Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Propagating Illiteracy with the Public Fund

So today I make my pilgrimage to the Big-City Public Metropolitan Library. Always an exhilarating event, as it is the only multi-floor public library in a seventy mile radius. Always exhilarating, that is, until I get up the check-out desk.

You see, no matter what I ever do, every time I am there they are managing to lose my card data. Somehow, I am always erased from the computers. Generally, I end up bribing someone to re-enter me.

So, today it goes just as always. No such account, yada yada yada. “Don’t worry, sir, just slide me a Jackson and everything will be fine.” What can I do? Only this time, I spend a whole lot of time in run-around even after they take my money, and I’m told I can’t take my books away for another two weeks.

Now, it is quite a drive indeed for me to get to the Big-City Public Metropolitan Library, and in addition to having to make this drive several more times, it is insinuated that I must make some sort of a personal visit to my state representative to have my card activated.

So, we get into a little strong-arm stuff, and finally I am being told that I can take two books away with me today, and come back for the rest in a month. See, thing is, I do not wanna go away with two books when I have come here to pick up such magnificent gems as I have pining away over for so long a time to read.

But, in the end, having paid out twenty in bribe and a fortune more in parking meter change (their real objective all the time), I walk out with everything, excepting the disk of “Foyle’s War Series 2.”
(I have already seen “Foyle’s War” Series 1 and 3, but have not seen all of 2.)
Why, a fellow asks, do I leave without my “Foyle’s War Series 2”? Seems, somehow, it gets erased from the computer some time back.

[Incidentally, one of the several books I make off with in the above-mentioned endeavor is a collection of short stories by one Damon Runyon. Any discernible similarities between his dialectical pursuits and the style of this post, ain’t purely coincidental, bub.]

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