I don't think I ever mentioned the little round table.
We anticipate beginning a self-serve pick-up system for books placed on hold by patrons. To get ready, a table for handouts and the photocopier were moved from just inside the front door, to a desirable spot right next to the men's room. The handouts table became a desk for a new employee -- and it wouldn't have fit next to the copier in its new location, anyway.
For a couple of weeks, I ignored the need for a table next to the copier. When you're makin' copies, though, you do need a landing place for originals, the other book you need info from, your quarters, etc. When a patron came over and politely suggested that we get a table, I knew I had to take initiative. I hated to, but I took a little table from the break room.
Until New T opens, my branch remains the newest and (in most aspects) most well-thought out library in the system. We have a sizable break room -- the envy of many! -- with a 'fridge with water and ice in the door, a round dining table and four chairs, a sofa, a club chair, and next to the last, a spikey-legged round end table. On a slow lunch break -- or when a book group book is due -- I like to sit in the club chair with my cup of tea at my side. But, short of a Baker & Taylor box, "my" tea table was the only spare surface in the entire place, so I grabbed it by its top and carried it out onto the floor. It does the trick, and it fits our beech wood and metal Look out there.
One day, as I looked the place over before opening, I saw that the table looked odd: the top didn't seem to be centered on the legs. It wasn't. It wasn't even attached to the legs any longer! "Something snuck in and chewed holes in all of our sneakers!" I said to myself, recalling what a tent-full of Junior Girl Scouts once exclaimed to me. I was dubious, then, but I was ready to believe that some wacky patron could well have taken all the screws out of our little table.
This week, I finally thought to mention it to the county buildings and grounds -- er, "general services" -- man who checks in on us every week or so. As part of his assessment of the situation, he picked up the legs, and we heard a little metallic rattle. "Hunh," he said, "seems like they fell through." Eeek! Probably from carrying it out here by it's top, I didn't admit. "I ought to be able to fix it next time I come by."
Capital City weather: just don't even ask
In the garden: something keeps eating our "Sweet 100" cherry tomatoes