The Weather in Avery, Part II

I decided I wasn't done talking about this. As a person who wears sweaters in 90-degree weather, I am overly attentive to indoor temperature settings and how they affect my well-being. And on the days that Avery is not humid and smelling of Chinese food (no one knows why), it is a bat cave. This is because art historians are cold-blooded and emaciated as a rule (hence the no food policy): nothing could be more banal and in-esoteric as basic human needs like food. And then there are the architects who are too engrossed in their pencils and their wardrobes to notice any atmospheric conditions or hunger. So perhaps it is only the books that suffer, because I am sure that the proper temperatures for book preservation are nowhere to be found at Avery, especially not in the stacks where the pages are practically steaming.

Sometimes, as a GA, you're at Door. The doors leading into the Avery atrium and then the library are automatic, like Butler's, and weigh about three tons, like Butler's. So anytime anyone opens them, they remain open for about thirty seconds, which, during the winter, can make you sick after sitting there for an hour, no matter how puffy your Patagonia is. The best is when the staff walks in (hot coffees in hand) and frowns and says, "It's freezing! How do you stand this?" For the amount I am making, I'm hanging by a thread, and it's not paying for my cold medications. (Next post: That Time I Asked For A Raise.) But my favorite is when the door won't close, in fact. People who don't come to Avery all day every day and who thus have no right to fuckin' be here don't know that the door is automatic and try to close it behind them as they are entering or exiting. I do no say anything to them. I do not help them. I just watch as they struggle, because they deserve to struggle. Because they do not belong here.

I'm sorry - I've been dealing with a lot of "Is the way this library is organized by like alphabetical order or something?" patrons as of late, and it's getting to me. The books find you here, not the other way around. If you can't handle it, then find your book at another Reserves.

To end, my boss at my art museum internship went to Columbia for grad school a few years ago. When I mentioned to her that I work at Avery, the first words out of her mouth were "Oh my God that place is freezing." Not was freezing, but is, presently; she knows it will never change. And it never will change. We are cold people and we like it that way. So even though the weather is changing to grossly optimistic sunshine, keep your sweater on if you're going to read Stokstad.

What Nice Weather?

Despite this Los Angeles weather that we are experiencing, amid still-melting piles of snow (I hate naturally occuring juxtapositions), Avery is still packed as ever. No one seems to notice that it is finally sunny and warm outside; they still file in wrapped in scarves and wool and ponchos billowing and calf-hugging boots and other things that seem uncomfortably sweaty. The stacks are like saunas, and because I have been so helpful at desk lately, I was punished today by having to shelf-read and shelve in those areas and was essentially running a fever by the end of my shift. The place also just smells like a fire, but that could be because I saw The Towering Inferno at MoMA this weekend and fire is on the brain. That's also how it works at Avery: sadistically. You do something good, you get physically punished for it.

Furthermore I used the scanners for the first time in there - they work fine, I don't know what y'all are bitching about!