Years ago, sitting in an uncomfortable chair without
arms, in an airless, windowless, cold, subterranean room, I'd patiently listened to a
lengthy lecture of the so-so variety, about newspaper archives in our area, and
at last Providence had granted my voiceless plea that it come to an end. I
turned to my companion and embarked on a sentence bewailing the ghastliness of
the chairs. I didn't want to rush it; I wanted to temper the expression of my
discomfort and be as polite as possible since it had been at her suggestion that
we had gone to the lecture. Before I reached the tactful point of my remark,
however, she had interrupted me and agreed with what she had decided I was about
to say. - " Yes," she said. "The chairs are extremely comfortable, aren't they?"
(I blame the tutorial system...(o: - They're taught to be so confident and
swift in their opinions that they're even confident they know yours as well! -
Don't you just hate it when people finish off your sentences for
you?)
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