In the wake of a Wednesday night viewing of Party Girl (made interesting with a couple cocktails), the team here at archiwhat? got the brilliant idea of sending me, IamArchivist!, to the 13th annual Association of College and Research Libraries National Conference in search of ParkerPoseyesque librarians. Now, before you laugh, you must remember that we archivists are a dirty, stinky assemblage, made up of mostly men. We are accustomed to spending a good deal of our time in the dank and dirty basements of houses, universities, organizations, and historical societies, unearthing godonlyknowswhat from mildewey boxes, the contents of which have remained locked away for countless years. This, of course, is a stereotype. But it is not one without sound grounding. Need some proof? Okay, here goes it:
I have a fellow colleague, a good friend of mine – I’ll call him Joe to protect his identity – who, at an annual meeting for the Society of American Archivists, after the day’s sessions had come to a close and we had wet our mouths with a few drinks, confessed a story to me. Joe recalled a day, yeeeeeeeeeeeeeears ago, when he had made the most startling discovery of his professional career. He’d never told anyone before.
“I was hard at work,” Joe started. “Sleeves rolled up and arms understandably dirty, rummaging through the mountains of unprocessed materials.”
Backlog is what archivists like to call their unprocessed collections…I, on the other hand, refer to such junk as Medusa, because once someone looks at the piles, he or she becomes frozen in stone, unable to return to any previous activity.
“Oh, it was one of those nasty days,” continued Joe.
I, enraptured by my friend’s story, sat on the edge of my seat, giddy with anticipation (archivists love the whole “guess what I found at work” motif). But instead of continuing, Joe stopped and looked about (dramatic pause, no doubt). As he turned his attention back to me, the dark and smoky pub in which we sat grew even darker…and smokier, as if some unseen all-powerful being were setting the stage for what was to come.
“You remember how bad my Medusa room was back then, don’t you?” asked Joe.
“Yes of course. Completely dark, save for one uncovered bulb that swayed this way and that with the slightest breeze. The pungent moldy smell was so strong you had to hold your nose shut until becoming accustomed to it. It’s nothing new, Joe. We all have our Medusa rooms.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose we do…but it was nasty that day.”
“Right, you’ve said that.”
“It was. It was dark. The light bulb swayed back and forth so violently, I had to time my peeks into the boxes I was inspecting. There was a window on the far side of the room, but it was pitch black outside, due to some violent late-summer thunderstorms. All of this made for quite the eerie experience.”
“I imagine. Why didn’t you move on to something else.”
“Fuckin’ Medusa, man. You know how it is. Besides, the head archivist was breathing down my neck to put a dent in the pile.” Joe sighed, as if he were still stuck in that basement. “So, I decided it was getting ridiculous…that I’d open one more box and call it quits. If I’d only known what was going to be in that box…”
“Yeah? Well, let’s have it…what was in the box.” I leaned forward. I now needed to know.
“Well, I peeled back the tape holding it shut.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Opened one side…and the stench hit me…like a fuckin’ two-by-four. The moldy basement was downright potpourri compared to this fuckin’ box.”
“That bad, eh?”
Joe shook his head. “Yeah, mate. I’m having a hard time finding the words to impress upon you just how bad it was. I almost lost my lunch all over Medusa.” He took a moment to compose himself. He looked as if just remembering the experience was about to make him unleash the beer he’d just swallowed all over me and the table. “I almost walked away, but I’d already committed. So, I opened the other side…”
“Yeah…”
“I peered into the box, but the bulb had swung towards the other side of the room. I reached in instead and wrapped my fingers around something slimy…”
“What was it?”
“Well, I almost dropped it, but I had to know. As the light swayed back my way, I pulled it out of the box…and then I did vomit. All over the place.”
“Come on, Joe…what was it?”
“A fuckin’ head, mate. A fuckin’ head. Partially decayed, but still all nasty. I was staring into empty eye sockets and holding the partially decomposed ear and bloody toupee of Arty, our former Archivist.”
“No. You’re full of it.”
“No I’m not. He’d disappeared a couple years earlier. The cops had never found the body…until I uncovered it.”
“Holy shit, Joe. Talk about being consumed by backlog.”
True story. I swear. So, as you can see…our line of business doesn’t attract too many hot women. And after months upon months of tackling our Medusa, we archivists here at archiwhat? definitely need a break from our normal duties. So, in order to brighten our daily toil, I traveled to Baltimore with the hope of bringing back numerous pictures of ParkerPoseyesque librarians. Would this make uncovering dead bodies more enjoyable? No. But it would most certainly be a welcome respite, and who knows, if I were lucky and, of course, smooth enough (smooth is my middle name…IamArchivist! Smooth Luva, to be precise), I might even find the chance to build bridges with our information science comradesses, bridges that could be crossed frequently in the future.
So I went to Baltimore. I stopped in and visited the USS Constellation. I ate crab cakes. Had a soft shell crab sandwich…or two. And I searched for those ParkerPoseyesque librarians. And I searched. And searched. AND SEARCHED. I attended sessions. Went to after parties. I looked everywhere…but nada. Sadly, neither Parker Posey, nor anyone resembling herhotness were to be found.
Frumpy, middle-aged women is what flooded the Inner Harbor this past weekend. It was a brutal sight, especially considering what I had been hoping for. Love in the romance languages section? Not happening with this lot…I’d rather check out Bob, our systems analyst here at archiwhat?. It was bad, I tell you. Imagine the shock when you’re expecting this and you get this.
Wha…Wha…What!?!
Rude awakening.
