read, write, repeat.

Last night I broke my own library rules. Yes, yes, I did. Well, they’re not “rules”, per se. Guidelines, if you will. 

Remember how I revealed that I’m a little OCD when it comes to the library? What with the relentless lists and checking up on reviews of the book in question?

Well, I threw caution to the wind last night, and went on a totally crazy book spree. I took out books I’ve never heard of by authors whose names I don’t know. I mean, I took out a Chris Bohjalian and a Joyce Carol Oates, but that was it. The rest is a complete mystery to me; I can’t even give you a list.

It was an oddly liberating feeling. I didn’t even use the catalogue. Instead, I just walked along the aisles, grabbing at interesting looking titles. I perused the “new arrivals” sections. I browsed the “staff picks”. I felt free! and a little terrified.

In other news, I discovered that my library has baskets like the shopping kind you can get at supermarkets. Obviously, I made great use of the basket. The real question (I mis-typed that as the “read” question, no joke), of course, is why libraries don’t have contraptions akin to grocery carts, but, then again, I suppose life can’t be perfect. 

My library has self-checkout! How cool is that? Usually I find self-checkout machines enraging. Take the grocery store, for instance. Typically, I would approach with caution, anxiously waving my broccoli or pear under the scanner, whispering desperate prayers to whatever deity wanted to listen to them. Please let it beep, please let it beep, please let it beep. Somehow, it would register my food as double the amount of produce, or as an item completely different from what it is. Then, of course, the giant letters would flash across the screen: PLEASE CALL CASHIER FOR ASSISTANCE. Every time, folks. I don’t know why it happens, but every time I have used one of those foul self-checkout machines, it proclaims me incapable of using them and demands that I call a trained professional over to deal with the situation. Naturally, the trained professional is usually a bored 16-year-old who cracks her gum in my ear as she handles said situation. Such is life.

However, the self-checkout in the library has clearly been designed for idiots, which is excellent. (I’ve actually been given a number of pieces of technology where the giver exclaims, “Don’t worry, it’s idiot-proof!”. Um. Clearly my intelligence is well thought of out there in the world.) You just pile all of the books on a table, the machine magically knows which ones they are, you swipe your card, and proceed on your merry way. I think I’m in love.

Also, since I am going on a brief vacation shortly, I allowed myself a trashy read. It’s excellent, more on that later. Of course, the only problem is that I’ll likely be finished it before I even pack for my vacation. Typical. 

How’s everyone’s Tuesday going?