She stood against the desk, leaning over, almost whispering. Her perfume and cleavage were drawing looks.

 

"The first book written and printed in English," she said timidly.

 

How could anybody know that? Not wanting to look stupid, I began to lecture my first questioner at my new reference job. As this protective tactic droned on, she said again that she needed to know the name of the first book written and printed in English. Looking desparetely through several references, i was relieved when she said had to go to class - she would be back she answered when I told her I would keep looking.

 

This was pre-web days; my resources in the small community college library were bare of information. I was feeling pretty useless by the time the next student rushed in. Hoping for more success, I asked the question again.

 

"The first book written and printed in English," he said. Knowing I had nothing to offer, I began my explanation about lack of information. "OK, thanks, bye!' and he was gone, seeming to take it in stride. Having a little leisure to look, I began searching again. 

 

The next day, I started reviewing what I done, vowing to at least find an acceptable answer. I was telling my boss about how frustrated I had been trying to help a couple of students, when another approached the desk out of breath, dropping books, scrabbling with his papers. As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew what the question would be. Opening my mouth to lecture again about lack of references, history of printing, "English" as a language, the definition of a "book", my boss laughed and said, "I guess Norm is using his same old extra-credit question on a new batch of lit students! He usually tells them they won't find an answer."

 

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