Two years ago, I sat in Helen C. White Library, trying to prepare a presentation about Nigeria for my political science class. But after two hours of trying to work, my familiarity with the African nation still extended only to Christian Okoye, former running back of the Kansas City Chiefs. Why? My friend Frank.
And everyone has a Frank.
Frank is wonderful and incredibly funny, but was also the worst library companion in the history of studying. Frank tried everything to make me lose focus that day. He got four orders of McDonald's french fries and placed them in my field of vision. He flirted with women from all the way across the second floor. And at one point, he even found cause to hump the table, though I can't remember why.
Frank graduated and no longer sits with me in the library. But the problem with Frank is that he's not just an individual. He's symbolic of a whole genre of human beings. These people can entertain you and make a whole room laugh, but they can also single-handedly ruin your grade in any class. And Franks, like the teeth of a great white shark, always have a replacement ready when one Frank gets removed.
So, last Sunday, I was back in the library, sitting with my friend Laura and trying to read for my literature class. But \Song of Solomon"" would not be completed until Monday morning. There was no way work would get done that evening.
I hadn't realized that Laura was a Frank.
""Amos,"" she said, ""If you were driving in Antarctica and got stuck, would you eat your fingers to stay alive?""
I looked up, confused.
""I watched the 'X-Files' movie earlier, and I've been thinking about it ever since. So, would you?""
""I don't know,"" I responded.
Now she had me thinking about it.
""Fingers have a lot of utility and not much meat,"" I said. ""Wouldn't it make more sense to eat another part?""
""Where? The back of your leg?""
""Then you couldn't walk,"" I said. ""Can you even bite the back of your leg?""
I put my leg up on the table and leaned over to see if I could. I couldn't, and our neighbors seemed to think I was trying to fellate myself. I ended the conversation to return to studying.
But minutes later, Laura laughed and shared her nutritional science reading with me.
""Look at this,"" she grinned. ""People who compulsively eat hairballs or other non-food items. It's called pica.""
She was at it again.
""I used to eat paper as a kid,"" she added. ""Not whole sheets, but tearing off little pieces. That probably counts, doesn't it?""
Soon enough, the conversation ended again and I once more tried to read. But Franks, like Shakespeare and hockey games, work in three acts. And inevitably, she looked up again to complete the trifecta.
""So, if I ate my fingers to stay alive in Antarctica, do you think that would be considered pica?"" she asked.
Before I knew it, the evening was over and the book wasn't finished. The spirit of Frank had returned. But it presented a useful lesson. Not going to the library with Frank is important, but it's just as vital to identify your other Franks and not let them flush your study time down the drain.
Otherwise, you might as well be biting off your own fingers. Amos Posner can be reached at amosap@hotmail.com
