Cite Detective

Ruth's Remarkable Parodies

Cooleagues,

As you know, this little feature has been running quite some time as an excuse to pry a little spare change out of your pockets for our Department Scholarship Fund, and on certain rare occasions, guest artists have made an appearance. Well, today we have a chance to suck someone new and perhaps surprising into our fold
(or wrinkle), and I trust you will be properly appreciative.

To enter into the spirit of today's offering, just ease those little flat bottles out of wherever you tuck them, make enough room on your battered desks to put up your feet, squint your eyes ever so slightly against the acrid smoke of your cheap cigarettes, and lean back in your chairs. Stare out of your grimy windows and picture a city with all the personality of a paper cup (as someone else once wrote!); a city where towering palms scatter a little inadequate shade on dusty, cracked asphalt; a city where somebody is as likely to get slugged with a blackjack as sucker-punched with a run-on; in short, a city where everyone wears a trench coat all of the time…

Of course, every great artist must have his muse; I confess I was the inspiration here, but don't hold that against GCC library's own Russ Sears (aka Tome Hardback) or Dawn. Those greenbacks are still part of the deal. Cash or nothing; you know how the game is played.

And so, with a snap of the fedora brim, I suggest you check out

Cite Detective
By Russ Sears

       I was working late on the usual files and reports when I thought I heard a noise in the outer office.
       At first, I thought the footsteps I heard were Amber's. I waited, expecting to see her in my doorway, head down, asking to return her secretary job again, and explaining, tearfully, that her lifelong ambition to be a professional pole dancer didn’t work out, and promising to work really hard and, like, accurately, and all that, you know. Just like the other times – mud wrestling, roller derby, demolition driver, needed lip gloss - when she got bored with book work and left me with case files, reports, appointment calendars, etc. to manage.
      I didn't expect anyone at this hour. Everyone was on the freeway, heading home to watch the Mighty Muskrats. Just like I wanted to do.
     The sound of heels on tile echoed off the tiled floor. A dame. Well, one couldn't be sure these days. I missed the old days.
     "Amber?" I called out, but before I could push back from my desk, she was there just outside the door, leaning in – tentative, apprehensive, and probably confused.

     "Are you…are you…Mr. Hardback…the cite detective?" she asked. She was trying to live up to her looks in her classic business suit, heels, accessories, and perfect make-up. The works. But her hesitation, and a slight tremble in her in lower lip betrayed her. I knew the look. I had seen it before.
     "Call me Tome." I said.
     "Tom?"
      "No, Tome…short for Tomey. Long 'O.' " I'd grown used to it, but some days, I wearied of my parent's sense of humor. "Please, sit down. How can I help you?" That was about the gamut of my social niceties.
      I CTRL-S’d, minimized, and listened to her story.
      She explained that she had some articles from respected publications, but couldn't remember where she got them. Bibliographic oversight. In spades. I looked at the copies she had, and asked the usual questions.
     Thirty-five years in the cite racket and I've seen it all. Abused volumes, broken spines, overdue first editions that you know deep down in your gut will never return, texts scarred for life by highlighters and felt tips, mutilated microformats, sliced and diced reference works, forgotten folios on shelves in rooms that nobody talked about except in hushed voices, dead links, delinquent borrowers with excuses out of left field (or maybe right), crashed servers, and of course, citations gone bad…or worse. One could get pretty cynical, but sometimes you think maybe you can help someone make sense of it all. So, you take a long, slow swallow of coke – diet – and try.
    Tonight, I thought I could help. I felt lucky.

Credit to Russ Sears for writing this remarkable parody.

Ha! I have to tell you -- Russ DID find just what I was looking for.

What a star -- and thank you for the scholarship bucks this Friday!

Still trying to live up to my looks,
Ruthie!