Those Pesky Flash Drives

In the second decade of the twenty-first century, that essential first-decade-of-the-twenty-first-century technology, the flash drive, is still popular with students. Although we are moving to a cloud-based computing society, slowly transferring our files and documents to such always-accessible storage spaces such as Google Docs and Office OneDrive, the flash drive still reigns supreme. I don't know why- perhaps students are unaware that cloud storage exists, or they don't want to entrust their precious documents to the same company that runs their cell phones and knows where they are at any given time. Maybe they need to access their files at times when they don't have access to the internet.Whatever it is, we won't see the end of these useful but impossibly tiny devices for a while yet.

Part of the appeal of the flash drive is its size. You can store mountains of data on something small enough to fit in your pocket with room to spare for your keys and smart phone.  Size though, can also be the flash drive's downfall.They are so easy to forget and leave behind in the last  computer you used, separating you from your precious files and making them accessible to the next person who sits down. If I had a dime for every time a student came to me with a trembling voice and panicky face, saying "I lost my flash drive," I would not need to be a librarian.  Sometimes the tiny device is still in the computer, sometimes it has been found and turned in to the lost and found, but too often it has just vanished along with personal files and photos.

As an experienced flash drive user, I try to give tips to students to help them remember to take their flash drives.  One is to keep it connected to something without which they can't get very far: car keys, transit card, etc. If the student does not want to do that, I recommend attaching it to something obnoxiously colorful and noticeable. I kept my dissertation on a rubber ducky key ring- the ducky was big, goofy-looking, and impossible not to notice!  This method also comes in handy when the flash drive somehow gets left behind anyway. Most of the time students tell me their flash drives are black with a white slide, which describes about 80% of what's in our lost and found. It's hard to determine what is on them without plugging them into the desk computer (exposing it to viruses) and looking at the files. The student who tells me it's on a pink Hello Kitty key ring gets her flash drive back in a jiffy!

Finally, it's important to attach a little bit of your contact information physically on the flash drive. When we get one that has "if found, please call 555-5555" on it, we will call and let you know we've found it, and everyone will be happy!

Dr. Strangequiet, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Shush

I have always prided myself on not being a "typical" librarian, often conscientiously bucking the stereotypes. No buns in this hair, no glasses on chains, and I try to stay relatively up-to-date on fashion trends, with the exception of tattoos, piercings, and unnatural hair colors. I have always cultivated a relaxed library atmosphere where students feel comfortable expressing themselves and interacting with each other and the staff. 

In the three libraries for which I have worked prior to my current one, "busy" has been the word of the day, every day. In my first, a large research university, some of the upper floors were reserved as quiet study space while the main floor with its circulation and reference desks, offices, new books and government documents was a large and noisy beehive of activity, especially at the daily "Ten-O'Clock Break," a fifty-minute time when no classes were in session, loud bands played on the plaza outside our front doors, and students rushed in to return books and take care of their fines. The second, at a suburban community college, was a beehive on a smaller scale. Ours was the only continuously open computer lab on campus, and it became our primary reference area. We librarians flitted from student to student, answering questions and giving research advice wherever a hand was raised. The third was at a tiny rural community college nestled between the Ozarks and the Great Plains.  The library there was a one-person show and I was given a lot of autonomy over the environment. Students there used it as a communal space to meet and work in groups, and once again the lab was a beehive of activity, with the lone librarian flitting from student to student, often giving three or four different research consultations simultaneously. 

Then, I landed at my current college, a medium-sized community college in a large city. I did not expect this one to be any different. Was I ever surprised!  The staff all made sure to whisper in public areas and chastised anyone who did not follow suit- including me! At first I thought they were just being unreasonably librarian-ish. I soon came to realize, however, that the staff's obsession with the noise level was not theirs. It was driven by the students, as a few dirty looks told me when I accidentally spoke above a whisper. I discovered that our students value the silence since it is the only place that they in their hectic lives can get it. Two-year college students in urban areas are usually adults and quite driven in their pursuit of education, knowing as they do what life without an education is like. They have no patience for the juvenile antics of university students, and dive into their studies every minute they can. They insist on an environment conducive to study and contemplation and they demand silence. 

My motto as a librarian and academic is "Students First, Always." How can I deny my students what they need just because I don't want to be a stereotype? The answer is that I can't and still be a good librarian. So, against my nature, I have learned to whisper and tell the few unruly students to zip it. I do try to avoid the stereotypical "shush" and say things like "Whisper, please!' and "keep it down."  I no longer worry about coming across as a stereotype. To a certain extent, that's what my students want me to be, and I'm only too happy to oblige.