Monday, February 11, 2013

Caged at the Library

I went to the library to print off a paper I wrote, two short stories I was supposed to read for homework, and a giant picture of Yoda. As I sat at the computer, I kept looking left and right in a paranoid manner. I don't like going to the library because I don't like the fact that just anyone can walk by and see what I am printing. I already had to sacrifice the Valentine's Day card I wanted a copy of that said, "I love you so much you can poop at my house" because there is no privacy at the library. It's one, giant home invasion. I don't want everyone to know that I love someone to the point that they can poop at my house. That's personal information. I don't even want people to know that I have a house, or a toilet, or a toilet with poop in it from time to time. I don't want people looking at me and thinking of bowel movements. And I certainly don't want anyone to know I'm printing a giant Star Wars photo.

So I downloaded all that I needed and clicked "Print." I unsuspiciously walked to the printer, swiped my card, and clicked "Pay and Print." Then the printer lit up and made some kind of technological-burping noise and my papers started shooting out like projectile vomit after a keg stand. 

The printers happen to be located directly next to the rows and rows of computers filled with students typing away. I had to make this fast before any of them glanced over.

But then the printer stopped. I peered over and saw that a paper was stuck. I looked down. 


Green knob? Not only did I not see a knob, I did not see anything green, either. Of course this would happen to me. The one times(s) I print something that I want to keep hidden is the one time the printer gets jammed. I wasn't having it. So I started punching buttons, which really means I started poking random shit that looked like it was pokeable.

After two minutes of playing "fuck the printer," I decided I had no choice but to fetch the librarian. I ran to the help desk, hoping no one would approach my printer, and stood before her.

"Hi. The printer is jammed."

"Oh," she said, rolling her eyes, "I hate fixing that thing."


"Oh, it's not your fault, dear."

She walked over, performed some kind of librarian voodoo, and a green knob appeared. She turned it slowly and a piece of paper began to inch its way out.

"This is the page that got stuck," she informed me.

She reached in and carefully pulled it out, held it up in the air, and examined it in the light.

"Yeah, when there's a lot of black ink like in this photo, the page tends to get stuck."

She shook Giant Yoda around in the air as I desperately tried to snatch it from her fingertips.

"I'll take that!" I commanded.

"No, no, I'm trying to dry it," she said, continuing to wave him around above her head.

"No, seriously, please, give it to me."

I was too afraid to turn around and see if anyone was staring at the old lady waving an enormous Yoda in the air as some short girl jumped up and down trying to snatch him.

"You're going to get ink all over your hands if you touch this, dear," she said.

The bitch was out to ruin me.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I felt trapped, like I was in a cage and I couldn't get out. I was growing more and more anxious and the woman would not listen to me.

"I don't want anyone to know I'm printing giant pictures of Yoda," I whispered to her. I narrowed my eyes and tried to look stern.

"OH!" she laughed, her voice growing five octaves louder. "It's fine! I love Yoda!"

I threw my head down and closed my eyes, trying to disappear. She didn't catch the hint.

"My dog has ears just like Yoda's. People tell me he does all the time!"

I had obviously excited her. She was not using an inside voice. What a horrible example to set for her co-workers.

"OH..ha...ha..." I laughed politely, accepting the fact that I had been defeated and there was no possible way to acquire a DeLorean and a Flux Capacitor.

"Yeah, me too. I just didn't want anyone to see that I was printing papers and giant Yodas."

She laughed. We were connecting. On a level of pure humiliation.

"I'm afraid this picture is ruined but --- oh, look! It's printing now!"

Before I could even raise my hand, she had reached over and grabbed what the printer had just spat out.

"Oh! And a picture of NICHOLAS CAGE! Look, it says, 'You have caged my heart! Isn't that nice?!"

I'm never going to the library again.

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