What Would Steven Slater Do? (WWSSD?)

By: Janet Golden and Roz Warren

Several summers ago, flight attendant Steven Slater, fed up with dealing with the public, cursed, grabbed a beer and slid down the evacuation chute of the JetBlue aircraft that was his workplace, and into the hearts of fed-up American workers everywhere. His inspiring (if illegal) escape has given the interior monologue of disgruntled workers a new refrain: “What would Steven Slater do?”

Not all of us who are challenged in our workplaces have an emergency exit slide. And, for klutzes among us who probably would have broken both legs on the way down and then been run over by a taxiing plane, not to mention the people who would rather not get fired or jailed, the exit slide option is not ideal. But we can always dream.

And who has these workplace escape fantasies more often than librarians? Like telemarketer and customer service reps, we must be unfailingly polite. “No, ma’am, I cannot spend two hours helping you with the crossword puzzle.” “Unfortunately, Sir, I am unable to research your family’s genealogy back to the stone age.“ “Sorry sweetie, but I’m not going to correct the dozens of grammatical errors in your application to Yale.”

Like parking meter agents and cops, we hand out fines and enforce rules that everybody believes in– until they get caught. “I’m so sorry about the tragic death of Caruso, your beloved canary, but I can’t waive the fine for that overdue book.“ Like teachers, we are poorly paid and asked to do things that aren’t really in our job descriptions. “ I love kids. That doesn’t mean I want to watch yours run amuck pulling books from the shelves while you pop off to the dry cleaners.” Like IRS agents, judges, attorneys and members of the clergy, we hear way more than our fair share of lame excuses.

That’s why those of us who work in libraries were so grateful to Steven Slater for adding a new thrill to our already rich fantasy life. For example:

A young woman sits at a table calmly tearing pages from the library’s copy of the latest issue of “Bride” magazine and tucking them into her purse.

Watching her from the circulation desk I wonder — what would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I’d grab the magazine from her hands, saying “What the hell is wrong with you? You couldn’t make a photocopy? You had to rip up library property? You selfish turd! What kind of messed-up marriage begins with an act of public vandalism? You’ll be divorced and miserable within a year, and it will serve you right!“

Instead, I take away the magazine, explaining, “This is library property. I’m afraid I can’t allow you to destroy it.”

A woman stands in the middle of our otherwise quiet library blathering on her phone at top volume about her sinus problems.

What would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I’d interrupt her conversation with, “What makes you think everyone in this room wants to hear about what’s wrong with your nose? This is a library. Shut up or get out.“

If she made even a peep of protest, I’d grab her phone, march into ladies room and lob it into the toilet.

Instead I tap her on the shoulder and gently ask her to take the call in the vestibule where it won’t disturb others.
A patron with a dozen overdue DVDs sneaks them into the library, puts them on the shelf, then pretends to “find” them there. “I returned them weeks ago,” he claims. “You didn’t check them in properly. Now, waive those fines!”

What would Steven Slater do?

If I were Slater, I’d say, “That’s a lie and we both know it. Shame on you for trying to cheat the library. Pay up and get the hell out of here before I smack you upside the head with this copy of “Morality for Dummies.“

Instead, I curse quietly to myself and waive his fines.

One of these days, a flight attendant will return a stack of overdue books. Handing me the $25.00 fine, he’ll explain: “I’m sorry I couldn’t get these back on time. I was in jail because I slid down the exit slide to freedom after the customers finally drove me nuts.”

I’ll push a secret button. A hidden trap door with spring open. We’ll jump in, hurtle down a slide and land gently at the neighborhood pub, where we’ll use the $25.00 to buy a pitcher of beer. As we toast to our escape, I’ll look up and notice all three of the library miscreants I just told you about, on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.

A librarian can dream, can’t she?


Share this Post: