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The building is huge and gorgeous, marble everywhere. They examined our bags as we entered.
The first floor seemed curiously devoid of that necessary ingredient -- books-- as we wandered. Up a flight. Vaulted ceilings. Pictures and displays of the past. No books. Up to the third floor. A guarded room for "Wifi." I saw a few books in another room, titled "Reference," but all of the books turned out to be behind a heavily guarded desk.
We asked for a map at a third floor information desk. Evidently only information desks on the first floor carry maps. Not very informative, for such a desk title… So, we went back downstairs, found a manned info desk an I asked, "Where are the books? We went to the first, second and third floor. There seem to be no books!"
"Well, yes." I just gaped at her. What?! I was just being annoying. "The books are downstairs. Seven floors below ground." Ah!
"So I can go downstairs and touch the books, pull them off the shelf, and read them?" There is this book that just came out I am looking for… Now a library probably won’t have it, but I will enjoy the looking.
"No." I went back to gaping at her. “The books below stairs are only for reference professionals to touch.” It was at this point that T bodily dragged my sputtering self away from the information desk.
So there is a building in New York called the “New York Public Library” that HAS NO BOOKS FOR ACTUAL PEOPLE. I consider this the ultimate bibliophile betrayal. I’m still bitter.
The first floor seemed curiously devoid of that necessary ingredient -- books-- as we wandered. Up a flight. Vaulted ceilings. Pictures and displays of the past. No books. Up to the third floor. A guarded room for "Wifi." I saw a few books in another room, titled "Reference," but all of the books turned out to be behind a heavily guarded desk.
We asked for a map at a third floor information desk. Evidently only information desks on the first floor carry maps. Not very informative, for such a desk title… So, we went back downstairs, found a manned info desk an I asked, "Where are the books? We went to the first, second and third floor. There seem to be no books!"
"Well, yes." I just gaped at her. What?! I was just being annoying. "The books are downstairs. Seven floors below ground." Ah!
"So I can go downstairs and touch the books, pull them off the shelf, and read them?" There is this book that just came out I am looking for… Now a library probably won’t have it, but I will enjoy the looking.
"No." I went back to gaping at her. “The books below stairs are only for reference professionals to touch.” It was at this point that T bodily dragged my sputtering self away from the information desk.
So there is a building in New York called the “New York Public Library” that HAS NO BOOKS FOR ACTUAL PEOPLE. I consider this the ultimate bibliophile betrayal. I’m still bitter.
