Students Under Glass (so named by my good friend Robin)

Closing the Library isn't a difficult job. Just make sure the machines are turned off, the lights are out, rooms are empty and the doors are locked. Sounds simple. I made a checklist. When training someone new, I walk through the process and demonstrate the first time, let them do it while I follow them around the second time, then let them solo while I am in the building for consultation. For the next few days I check when I come in the morning to make sure everything got done and the little details are all tended to, and tell them my cell phone is with me and on should they have any questions at all - don't hesitate to call.
Sometimes, though, these straightforward plans run aground. Like the first night I stepped through things with the new Evening Building Supervisor. We walked through the building a half hour before closing to see how many people were upstairs. After we had done everything else and were about to lock up, I mentioned that I hadn't seen enough people come down the stairs and that we should do a final walkaround upstairs just to make sure everyone had exited.
Good thing we did! Turns out there were three students stuck in a group study room. The door handle was broken, and although it turned OK, it didn't release the latch. As I stood there looking at them through the mostly glass door, I whipped out my cell phone, feeling masterly and in charge, and scrolled through the S's until I found security. I called and explained the situation, then went back to the desk to await their arrival. I waited and waited, and sent the other person home. After 20 minutes, I asked a staff person to wait at the desk, thinking maybe security had gone up the back stairs. Besides, I was concerned that the students not think they had been abandoned even though we had left the lights all on.
When I came to the room, there they were, still working on their laptops and chatting away. I had brought the only two screwdrivers at Circulation - tiny little ones. I slid one under the door, and one of the students worked from inside while I worked from outside. Another 15 minutes went by, and the other staff person arrived, worried that she had missed security. She suggested looking in Collection Services for better tools, which I retrieved. Now we had chisels and putty knives to ply. Still no security.
One of the students suggested throwing a chair through the glass, which I managed to talk her out of. They called a friend and sang Happy Birthday while explaining their plight. Nothing we did seemed to work. I was just about to call security again when the door magically popped open on its own, releasing the captives. After much exclamation and debriefing, the students left while I called security to tell them not to bother coming anymore.
Often, security takes calls in the order of priority, so I had assumed they had some emergency situation that trumped ours. But when I called, the person answering sounded surprised that I was still there. He stated that he had come to the library, found no one at the Circ Desk, asked around (to whom, I wondered, since the Library was locked and the only people inside were stuck in the room), then assumed everything was fine and left. I gently suggested he should have come to the room since I had given him the number. He said he had looked for the room but couldn't find it. I was floored. There aren't that many rooms IN here. How could he have not found the one room with people clustered about picking a non-locking door?
I couldn't let it go. Security has never been that lax, never would have laughed about what they were calling a miscommunication. Didn't they care about our students? What if someone had been in pain, or worse yet, had to go to the bathroom? Something had to be done. I worked through the emotions until I identified the purpose of pursuing - that such an incident not be repeated. I sent a carefully worded and non-accusatory email to our Library Operations Manager suggesting that perhaps Security could identify some reasonable length of time to recall, some common place to meet, put in place a protocol whereby they would at least seek me out or recall my phone to make sure everything was taken care of before writing us off.
So Monday morning, the head of Security came to my desk and asked if I would please look at the call log on my phone. They had no record of me calling them at all. What? But I spoke with one of the guards. Incredulous, I took out my cell phone and obediently scrolled to Sunday's date. There it was, the call to security at 12:45 am. Wait. What am I seeing? Not RWC Security. CUW Security. Concordia, my summer home, who's number I keep on speed dial because my swipe card constantly refuses to work and I get locked out of buildings. Similar letters - both have C and W. The numbers are right next to each other in the search list.
No wonder nothing made sense! I had called the wrong security. I cannot tell you how glad I was that I hadn't pitched a hissy fit for negligence! Well, there's a learning curve. Miscommunication indeed. What on earth must Concordia's security think? Some wingnut filing a false report? Fortunately, the good Lord, laughing from his vantage point, released the door and got those innocent students out despite my incompetence. In charge? Not likely. But at least we did get the door fixed - and checked all the rest of them while we were at it.