Librarian

Ever since Euterpe passed her third birthday, I visited our local public library weekly to find books for my princesses to read. My usual practice is to borrow five or six books at one go; each week I returned the old ones and get a new lot.

Last week, when I handed my books to the librarian – a polite middle age lady – and asked for my weekly routine, she returned an apologetic smile, “Sir, you’ve got to use the automatic system from next week. You can return the books to that box next to our counter, and, when you borrow new books, just use the computer bar code scanner over the other side…”

I waved to stop her. The gadgets that she was showing have been there for quite some while, and I am sure I know how to use them. Nonetheless, I deliberately neglect them and choose to continue with the good old manual system. In spite of my autistic personality disorder, I’d like to have a human touch when it comes to service.

But, it is beyond my choice now. I left the library with my books, more depressed than ever.