During my last hour at the public service desk, a middle-aged guy with a strong Russian accent comes up to me at the desk to haltingly ask if I can help him find a book about “signs … you know … horoscopes.”  I say yes, and walk him over to the 133’s where I happen to know we have some horoscope books since that’s all I could find in that section this morning when I was helping another patron look for books on witchcraft.

I get him to the section and show him the books we have, and he expresses some confusion over whether the books are about ALL zodiac signs or if there are books about individual signs, too.  I point out some of the books we have on specific signs, and then he pulls one off of the shelf.  He says, “Leo … this is me!”  I nod, because I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to respond to that.  Then he follows that statement up with, “You know … if you tell me your sign, then I could look YOU up, too!”

I laugh.

Then he laughs.

Then I walk back to the desk.

Which leads to how I share this story with my colleagues:


Me: “Hey, you just missed the highlight of my day.  A patron just asked me what my sign was!  What, is it suddenly 1973 in here?”

The follow-up to the short version was a mixture of laughter, head-shaking, and confusion (okay, that was from one of my younger colleagues who wasn’t alive in the 1970’s and probably had to rewind his brain to try to remember a movie where a character had once used the classic “What’s your sign?” pick-up line).