What Would
Steven Slater Do?
by Roz Warren
and Janet Golden
(this story
first appeared in Women's
Voices for Change)
Last summer,
flight attendant Steven Slater cursed, grabbed a beer and slid
down the evacuation chute of the JetBlue aircraft
that was his workplace, and into the hearts of
fed-up American workers everywhere. His inspiring
(if illegal) escape has given the interior
monologue of disgruntled employees a new refrain:
“What would Steven Slater do?”
Not all of us
who are challenged in our workplaces have an
emergency exit slide. And, for klutzes among us
who would probably have broken both legs on the
way down and then been run over by a taxiing
plane, not to mention those people who would
rather not get fired or jailed, the exit slide
option is not ideal. But we can dream, can’t
we?
And who has
these workplace escape fantasies more often than
anyone else? Librarians! Like telemarketers and
customer service reps, we must be unfailingly
polite. “No, ma’am, I cannot spend the
next two hours working on your crossword puzzle.”
“Unfortunately, Sir, I am unable to research
your family’s genealogy back to the stone
age.” “Sorry sweetie, but I’m not
going to correct the countless grammatical errors
in your Yale application.”
Like parking
meter agents and cops, we hand out fines and
enforce rules that everybody believes in until
they get caught. “I’m sorry about the
tragic death of Lady La La, your beloved canary,
but I can’t waive the fine for that long
overdue book.” Like teachers, we are
poorly paid and asked to do things that
aren’t really in our job descriptions.
“Sure I love kids. That doesn’t mean I
want to watch yours run amuck pulling books from
our shelves while you pop off to the dry cleaners.”
Like IRS agents, judges, attorneys and the clergy,
we hear way more than our fair share of lame
excuses.
That’s
why we librarians are so grateful this year to
Steven Slater for adding a new thrill to our
already rich fantasy life. For example:
A young woman
sits at a table calmly tearing pages from our
copy of the latest issue of “Bride” and
tucking them into her purse.
Watching her
from the Circulation Desk, I wonder -- what would
Steven Slater do?
If I were
Slater, I’d grab the magazine from her hands,
demanding “What’s wrong with you? You
couldn’t use the photocopy machine to make a
copy? You had to rip up library property? You
selfish turd! And what kind of messed-up marriage
begins with an act of public vandalism?
You’ll be divorced and miserable within a
year, and it will serve you right!“
Instead, I
take away the magazine, explaining, “This is
library property. I’m afraid I can’t
let you destroy it.”
A woman stands
in the middle of our otherwise quiet library
blathering away on her cell phone at top volume
about her sinus problems.
What would
Steven Slater do?
If I were
Slater, I’d interrupt her conversation with
“What makes you think everyone here wants to
suffer through a detailed description of
everything that’s wrong with your nose? This
is a library. It’s supposed to be quiet
space. Shut up or get out.” If she made even
a peep of protest, I’d grab her phone, march
into ladies room and lob it into the toilet.
Instead I tap
her on the shoulder and gently ask her to take
the call in the vestibule where it won’t
disturb others.
A patron has a
dozen DVDs that are months overdue. Rather than
returning them to the circulation desk and paying
the fines, he sneaks them into the library and
puts them back on the shelf. Then he pretends to
“find” them there and claims he’d
returned them on time, insisting that we waive
the fines.
What would
Steven Slater do?
If I were
Slater, I’d say, “That’s a lie and
we both know it. Shame on you for trying to cheat
the library. Pay up and get the hell out of here
before I smack you upside the head with
this copy of “Morality for Dummies.”
Instead, I
curse quietly to myself and waive his fines.
One of these
days, a flight attendant will return a stack of
overdue books. Handing me the $25 fine,
he’ll explain: “I’m sorry I
couldn’t get them back on time. I was in
jail because I slid down the exit slide to
freedom after the customers finally drove me nuts.”
I’ll push
a secret button. A hidden trap door will spring
open. We’ll jump in, hurtle down a slide and
land gently at the neighborhood pub, where
we’ll use the $25 to buy a pitcher of beer.
As we toast to our escape, I’ll look up and
notice all three of the library miscreants I just
told you about, on their hands and knees,
scrubbing the floor.
A librarian
can dream, can’t she?
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