I woke up this morning thinking about my dad and me getting in trouble at the library.
We first moved to the U.S. when I was ten. Immediately, our dad introduced us to the joys of the Fairfax county library. I'd always read voraciously. And there were endless books! Endless! It was one of my favorite places.
But we got in trouble regularly.
The problem was not with keeping books out too long and incurring fines, or trying to check out too many at once.
The problem was not even that we'd talk out loud - because for the most part we were quiet and respectful library patrons.
The trouble was the photocopy machine.
Because, you see, they had photocopy machines for public use. You know - you're doing some research, you want to copy an article. So you'd put coins in and copy your book or periodical.
Or anyway, that's what most people do.
We, on the other hand - we being my dad and me - we were far more interested in the joys of copying things like, oh, our hands. Or our faces. We'd have bad face contests regularly. And now we could record them! Squished on glass! And immortalized in black and white!
We usually each got one good hand and face copy before being chastised and asked to stop.
Improper use of the copy machine. Grease on the glass. Verboten.
So we'd limit the joy to once every few visits.