I don't like to pick on the easy targets who visit us; they have enough problems without being "tagged" like some LibraryThing paperback, but I find myself asking "How did you get here?" to myself everyday when faced with some of our patron situations.
It's a mantra, How did you get here?
It's a statement, How did you get here?
It's an answer, How did you get here?
It's what I think when someone exhibits so little skill at doing something that I wonder if they operated a motor vehicle to travel to the library. If they took the bus, fine; if they got a ride with someone else, fine. But if they got behind the wheel of a 3,000 pound hunk of metal and guided it along a roadway in close proximity to other vehicles and people, then that confuses and terrifies me. Because driving a car takes a lot more skill than this person is demonstrating right now. Hence, the question.
Now I just make the How did you get here? face which looks like I smelled something nasty and unidentifiable, but I'm trying to pretend I didn't while still trying to identify it. It's a complex look usually only mastered by politicians and only seen when they are asked about their military service or why children still don't have adequate health care.
