Thursday, March 25, 2010

Coincidence? The tale of the mastercard.

Picture this: The 2nd floor of Queen Mother Library on Tuesday night at 9:15PM. I was curled up in a little corner with my partially completed Freud powerpoint, nine books about Mr. Sigmund, my laptop, and my credit card. I was finishing a presentation for class and had to complete a handout (one to be given to my classmates in the morning). But get this! You have to pay for printing here. This said, I needed to put money on my account. I took out my blue credit card and added seven pounds (no, not weight my USA friends! Money!) to my account and proceeded down to the computer lounge to print my paper. I finished my document, hit print, and then the dreaded box popped up: Would you like to save this document? Because it was finished and I already hit print, I clicked ... "do not save." (You can see where this is going. Also, reminder to self: never hit "do not save.") I went over to the printer and what did it do? It printed one copy. How many do I need? Fifteen. Can I print more? No, I didn't save it. So I head over to the library desk to ask to use the copier with my print money. Nope, you need to buy a copy card. No problem, right? Just whip out my credit card and get 'er done. Wrong. My stinking credit card is nowhere to be found. Somewhere in between the second floor and the ground floor, my blue piece of plastic disappeared! Just my luck: Presentation early the next morning. 1/15 of the handouts I need. No copy machine available. No credit card.

Needless to say, I checked everywhere. With only 15 minutes before the library closed, I was tracing my steps like nobody's biznah. Sigh... nothing. The next morning, I woke up bright and early and asked at the reference desk on the ground and 2nd floor. The replies were similar, given with awkward "that's a bummer" face. I searched my coat pockets, jeans pockets, backpack pockets, notebooks. I even checked inside my pants in case I missed my pocket. Oh, so desperate. That dang little thang was nowhere to be found, but I had to keep looking. I told my parents not to cancel it yet because I felt like it was around. How stupid. I felt that it was around--enough to risk that some stranger might be draining my poor excuse of a bank account (pardon the pun). So I went to sleep on Wednesday night after another day of searching, only to find myself in an interesting dream.

In my dream? My credit card was in a book. And get this: I turned in those nine books on Freud Tuesday night. Holding on to my last bit of hope from the dream world, I headed to the library. I asked at the front desk--still nothing. I then went up to the second floor psychology section and began looking for the nine books. Oh, how silly I felt. Sadly, I could only remember three of the titles. Just when I was about to give up I saw, "Freud: A Man of His Century." It was the brown, scraggly one. I remembered it because I hadn't found a blasted piece of information in it for my presentation. Useless? Think again. I grab it, quickly flip through the pages, and what falls to the floor? You guessed it. My credit card.

Sometimes I wonder the point of these little experiences. But now that I'm sitting in my room with my card de master, I realize how semi-awesome the whole ordeal was. Not only that, but fairly ironic that my presentation Wednesday morning was on "Freud and the Importance of Dreams." You may think, "Eh, that's a coincidence, Kelsey." And to that, I give my reply: I think you are wrong.

Oh, and I forgot to mention: my three-week Spring Break began one hour ago. As my dad would say, "BONUS." I think I like it here. Yes, I really really do.