My Heroic Struggle Against Oppression....
... or, How I Won My Library Card.
Despite all being keen readers, none of the household has been a library member since we moved out of Glasgow.
I thought it was about time we rectified that and, since we now live a stone's throw from the town where I grew up, which has an excellent library, we went there to sign up.
First, though, I took the kids along for a look - and for me to check that, even though we live slightly outwith the technical local authority boundary. we'd still be eligible to join.
'No problem,' said young librarian dude. 'Just come along, bring some ID and we'll get that sorted for you.'
All well and good. So, the following week, B, the kids and I troop round en masse, with B carrying the requisite ID, to sign up. All goes well until it comes to my turn...
'You'll have to come back with your own ID,' says the stern matron behind the desk (much more like a real librarian than the dude the week before). Because, clearly, I've hired a group of imposters to pretend to be my wife and children just so I can get my hands on all those lovely library books and they're quite right to doubt that I live at the same address as the woman I've hired to pretend to be my wife.
Anyway, it's just a minor hitch. So I went back this morning with my own ID, handed in my filled-out card and smiled, waiting to be signed up.
'Oh no,' says third librarian. 'You can't join. You don't live in our area. I'll have to get my supervisor.'
And off she goes in search of a greater power to confirm the crushing edict. 'Yes,' says sympathetic supervisor lady, 'If I were you, I'd be furious. But rules are rules, and your family shouldn't have joined either, so we'll have to cancel their memberships straight away.'
Because, clearly, we can't have dirty, filthy outsiders getting their hands on those lovely local library books for local people. They might, I dunno, read 'em or something. And pay their horrible outsider money to rent CDs and DVDs, the swine.
Pleas to common sense having failed, I went home and did something I've never done. Something which makes me undeniably, irretrievably middle aged.
I wrote an angry letter to the council.
Didn't expect to receive anything other than a form letter, another bag o' 'rules is rules' bollocks, but, - well, whaddya know? - I came home to an email from the community librarian saying that - after consultation with senior management, naturally - they have decided that, in view of my lengthy connection with the local area, they were willing to 'relax our normal rules of eligibility on this occasion' and let us get our hands on the fabled, much sought-after Tickets of Library Membership.
She concluded with a not-even-slightly pompous: 'I have to assume that you, too, recognise the value of accessing such a service and hope that you will make full use of it,' which I kind of like for its faux epic portentousness.
And there we have it: A rare victory for the little guy against the monolith that is officialdom. Counter-culture hero? That's me, for sure.
;)
Despite all being keen readers, none of the household has been a library member since we moved out of Glasgow.
I thought it was about time we rectified that and, since we now live a stone's throw from the town where I grew up, which has an excellent library, we went there to sign up.
First, though, I took the kids along for a look - and for me to check that, even though we live slightly outwith the technical local authority boundary. we'd still be eligible to join.
'No problem,' said young librarian dude. 'Just come along, bring some ID and we'll get that sorted for you.'
All well and good. So, the following week, B, the kids and I troop round en masse, with B carrying the requisite ID, to sign up. All goes well until it comes to my turn...
'You'll have to come back with your own ID,' says the stern matron behind the desk (much more like a real librarian than the dude the week before). Because, clearly, I've hired a group of imposters to pretend to be my wife and children just so I can get my hands on all those lovely library books and they're quite right to doubt that I live at the same address as the woman I've hired to pretend to be my wife.
Anyway, it's just a minor hitch. So I went back this morning with my own ID, handed in my filled-out card and smiled, waiting to be signed up.
'Oh no,' says third librarian. 'You can't join. You don't live in our area. I'll have to get my supervisor.'
And off she goes in search of a greater power to confirm the crushing edict. 'Yes,' says sympathetic supervisor lady, 'If I were you, I'd be furious. But rules are rules, and your family shouldn't have joined either, so we'll have to cancel their memberships straight away.'
Because, clearly, we can't have dirty, filthy outsiders getting their hands on those lovely local library books for local people. They might, I dunno, read 'em or something. And pay their horrible outsider money to rent CDs and DVDs, the swine.
Pleas to common sense having failed, I went home and did something I've never done. Something which makes me undeniably, irretrievably middle aged.
I wrote an angry letter to the council.
Didn't expect to receive anything other than a form letter, another bag o' 'rules is rules' bollocks, but, - well, whaddya know? - I came home to an email from the community librarian saying that - after consultation with senior management, naturally - they have decided that, in view of my lengthy connection with the local area, they were willing to 'relax our normal rules of eligibility on this occasion' and let us get our hands on the fabled, much sought-after Tickets of Library Membership.
She concluded with a not-even-slightly pompous: 'I have to assume that you, too, recognise the value of accessing such a service and hope that you will make full use of it,' which I kind of like for its faux epic portentousness.
And there we have it: A rare victory for the little guy against the monolith that is officialdom. Counter-culture hero? That's me, for sure.
;)