We're closed. No, really. WE ARE CLOSED.

I worry about people.  Seriously.  Since mid-December, our library has had signs up, stating that we would be closed this week for the installation of new carpet.  These signs were posted on the front door, the rear door and at the circulation desk.  In addition, our tech-savvy director posted the notice repeatedly on our Twitter feed and FaceBook pages.  Notices were also on the local radio station, the community calendar on the local tv station and in the paper as a great column written by the director, as well.  Oh, one great librarian even made little bookmarks with a calendar printed on them, all dates we'd be closed marked clearly.  We passed them out to our patrons as they checked out books, asked questions, etc.  All bases covered, right?

Wrong.

Even though we're closed, most of us will be working all week.  Many of us reported to work today to move books, move furniture, weed books, etc.  Not long after we would have opened, the people started showing up (even with the ginormous dumpster in the parking lot).  The back door doesn't always latch, so some patrons even made it inside, but turned away rather amicably when we explained (again) that we were closed.  We then figured that the problem would rectify itself when patrons would be forced to read the signs!  AHA!

Nope.

The back door had to be unlocked since carpet and carpet pad scraps were being hauled to the dumpster.  Oh no!  Even with furniture scattered, books piled high on book carts near the door, completely empty shelves AND carpet being ripped up around the circulation desk, patrons now proceeded to walk all the way to the front desk and look around.  Several apologized and walked away once they were informed that we were closed.  Some even said "oh yeah, I remember hearing/seeing/reading that."  Yet, none of them stopped of their own volition.  They had to be told by a librarian that we were, in fact, closed and not just going for the shabby chic look.

Then, there was the older gentleman who walked past all of the tornadic activity to where the copier usually stays.  (I should point out that it's location is the beginning point of where carpet was being torn up.)  He looked at the empty spot.  He then looked around at the workers ripping up carpet.

Patron:  Where's the copier?
Co-worker: I'm sorry sir, we're closed. 
Patron: So, I can't make any copies?
Co-worker:  Sorry, sir, we're closed this week.  (points to nearly naked floor) We're getting new carpet.
Patron:  Why can't I use the copier?

I wish I'd been there.  I got the replay from our teen librarian who thought it was me telling the dude to leave.  Alas, no.  After that, I found the gigantic pad of paper, wrote "CLOSED - Will Re-open Next Week" in very large letters and placed it on the back door (next to the other sign already stating that we were closed).  A while later, I was near the back door and saw a mother and daughter standing at the back door, looking at the sign.  I opened the door:

Me:  Sorry, ma'am we're closed this week.  New carpet.
Mother: Oh, I think I remember hearing that on the radio. (continues to stare at sign)
Me:  Do you need to return those books?
Mother:  Oh yes.  I thought the book drop was back here.
Me:  No ma'am.  The book drop is at the front door.  (takes books from mother and daughter)  It's always been there. 

After that, I took the sign down and added "Please return books next week."  Did I mention that we made sure that no books would be due while we're closed?  The rest of this week should be interesting.