I dunno what lackadaisical is, but I really don't care. My internet is being the gays right now, so I gotta update quickly and hope it goes through. From today: Is it bad that I have a deeply rooted problem with small children? Now mind you, all children don't draw my disgust and general annoyance; more or less, it's the ones who are spoiled to the core and most likely are from Florida. I make this case simply because I just finished dealing with a pair of them; the mother looked to be the kind of bleach blonde ditz that was fresh out of a porn film. Well, maybe not a porn film, but at least something that required acting bad enough to warrant it into the annols of porn star crap acting. The lady was in no control of her two children (Andre and Jordan, so I learned), and sat quietly doing some papers for enrollment of her eldest into kindergarten whilst the two boys ran about, screaming and acting like two drugged rhesus monkeys that had recently discovered caffeine. It was a sad and loud scene, filled with chucked hand puppets and varying amounts of spittle as the children yelled and tried to massacre the patrons. Mrs. Stair eventually stopped that, relieving me, who was as busy as the devil trying to put all the stuff they moved around back into the proper places. I was scrambling. Of course, mere seconds after she went back into her workroom, they began again. Their mother scolded them for the first time all day...something they obviously weren't used to. Later, they began to play with the automatic door, a portal controlled by an intriguing button system that eliminates the need for handles or knobs. They call it a handicapped door these days. Well, they were fascinated nonetheless and saw that pressing the button on either side would open it. Whilst this has truly very little effect on the door itself, the motors that run the door soon begin to burn out and overheat, thus making it impossibvle to use unless we were to force the door open and hold it in that position. I told them to stop, blah blah blah, moral of the story is that the kid could barely speak, repeated what others probably said to him a lot, and asked me "where are your parents?" It seemed like a pretty normal thing to expect. Then some guy came in and was pissed because it took me 5 minutes to make him a new card and catalog some books that he brought up that hadn't been yet. We do those at the counter because we figure that as long as the popular books are temp catalogued, no big deal. He proposed we put all 30,000 books on the floor in piles and sort them that way. I wanted to ask if he'd like to volunteer, because it took a year to do the original cataloguing with only 25,000 books and a company to do it for us.