Spotting Exceptional Customer Service

by Martha Athey

at the Danville Public Library

During the past few months, we have missed the opportunity to visit inside libraries, to check out the displays that point to newly published material or that feature publications relevant to current events in our city, country or in other parts of the world. Also missed are the talks with the staff and assistance from them, including a technology specialist who circulates and provides computer help when needed. Sitting in a quiet place and reading has also been lost.

During this difficult time, we appreciated Danville Public Library’s informative and well-designed website that enabled us to search for, select, and request holds on materials that we wanted to borrow, and then, on scheduled days at specific times pick up and return items easily and safely without leaving our vehicles.

In times like these, when we are all inconvenienced, let’s hope that we stop and appreciate the efforts of the DPL staff who worked hard to help create some degree of normalcy. For these reasons, I nominate the Danville Public Library staff at 511 Patton Street for the Spotting Exceptional Customer Service Award.

Please let us know your experience with exceptional customer service. Email your story to joycewilburn@gmail.com.

Shelter

fiction by Telisha Moore Leigg

Sometimes when it is evening and the homeless have all gone into the night, Old Man sits while I sweep before I lock up the center. He sometimes tells me the stories of his gods--ones he studied decades ago at university and how he spent his lifetime following them down dark-soul streets of shadows for fame and glory. Old Man says humans try to hide from the gods’ wrath when they should run to it. We are all rebel dogs trying to find a warm hearth, a tender commanding hand. We all need shelter, Kwon, Dr. Corinth-Old Man tells me, and a hurting learning is the way the gods give us a home.

On his sad days, Old Man tells me of the lesser gods, like he once told his own child, my Mama Mandy Blue--the daughter he left when she was a child at fifteen turning like a moon into a woman. He left her like a dog to pursue the gods’ gifts of fame for himself. But he only licked the

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crumbs of that freedom; he didn’t get much from it. She did not find shelter right enough, soon enough to save her. She did not do well. I know Old Man swallows grief like jagged little stones when he thinks of her and what he did. Old Man tells me these memories are his soft and broken gods, tales they don’t teach in the schools. He says life without responsibility is just slices of mourning. I try to comfort him on these sad days, but he will not take it. He balls his fists. I try not to be angry at Old Man. I try to give him the respect for his years and for his loss, but he sees my disdain. He pats my hand with wired and gaunt fingers. “If you can’t believe me,” Old Man says, “at least obey the gods.” He laughs a bitter sound. “Nothing stops the suffering, but at least you may find some peace.”

Some part of me wants to avenge that little girl he left--my Mama Mandy Blue, so I tell him I don’t believe in his gods. I ask him if he means we should have happiness instead of peace. Don’t most want happiness over peace? Old Man waves a watery smile, his regret an angry lover. All he explains to me is he drowned in his own reflection. I know the story of Narcissus. Old Man says he wished he knew the god of war and the goddess of love, and he wished that their children would always favor love and that’s where he lost me, somewhere in his tangled myths. Old Man babbles on and I try to listen. Outside it gets darker.

By midnight, Old Man still makes no move to leave. He wants to rest here at the center for the night, and it’s against the rules. And this evening Old Man tilts his head back into the darkness, his jacket wrapping around slumping shoulders; he smooths his hands down his baggy slacks. “Kwon, they do not care that you really can’t follow where they go.” “Who are you talking about, Dr. Corinth?” He puts on a smile and looks at his loafers. This night Dr. Corinth speaks to me like I am another child he is leaving, “Because you cannot find the gods, only follow them. And the myths you read are the chewed bones of those who said they did.”

“For what it is worth, I loved her mother so much. It all fell apart, and I stepped away.” Dr. Corinth puts on his jacket, doesn’t look back. He does not ask me to let him stay the night. And tonight, I do not offer to keep him.