see him.
“What was he wearing?” I asked.
“He was in a white t-shirt and black shorts. Have you seen him at all?”
Since it was a summer day, we had already seen tons of children. There was no way to know.
“It’s possible,” I repeated, then said, “Did he know where to find you today?”
She said she had told him she’d be using an adult computer.
“Okay,” I said calmly, “Go double check there. I’m going to check all the areas down here.”
She disappeared for a moment. I was convinced the kid would be in the bathroom or hiding by the vending machine, an oddly popular space for kids to loiter since they liked to salivate over all the junk food. I checked both areas and he wasn’t there. I went into the sorting room, only accessible with a staff key, just in case. I looked in the auditorium. I looked in the story room, the janitor’s closet, the mechanical room. He wasn’t in any of these places.
The mom came back downstairs, fighting frantic tears.
I kept my voice calm, “Okay, you stay down here with me. Evan, go upstairs and check every spot up there. This is how he’s dressed. This is his name. Check everywhere, even if it’s locked. Come back the second you’re done.”
He was back instantly, the kid nowhere to be found.
Crap.
Things were getting real.
I shot off a text to the manager, who was conveniently absent in the face of an actual emergency (which was always the case for me), then called 9–1–1.
Four police cars and two fire trucks pulled into the library’s parking lot, blocking all access to the lower levels. The mother and I gave as brief of an account as we could and they set to searching. A few officers stayed inside, keeping watch at the exits. The rest fanned out from the library, all going in opposite directions. One stayed by my side and inquired about the cameras we had set up around the building.
“Yes, there’s a feed saved on the computers. But the only person with access is the branch manager. She’s out today.”
“That’s helpful,” the officer said sarcastically.
I, a librarian who had been fighting for everyone to have access for months to no avail, agreed.
“I’ll try to get her on the phone.”
The mom eventually went outside to wait with the officers near their vehicles. I stayed inside by the windows, pacing back and forth with the rest of my coworkers, doing everything I could to keep myself from shaking uncontrollably.
Then suddenly, an officer was standing in front of me, a young boy next to him completely drenched from head to toe. It was the missing boy.
“Where’s his mom?” I asked Evan, “Get his mom!”
She came in and rushed to her son, alternating between hugging him tightly and grasping his upper arm in the Mother Vice Grip of Death as she told him off for running away.
The staff and most of the officers gave them space during their reunion, standing back as the young man told his mother that he was fine, let go Mom. I looked at the closest officer and said, “Where did you find him?”
The man pointed toward the street beyond the parking lot and said, “He was hot, so he decided to leave the library and cool off by playing in the fountain.”
“He just walked to the fountain?” I said, while my coworkers rolled their eyes, “That explains his clothes.”
In no time at all, the family had left, as had the officers. The patrons who had been keeping their distance while we handled the emergency resurfaced, and everything went back to normal.
Next time, we’ll explore a less sanitary patron problem.
Until then, I remain…
-C Quill
