the not so secret world of librarianship

In Cataloguing, we are learning about Dewey Decimal Classification. Now, there was an initial novelty of wondering what my phone number, in Dewey, classifies. (Nothing, sadly, though I was envisioning coy ways to give out my phone number involving attractive male librarians and the Dewey tables -- "It's Christina, and my phone number is 'Oriental antiquities' -- look it up.") I will admit, however, that I'm a little resistant to studying it. Not because it is unnecessarily complicated and breathtakingly dull, no. Just because it's the punchline of every joke made to me about my degree. Choose one term, punchline or joke, to put air quotes around.

"So, what are you studying?"
"Library Science."
(Cue blank stare. Cut to me explaining that, yes, to be a librarian, you need a master's degree.)
"So, what, heh, you just memorize the Dewey Decimal System?"

How clever! You must be related to the two hundred middle aged men who asked me if Tufts was tough. At least they managed to make up a pun.

Sometimes people ask that question seriously, and my faith in the world, already bottomed out, finds new lows.

So you see my concern, that my education may be starting to resemble its own parody. The other 50% of MLIS-related wisecracks remain only wisecracks unless one of my classes next semester involves the mechanics of shelving books (the best material for the shelf? how many books to carry at once? how to slide around the room on a ladder like Belle?). I've already got the glasses, the introversion, and the cat-lady tendencies. I don't need any more help with the stereotype.

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The nice thing about library school? Nobody in my class thinks leggings are pants.

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Overheard recently:

Thirtysomething man on McGill campus: "My mom smoked like a chimney. We, like, ate out of ashtrays."

At the American Museum of Natural History:

Twelve year old, pointing to a model of a Malayan tribeswoman: "Is that what Indians look like?"
Mom (looks up): "Some."
(Both leave.)

Mom in leather jacket, to daughter in leather jacket: "That's a sloth bear. That means he's lazy. Like your father."