Norman F. Feldheym Central Library, San Bernardino, California

I have started and restarted this entry and I'm just about to give up. It is perhaps unfair of me to blog it at all, but the point of these visits includes assessing my ability to actually use these libraries. The fact that I could not bear to stay should say volumes without me piling on, but I'm going to, anyway.

I chose the Norman F. Feldheym Central Library in San Bernardino, California based on the Google reviews and the photos featured alongside the main entry. As I've mentioned here before, I dig architecture of doom, and this building certainly seemed to qualify. Pulling up to the library parking lot, what I saw did not disappoint.

I am not sure what you would call the exterior style: Bauhaus? Postmodern Gothic? Scary Blocks of Unbridled Rage? I dug it from first sight and wanted to get a closer view. I hoped the interior was just as gloomy and austere.

The entire site was surrounded by beautiful foliage, so I circled around to the front of the building to get as many good shots as I could. I love the idea of this hunched monster, belly to the ground, peering at the citizenry through the leaves and underbrush. It was a giant, toothy cerebus pup left at the side of the road, hungry and growing bolder.

As I was taking pictures, I was peripherally aware of a woman raising her voice near me. She had a dog tied to her cart which had been barking since I'd arrived. She let it loose and it ran off to play in the grass, much to her consternation. I thought she was yelling at the dog, and even when I heard her say "Woman tries to tell me, I know what I am doing with my dog, don't you try to tell me, you're about to learn something today . . ." I thought she was talking to herself. Turns out, she wasn't.

Maybe everyone does this, but speaking soley for myself, I have been known to play out scenarios in my head to prepare myself for what I imagine is the worst possible way things might go. It happens when I am in conflict with anyone (I've imagined our fight) and when I am facing something stressful, like chairing a meeting (I've imagined hurling all over the desk in front of the entire company). I thought the woman was doing something akin to that, just out loud for all to hear. Alas, no. She decided that I was judging her (something I fear from others, as well, so I get it) especially in terms of her dog, and was lecturing me on what a good dog owner she was.

I went inside the building to get away from her (the dog, by the way, was matted but looked happy and fed otherwise. I've see an insane man beat a dog on the N train and no one did anything about it. The fuck do I care about San Bernardino dog? Exactly zero). I know she was projecting her own fears on me (and I wouldn't be surprized if someone had harassed her about the dog so she just yells at anyone who comes near them) but it set the tenor for the rest of the "visit."

Norman F. Feldeym looks like a nice man. There is a bust of him in the dark main hallway. There is also a skylight of sorts that somehow permits very little light into the building itself, as you can see.

The library part of the building was very small. When I walked in, I could see they were doing some sort of renovation, with plastic taped up to cover almost the entire wall behind circulation. Every computer station, work station, work table, and chair was occupied. No one appeared to be there for any other reason than to have a place to be for the day. Very few people had books or papers, and there were a lot of eyes on me as I made my rounds through the building, quickly realizing I was going to have to leave. Immediately.

They weren't staring at me because I was such a biscuit . . . I was an interloper and definitely did not belong. Every gaze I met with library staff reflected back flat and unsmiling. And the interior itself? I only managed to take two quick snaps as I exited and even they cast too kind a light on the place. As I mentioned on Facebook, the very first thing I thought when exiting the parking lot was "Miami Vice Autopsy Theater." And that was the era this place last saw an update, as far as I could tell.

All of this could be forgiven if the staff appeared to care, but they seemed like a group of people disconnected from the present and just waiting until it was time to lock up and head home. I do not pretend to know their actual thoughts, but there are probably sunnier, better outfitted, and more wholly supported prison libraries. The faces of the staff matched the overall mood of the place, turning it from dreary and uncomfortable to downright inhospitable.

It wasn't a library. It has books and periodicals and people can check them out, but that's about it. They should just deliver books to patrons or have a drive through window. The only thing to be gained from going in the building is to fall deeper into depression, drop the pretenses, and start hitting the needle.

Harsh? Don't care. This was the nice version. This is as good as it gets.