Nov 19, 2005

Let's play bureaucratchik

[Following is the story I translated from Russian, edited by S.D. The author, Lea Ljubomirsky, just started her graduate school in Lisbon University, Portugal. I dedicate this Work to all librarians.]


I applied for a card at the National Library.
I felt like a character in a Teffi* story.

A gloomy dame with the face of a mortally offended horse questioned me for half an hour: -why do I wish to insert myself in the library? -what do I expect to find there? - why am I so confident they have it?
Afterwards she says:-Look here and don't blink; I'm going to take your picture for the library card.
I look up - and barely dodge a computer camera that flies whizzing straight into my face. In a second the dame hands me my ID. On it I see a gigantic lemon-yellow nose drowning in purplish cheeks. Insignificant details like eyes, forehead and hair have flown to the background, and chin, ears and brows are not present.
I say, -Pardon me, who's this?
-It's you.
I ask, -Are you sure it's not the previous applicant?
The dame is insulted.
-Of course it's you! Don't you see -it's your sweater.
-True, the sweater is mine, but at this moment it's lying in the drawer at home, and I'm wearing a shirt and leather vest.
-It's all the same. You just admitted it's your sweater.
-OK. Fine. But what happened to my nose?
-It's your nose, you should know better what happened to it.
-I do know, I saw it five minutes ago in the hall mirror. It looked different!
-Maybe it's not very photogenic.
-OK. Fine. But then where are my ears? Where're my eyebrows? My chin? Where?
-What do you need them for? -she asks - This is a library, not a photo gallery. We don't have any use here for chins and especially for eyebrows.

At night I shoved the card at my beloved husband. At first, he was shaken. Reluctantly, he said: -You know, if not for your orange sweater, I would never have recognized you...


* See about Nadezhda Teffi here.

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