At the Hot Spot

The Mahurangi East Public Library has a Hot Spot. The vulgar sort may not know what this means. My wife’s cousin’s husband didn’t. The Hot Spot is where your laptop can access the internet by wireless. In the Mahurangi East Public Library the Hot Spot is down the back. It is undesignated -- you have to ask the librarian. It’s free.

(Note: Not “for free” -- that current trendy silliness that has infected all radio and TV speech...) We ought to enjoy the free services of the public library system while we have them. When Auckland got its Super City a few months ago, that is to say, one municipal authority from the south of Franklin to the north of Rodney, more than 50 public library branches became one system -- all free to ratepayers and residents. Its interloan service means you can order books on your computer at home (if your ISP consents to function) and have them brought from Howick or Helensville, to Mahurangi East -- free. This is civilised living. Now they are getting organised with eBooks for eReaders. But time is short, I fear, before the Super City councillors discover they have a potential revenue stream right there. What fun to make the blighters pay...

But back to the Hot Spot. It became important when we embarked on our spooky warfare with the atrocious Telstra Clear and our exasperating dealings with their “Customer Service” personnel in Manila or Singapore, who appear not to speak English. Then Telstra Clear one Saturday morning simply cut us off. Brian Edwards has a hilarious blog video in which a group of Belgians find a way to subject their tyrannical and incompetent telephone and ISP company to the same treatment they have been meting out. http://brianedwardsmedia.co.nz/2011/01/

Down at the library it was easy to log on at the Hot Spot, download my emails and look at the newspapers. Easy, that is, until a woman came and set up beside me, with much grunting and wrestling with cables and talking to herself. She had hauled her hapless husband along too, and together they were going to log on to some real estate website, find the house their daughter was evidently threatening to buy, and see what they thought of it. I imagine this woman thrives in many of the local clubs, the garden group, the walking group, that kind of thing. She never has an unexpressed thought. Never mind that this was a library -- I can remember when making a noise in the library was enough to get you slung out. Now of course you routinely compete with Rhythm and Wriggle, and happy stories for the kiddiewinkies. She found the house, and then began a litany of “I don’t belieeeeeve it...!” The husband contributed nothing, but sat there wraith-like, poised for instructions.

By the time I reached the pitch of exasperation at which I said to her, “Mahurangi East is really not all that interested in your beliefs”, she had finished anyway, she gave me a black look, packed up her computer and cleared out. She will tell them at the bridge club about that vulgar and so common man she encountered in the library.