On the shelf

At the library on the DVD shelf people do not borrow Charlie Chaplin collections, nor Indiana Jones. I counted seven rejected Charlo collections on an otherwise bare looking shelf.

Folks have this ritual where they hurriedly flick through what’s there, nearly taking neighbouring arms off in the process, slam the shelf back. Repeat process. Look dismayed.

I’d love to know exactly what they are all hoping to find. Maybe the excellent documentary I grabbed last week about The New York Times crossword. Another curiousity is why the boxes often emit an odour that suggests they’ve hibernated under someone’s armpit for six months.