Abigail M. Schilling

When I was wee I was really into reading. I think I brag about that all the time so I've probably mentioned that fun fact here before. I brag about it all the time because now I have nothing to brag about. Well, I brag about my ability to keep up with one million TV shows, but that is kind of rotting my brain. Like, for example, the way I made a chart to help me catch up after missing so many shows because of work and magic. No, you cannot see that chart. (Yes, I am almost caught up. TV is my bitch.)

ANYWAY, mid-chart drawing I started to feel guilty about the reading I wasn't doing and I decided that I needed to revisit the wondrous venue of my childhood, The Library. So I looked up where the library was and planned an outing for Wednesday evening: Wednesday evening I would get my library card! Wednesday evening I would read a book! (Not really, I would just check out a book, I wouldn't have time to read it on account of all the ANTM and Gossip Girl and Private Practice.)

So I called Red Oak on my way home and placed my dinner order for pick up (ready in fifteen minutes!) and then stopped at the Library. I walked in with my head held high because, I, Abigail, was getting a library card! Bring on the learning! Bring on the literature! Bring on the CDs that I can rip and burn!

I did not leave the library for almost an hour.

Not because I was swallowed by books or overwhelmed with words, but because I was unable to "prove" my address and therefore undeserving of a card.

My driver's license has an old address. My checkbook has a different old address.

"I live right up the street!" I said. "I swear!"

I searched in the tiny pockets of my messenger bag for something that might have my address on it. Ah ha! A postcard from overseas! And look! My address! And my name! Right next to each other looking all legit!

They said they wanted something "official." So I went to my car and rifled through the menagerie of junk I keep with me at all times. I rifled through my planner, looking for old pay stubs. The thing is I don't have anything official in my car because that would require me moving papers from their location of receipt--either my office or my house. I don't move things. That's the problem. Anyway, I finally found a bill from my mechanic (car = location of receipt) and took it in to the library.

I was reassigned to a young guy and I explained to him that I wanted a card and lookie here, I have a bill from my mechanic. With my address! He said he needed to check in the back. The answer was, of course, a big fat NO. The problem was that I just gave that address to my mechanic. I could have given him any address. My official proof of address need to be postmarked! Didn't I have a bill?

I explained that in order to save the trees I do everything ONLINE. Heard of it, Library? The internet? It makes the Post Office unnecessary. My bills come to my email. I have them though, in my email, if you'll let me get on this computer and print it out? NO. No because they need to go through the post.

I blinked several times.

I receive two bills at home because they always come with coupons for free stuff. Sadly, my desire for free stuff can trump my desire to save the trees. But I don't HAVE to receive those bills at home. It's entirely possible to receive zero "official" mail. And it was making me crazy that they were asking me to provide evidence that could actually not.

He then suggested that I mail myself an envelope.

I whipped out the postcard again and handed it over. "Then won't this work?"

I had finally stumped him after forty five minutes. He disappeared into the back to "verify" my postcard. Guess what?! IT WAS PROOF. IMAGINE THAT.

My dinner was cold by the time I picked it up, but now I have a Library Card. I'm going to get myself educated.