So, here it is: The professor went to a bookstore. Or library.
I went to search for a book.
And I ended up getting a different book.
That’s how it works. Libraries are traps: they suck you in, knowing full well they don’t have the book you’re looking for. Then, when desperation sets in ’cause you can’t find the book, you settle for a worse book.
Dadblame the system. Someone must rebel.
But anyways and a few.
This professor took the book to the counter.
“Okay,” I said to the attendant, “this is what I’ve chosen. Wow.”
And I placed it there straightforward like.
“Do you have a library card?” the assistant asked.
Now, the assistant had frizzy hair that stuck out in all directions, sorta like this:
Only it was red or orange or blonde (couldn’t tell) and she was a she.
“A library card…” I mumbled. “Do you suppose I need one, the sudden?”
She looked at me as if to say, Really?!
I was in earnest, in truth.
“Why don’t you look and see if you have it?” she suggested. She was clearly the impatient type.
So, this professor popped out his wallet from the back pocket. You know, that’s how we do it: We pop out, us men. We don’t slip it out or anything like that. It’s not a slow process. It just ‘pops’ out.
Then I began to go through the cards. Now, this professor doesn’t have many cards, mainly, ’cause many won’t fit.
“It’s easy to spot,” she sighed. “Completely green.”
“Oh…” I said, still looking.
“Only an idiot would have trouble finding it.”
Then, I broke out into a cold sweat. I didn’t have it, dadblameit.
This professor did have a paper green card, though. It was a pale green. From an amusement park, I think.
I handed that over. Maybe I’d fool her. As I handed it, I felt spicy and so clever.
She just looked at me. “Nope. I don’t see how someone could mistake our card for any other card!”
Now I was mad. Mad that I had been tricked into caring whether or not I got a book I didn’t really want. Mad that I didn’t have the card. Mad that she wouldn’t give me the book. And mad at the overall story of the library.
So, I was vicious.
“I know how they can mistake your card for another card!” I said. “The same way someone could mistake your hair color for being one exact color!”
And I stormed out.
Moral of the story: Libraries hate you.