There’s a good deal of overlap between teachers and librarians. We both put people in touch with information, we both are chronically underappreciated, we both have a penchant for cardigans, and we both are in it for the money. While not every librarian teaches actual classes, I happen to be one of them. 

Tech Help

There are weeks when I hold three tech help sessions a week; one hour-long session, and two drop-in sessions where I spend up to 15 minutes with each patron. The former is a little easier on the ears. There’s only one voice to get used to and I have a full hour for my brain to adjust to its idiosyncrasies. I’ve got more than a few frequent flyers (patrons who regularly make use of this library service) so that helps too. For first-timers, I need to sift through all the usual hearing loss challenges. Things like the volume of their voice, how quickly they speak, and any accents they may have. There’s something that sets this interaction apart, though: apologies and self-deprecation. 

More often than not, these patrons are sorry they need my help and blame themselves for not understanding. I know this type of insecurity all-too-well, so I don’t begrudge them. But I wish this wouldn’t result in mumbling, lowering their voice, and even turning down their head because of downcast eyes. I can usually lean on the two A’s of tech exposure to boost their confidence; it’s a matter of access not age. I’ve helped people in their 20s and I’ve helped people in their 90s. Because you can’t know something unless you have access to it. It does take time to assuage that concern before they’re primed to learn what they came to learn. I can really only do this during the hour-long sessions. There’s not always enough time for the drop-in sessions.

With only 15 minutes guaranteed, sometimes I don’t have the time to fully acclimate to their voice let alone ease their worries about being “computer illiterate”, as they so often claim, before I need to wrap it up and call on the next person. Sometimes there’s no one waiting and I’m afforded the additional time to get my brain to adjust to the rogue’s gallery of vocal traits. Sometimes there’s a line five-deep and since it’s only an hour, if I don’t have at least one “this icon is how you use your phone as a phone” I’m going to go into overtime. And that means I have to adjust to voice-after-voice. These sessions leave me with active-listening brain freeze. 

But I love being a free resource to help a grandmother stay in touch with her grandkids or an unemployed dude learn a new skill to help him get a job. So it’s worth the brain freeze even if I didn’t get a Slurpee out of the deal. 

Technology Classes

These are the traditional standing-in-front-of-a-class type. All the hearing challenges seen in tech helps are seen here: volume and accents and speed, oh my! But there’s also an additional challenge: distance. Most of the time, I’m in a small room. The back row is but 5 feet from me. But occasionally, I’m in a larger room. And on those occasions, I go a-wandering down the rows.    

I teach two classes on some technology or another every month. This year the second one is always the same one: Hearing Aid Tips and Tricks. You’d think that saying “what” would just show I practice what I preach and not cause undue stress. I’m afraid that’s not the case. It’s still tough on the ol’ ego to ask someone to repeat, or rephrase, themselves. Whenever anyone asks a question, something I always encourage, I make a beeline for them. (And not just because my name begins with B. A-hem. Sorry.) I don’t stay planted at the head of the class. I move closer to the voice to give myself a better chance at hearing the question. I do this no matter the topic. Always.

Another thing I always do is teach introductory classes. I never get into the weeds on a technology. Keeping things at a high-level serves two purposes. First, it’s more in line with what the patrons are looking for. Second, it helps me use my context clue skills. There’s a limited range of topics that questions should cover. So, when I invariably mishear something, I have a limited range of topics that answers should cover. Sometimes they even match! That’s assuming I can get enough of what was being asked to get the context.

There’s always a chance that I simply cannot understand most of what is being asked of me. Most classes have more first-timers and their foreign voices than they do regulars. But, being a regular isn’t always a guarantee that I can understand them. Sadly, I have a few that I catch every third or seventh word. Sometimes, I can suss out enough to answer the question, sometimes I’m rescued by someone else in the class. It’s tough not to feel like a failure in those cases. 

All told, between traditional classes and tech help sessions, I hold as many as eleven programs a month. When I first started as a librarian over a decade ago, I would get so nervous about the challenges I knew I was going to face that I slept poorly the night before. While sleep comes easier, I still get pretty nervous before them. Every. Single. One. But when I do, I think to myself, “This is why they pay you the big bucks.” When I get through laughing at that fairy tale, I tell myself the truth: I got into this to help people. And that’s what I do. 

Here it comes again,
Active-listening brain freeze. 
Quick! To solitude!