Rainy Day Healing

 

Making My Peace … with rejection – from a city!

 

Rejection can be hard, difficult, and painful, with a long-lasting legacy. I still have nightmares about one such painful rejection. An unusual and unexpected rejection. A bolt out of the blue. I was stunned into silence – and, yes, tears. And I think about to this very day – 25 years later.

I think about it now because it is the anniversary of that rejection.

 

I had moved across state lines – in Australia – to the nation’s capital. Being an avid reader and a proponent of free government services, I went to the local municipal library to apply for a library card.

Easy peasy: fill in a form, show ID, have a photo taken, wait ten minutes, and voila, the way is paved for free access to books, music, magazines, career information, cultural events, meeting spaces, and a whole host of things, right in the centre of the city, close to the cafés and restaurants.

But on that day, things didn’t work out as planned.

The librarian flatly rejected me. She said I hadn’t proved that I was living in the city. My driver’s card and Australian passport just didn’t cut it, she said. She didn’t even say sorry.

I mentioned politely to her that I was 40-ish years old, of good character, and over the past two days I had gained employment; secured an apartment, updated all utility companies to pay for electricity, landline telephone, water and so forth; updated my bank accounts; purchased a mobile phone; opened a postal box to receive letters; joined the local                 gym; registered for three sporting competitions; and purchased an internet plan – all with not a single problem, issue, or glitch.

“I just want to be able to borrow a book,” I said to the librarian. She shook her head.

I had been rejected. To me, it was a monumental rejection, not from a person, but from a city – the capital city of my homeland. The city of Canberra had rejected me. It was a blow to my sense of civility, to my very sense of nationality (having been upgraded from migrant status to Australian citizen 26 years before this eventful day). This library day was pre 9/11, pre-strict-security, and pre-travel that took me all over the world. A simple luxury had been denied. A library card had been denied. I was devastated.

The stress of moving interstate had come to a head. I cried. Not a lot, but visibly.

“Show me proof of your residence,” she said, not very politely.

I rummaged through my bag for evidence of all the residential updates, but I could only find passport numbers, account numbers, telephone numbers, internet numbers, membership numbers, identity numbers, and postal box numbers – no street number and actual address.

“What do you do for the homeless? Are they denied a library book?” I asked.

She ignored my question. “Come back with proof of your residence,” she repeated.

I composed myself and returned a few days later. A different librarian was at the service desk. She scrutinized my documentation. “I’ll need to check with the head librarian,” she said before clarifying. “We take rejections seriously. As you’ve been rejected once before, we need to check your credentials thoroughly, in case you abscond with our library books. Without proof of address, retrieving our books becomes very difficult, and that places such a burden on us and our readers who may be waiting for the very book that you have. I’m sure you understand.”

My only response was: “Abscond?”

While she checked with the head librarian, I browsed the reference section and returned to the service desk with a dictionary.

On her return, I quietly read from the almighty dictionary: “Abscond. To leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to escape from custody to avoid arrest.” I closed the book.

She motioned me, as if taking a perp walk, to the camera to get my mug shot.

I opened the dictionary and read: “Perp walk. An instance of a person in police custody being led into a police station or court house in such a way as to enable the media to photograph and publicise the event.”

The librarian merely rolled her eyes as she gave me the precious library card, obtained after navigating more hoops and hurdles than any other government procedure in (my) Australian history.

 

Making my peace with rejection – from a city – I learned the following:

• Government bureaucracy and librarians prefer rules and hierarchies
• Bureaucracy has the reputation of being a “necessary evil” and so do some librarians – but this might be a myth
• Bureaucratic decisions are based upon rules and not personal relationships
• Bureaucracy may lead to delays – expect for it to take more time than planned, and avoid taking the process for granted
• Librarians value books more than (almost) anything else in the world
• Librarians defend the rights of library card holders to access books
• Books hold the ultimate power
• Trust is easily broken and rebuilding it takes humility, tact, and gratitude
• Bureaucracy is not personal; this was not a personal criticism
• Rejection was temporary, not permanent
• Tears and dictionary definitions are ineffective ways for citizens to manage bureaucracy
• Disengage from the situation and accept that all will work out in the end
• Learn from Plato who said: “Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

 

 

Martina Nicolls: Rainy Day Healing – MAKING MY PEACE