I went to the library today. No, let me rephrase that. I went to the library today to get my membership renewed. I hear you ask me why that tiny added detail makes a difference, so here it is.
Every time I want to get anything done in this horribly bureaucratic, red-tape infested wormhole of an existence, I have to go through (*ugh*) paperwork. It's mind-numbing, pointless and disturbingly intrusive. If I ever have kids and one of them decides to take a desk job handing people forms, guess who's not getting anything out of my property.
Maybe I'm overreacting a wee bit. But I REALLY hate paperwork. I hate it more than guys on the evening metro hate showers. I want to issue a book every now and then. You are not a top-secret nuclear haz-mat storage facility. I do NOT need to tell you my graduating class in college.
The worst thing, however, is the part where I have to provide them with my unique signature. Embarrassingly enough, I didn't, until recently, have a real signature, so to say. I kept shuffling between two of them. I don't, therefore, like signing my name unless its necessary, like I'm-getting-a-free-lifetime-supply-of-doughnuts-with-every-signature necessary.
When it was my turn to sign the renewal documents, a flash of genius ran through my head. Maybe I didn't have to buckle under the pressures of the global paperwork mafia after all. Maybe there was a way to get out of it. All I had to do was tell them I couldn't read or write. Voila, no form filling, no paper signing, nada. Everything gets done for you.
I felt like the teenage kid who has discovered the secret folder in his school's computer lab that houses a host of First-Person-Shooter games. It was the perfect escape. I would never have to fill my forms again.
As I contemplated the potential of my scheme, it kept building up. If I could make the library do this for me, maybe it would be bigger than my issues. It would be symbolic of the people's right to choice, the common man's voice against the tyranny of his government. It would be a guiding light, freeing the general public of the shackles of mind-control legal propaganda. It would, indeed, be a giant F*** you to the fat-cat bureaucrat who munched samosas at his desk, making the aam-aadmi jump through hoops for the most mediocre requests. I would be a visionary, ushering in a new era of change, destroying the false democracy that kept us subdued like common mules. I would be the next Che Guevara, I'd ignite a revolution. There would be marches in my honor, MARCHES, I TELL YOU!
And then it hit me.
I was in a library, filling out a form to allow me to issue books. To read. And my plan to thwart the system involved not being able to read at all.
As I scornfully signed that sheet of paper, I could feel the receptionist grinning from behind her desk. I couldn't hear her, but I knew she was. She had to be.
You win this round, world.