These are the words that filled my work day and will fill my dreams tonight:
"Dirty." "Stained." "Ripped." "Grubby." "Warped."
At times I became more descriptive...
"Broken spine." "Pages are stuck togther." "Disgusting unknown substance within"
"Strange smell." "Rude remarks scribbled inside."
Weeding, weeding, endless weeding. I prefer weeding fiction. I think that as an avid fiction reader I find it easier to define the value or worth of an item in that area. Non-fiction, well that's another story. One man's trash is another man's treasure so they say. When examining the oversized collection, I relegated all kinds of fascinating coffee table books to disposal. A pictorial examination of tattoos. The history of earrings. Measurements and distinguishing characteristics of all reptiles of North America. The history of literature written about Patagonia. What if some small crying child comes in searching for something I tossed?
Actually, I would be quite ruthless, but the fear is always the "other" - the "other" librarian who approves the items selected for weeding. If I alone had the power... Ha ha ha (laughing like "The Count")...
And by the way...some of those oversized books could kill a person. By gosh, precariously balanced on an upper shelf... darn right hazardous!
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