Thursday, 13 January 2011

Yesterday I went to the library to get a library card (an attempt to save some money - I always go mental in the little English bookshop in town when I get sudden pangs of nostalgia for Britain. Next thing I know, I've spent 20 euros on a book I never even knew I wanted - normally because I didn't). The library is in a huge and imposing - but like everything in this city - beautiful building in one of the best squares (Piazza della Repubblica, if anyone's interested). I explained to the woman at the desk what I wanted, and she directed me to a man at another desk. I again explained (in my, quite frankly, poor Italian) that I would like to purchase a library card. He walked me back over to the woman, gave her my passport, and handed me... a visitor's pass. Due to my crippling sense of shame at what was clearly my awful Italian, I had to spend the next half an hour sitting in the study area outside his desk without a book, pen or piece of paper, pretending to study. FML.

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