But the computer says ...

While geezers in particular, and those who came of age before the Age of Computers in general, tend to be skeptical of the younger generation’s absolute trust in every byte and bit spewed from their mighty Macs and Windows wonders, I lean toward adapting at least the more useful pieces of the technology, although without the pure reverence of the gullible generation of pre-geezers.

The following account is true in every detail, and the incident, which occurred a decade ago, fixed in my mind that one must be wary of those who worship in the church of the computer.

After waiting in the checkout line at my local public library for quite some time as an obviously novice librarian ploddingly worked to send patrons home with their books, my turn finally came and I place my selections on the counter, where a young lady of perhaps 16 or 17 years of age began the computerized checkout process with my library card. But something on the screen terribly and visibly upset the young lady. Turning to me with a sad but strangely triumphant look on her face, the girl spoke.

“You have four books way, way overdue—and you own a really big fine! You can’t check any more books until you’ve returned them and paid the fine.” She spoke these words with what I considered an inappropriate degree of disgust. But she was done with me and called out, “I can help the next in line.”

But I was not done with her. “Young lady, I returned those books last week and paid the fine.”
Looking past me, she repeated, a bit louder this time, “I can help the next in line.”

I must explain that the fine I paid was close to $20—and one does not forget a $20 library fine. Firmly yet gently, I told this well-meaning guardian of the stacks that I had definitely returned the books and paid the fine.

“Sir, the computer shows that you definitely did not bring them back,” she said. “Furthermore, the computer indicates that there is still an unpaid fine on those unreturned books.”

I suggested a shelf check, a simple procedure that involves nothing more complex than walking to the spot in the library where the books would be, if properly returned according to their Dewey decimal classification. But this fledgling librarian was so trusting of the information displayed by the computer that she rejected my request instantly.

Indeed, one would have thought I’d asked her to play in traffic blindfolded, so great was her indignation. “That will not be necessary,” she spat at me. “The computer clearly shows that those books were checked out in your name and have never been returned!”

Taking the matter into my own hands, I marched off to the stacks, found the four books precisely where I knew they would be and returned to the checkout desk with the “missing” books.

Setting them down ceremoniously, I said, “Young lady, here are the books you say I did not return.” I stepped back and waited for her apology, and was quite ready to offer my forgiveness.

But I was stunned when she stated with absolute confidence that these books could not be there.
“Sir,” she stated slowly, assuming that I must be quite dim, “the computer says that you have not returned certain titles and may not check out books until the overdue books have been returned and the fine has been paid.” She dismissed me with a satisfied toss of her head and turned to serve the next person in line.

Now I’m not by nature a mean man, but this was too much. “Young lady,” I said slowly, assuming that she must be quite dim, “sitting before you are four books that you say I have not returned. If I had not returned them, how was I able to bring them to you so quickly. Are you going to believe that computer—or your own two eyes?”

She looked at the books, then at the computer screen, then back to the neat stack of books that proved her beloved computer was wrong. With a look of disbelief and the beginning of panic, she began to sob, then started to shake all over and finally, she burst into tears.

It was hard to hear her, so racked with sobs was she, but four words were discernable: “… but the computer says …”

Almost instantly, she was surrounded by her fellow librarians embracing her and glaring at me with looks reserved for murderers and pet abusers. I wanted to explain what had just happened but realized that to open my mouth again would likely result in my being pummeled by a herd of protective librarians and a mob of indignant library patrons.

Suddenly and miraculously, the librarian to whom I had paid my fine returned from a coffee break, and when she’d been told of the cause of the uproar, settled the issue instantly. I wish I could report she saved me in a dramatic manner:

Leaping atop the checkout desk, holding aloft a laminated copy of The Dewey Decimal System, shouting to the infuriated mob, “Away with you all! This man is innocent, and we do not hang the innocent—not in my library!”

The reality was decidedly calmer than my imagination. “He paid his fine last week. I must have forgotten to clear his record. Sorry.”

And so I survived, but I did not check out any books that day. In fact, I didn’t return to the library for several years; I took to heart the words of English writer John Ruskin, who said, “A book worth reading is worth buying.”

Since that unpleasant encounter in the library, my own gathering of books has exceeded 2,000 widely varied volumes. I have books on American history beginning with the experiences of Native Americans, world history, baseball (my deepest passion), literature from Adams to Wolfe, volumes on art and music, and a wealth of biography.

I do not own a single book about computers.