The battle for least-favorite patron status.

In this corner, we have a mother. A mother without a child, but with that child's assignment. You know, that "I was already in the 7th grade" comment your parents always made is a lot less annoying when you're a librarian confronted with a parent who should use it. What does reference professional literature call it again? Double-imposed questions or something? The only article I read about 'em that wasn't just bitching mentioned the difficulty of trying to perform adequate reference for someone that not only doesn't understand the assignment but is also getting increasingly defensive at the librarian's questions and not getting why the poor librarian is having trouble helping her. I really hate when I try to interact with people as intelligent, rational adults and they get all pissy. Hey, it's not my fault you baby your kid. Nor is it my fault that I can't remember every tiny little detail about The Outsiders--hey mook, that's why your kid should do her own damn work, or at least become a bit better at explaining the assignment to her mom.

In the other corner, we have Mr. Try and Flirt with the Librarian/Counter Person/Kinko's Consultant Using Uncle Humor While She's in the Middle of Helping Someone Else and Then Getting all Wounded When She's Not Paying Enough Attention to tell that it's a Joke. I really hate this guy--even more than I hate uncle humor in general. You know what I mean--that "funny" guys give to girls they think are younger, more naive, whatever than them that absolutely can not be given back to them. When you get mock angry, hurt, etc, they think it's real. When you joke back, they get confused. When you blow them off, they get woundy.

So who wins?

On a pleasanter note, I did have some mighty fine patrons today as well, like the high school student who let me teach her how to search EBSCO, or the boy who, because he liked Coraline and I was trying to steer him away from Gail Giles' newest, now knows about Philip Pullman's Clockwork. And I learned that I can eat buttery toast, drive stick, and wear white pants all at the same time without consequence.