Objet du jour

Okay, here's the second in my occasional series, "Objects On My Desk."

Hanging from a shelf above my desk is a tiny angel or doll made entirely of cornsilk, or something like it. A little over an inch tall, her body is a tassel, her head separated from her body by a collar or choker of silk. Her "wings" are like the voluminous sleeves of a choir robe, banded at the shoulder. Her hair encircles her head like a halo of tiny curls, a loop of string above with which to suspend her. (I found a similar design online, should one wish to attempt to create her own!)

She's a sweet little angel, but sweeter still is how she came to be hanging over my desk. Once upon a time, when I was a circulation clerk at a public library , a patron called shortly before closing, anxiously searching for a particular book. (I've forgotten the title, but I don't think it was anything dramatic like How to Leave An Abusive Partner or Now That You Have Cancer. ) I asked a library page (those underpaid folks who do everything from shelving books to processing returns to finding things on the shelves) to retrieve the book, and told the woman I'd hold it for her at the front desk.

She arrived just as the front doors were locked. (Well, knowing that particular custodian, the doors were probably locked five minutes before closing.) The Ongoing Debate erupted anew: do we let people in? Or is that setting a Bad Precedent? As unionized, hourly employees, is it right to expect library clerks to stay past closing to assist a patron? As those who know me might expect, I tended to fall on the "anything for the customer" side of this argument. So I told my colleague to go ahead and leave, that I would take care of this patron.

She was frantic, and since she wore her coat over her pajamas, I don't think she had planned on going out again for the evening. She had overheard part of the argument, and was grateful that I was willing to assist her. And I'll admit that I did so grudgingly: we often dealt with repeat offenders who expected far more of us than was reasonable. Like the woman who lived in her own little world--clearly an intelligent and well off woman, yet forever running up huge fines and missing books in her own spacy way. Or the freelance writer, who argued over every little fine or discrepancy in her account. Or the men who leaned over the counter and looked down our blouses. Or the developmentally disabled woman who spit on me for refusing to check out to her when she had several long-overdue items, then came around the counter and tried to kick me.

So, I checked out the item to the last-minute patron, and sent her on her way. And went home for the night. My colleagues continued to be annoyed with me for actions like this, just as I felt they were too rule-bound. No doubt the middle ground would have been good, if only we'd managed to agree on it. Following the incident with the spitter, I became less and less effective at my job. The page staff I supervised found me abrupt and hard to be around, which, when I realized what I was doing, was more distressing than any other problems with my work. My own supervisor wasn't the best at dealing with this sort of circumstance, so didn't guide me through this very effectively. I knew it was time for me to move on, to find a career in which I could continue to advance, intellectually and financially.

Here's the thing: I can't remember when the incident with the anxious woman occurred. I'd like to think it happened the same autumn as the spitting incident. That would make the narrative very effective, wouldn't it? But I don't really know--it could have happened a year earlier.

But a few days before Christmas, a few months after the anxious woman found her book, she came to visit me. My desk was in an area tucked away from the front desk, where the books were checked in and sorted. Someone called me up to the front desk, and the woman said she wanted to thank me. Seeing my blank expression, she reminded me who she was, and gave me the tiny tassel angel. She said that that night, I had been her angel.

Like most of us, faced with this kind of compliment, my first instinct was to deny it. But it was hers to offer. And having the angel above my desk makes me think of those small gestures we offer each other each day. Waving someone into traffic in front of you. Kindly declining the telephone offer before hanging up. Giving a colleague a hug. Smiling at the mom in the grocery store with the fussy toddler.

This is all very schmaltzy, for me. I don't believe in angels. I hate affirmations. But I wonder if small kindnesses can add up.

And even if I sucked at my job those last several months, I was someone's angel, just once.