In the Copy Shop

Life as a Central American university student is a far cry from that of a student at Whitworth in frigid Spokane, Washington. At least on the logistical level. For example, here in Heredia, there are: No dorms (or few enough to count as such), computer labs that actually have people monitoring them (maybe that actually happens at home too, outside of Dixon), procedures for using computers in said labs and the general attitude that copyright laws are things that happen to other people (though as a result, so are expensive back surgeries caused by carrying around pounds of exorbitantly priced textbooks).

Enter: the copy shop. I have spent the better part of the last three school days running around central Heredia in search of a place to make copies, a place to pick up the reading material for my classes (which happens to also be a place to make copies), a place to print homework and visa information, and a bank that might be, through some divine miracle, open. You see, near the university, every city block is littered with tiny little copy shops that can do everything from sell you a copy of your passport to fax a three hundred page anthology of contemporary Spanish literature to your cousin in Timbuktu and give you a bottle of pineapple juice on the side. Generally, professors make a copy of all the reading material that will be needed in a class, leave it with a copy shop and every student goes down independently, buys a copy of the material and away they go with their rather illegal but highly educational contraband. The problem being, every professor chooses a different shop and every shop has a different procedure. For some, you go down, ask for the material, they copy it while you wait, pay for it and you’re set. For others, you go down in advance, write your name on a list and come back the next day. It’s anyone’s guess really (at least for the extranjera) what the procedure will be. And if you want something printed, like homework from your computer? Save it to a flash drive and then hand it over to the muchacho at the copy shop. He’ll print it up right there for a few colones. But to someone who’s used to walking into the lab in Dixon (assuming she doesn’t use her own printer at home) sitting down, printing her paper and leaving without anything so messy as human contact… it’s a bit of an adjustment.

That said, I’ve decided that if for some reason I ever found myself living in Costa Rica and in need of a job, that’s just what I would like to do; work in a copy shop. Right now, it’s a very necessary service in the country, and while it will probably become less so, I think they’ll stick around for a while. Plus, if you’re near the Universidad Nacional (from here on out to be referred to as the UNA), business booms at the beginning of every semester. For someone like me, an addict of all things stationery, a lover and hoarder of paper and books, who loves giving tangible form to things only expressed either in one’s mind or electronically (sometimes they’re practically the same, these days), it sound amazing. Something simple with noncommittal, casual human interaction which provides a needed service. What a beautiful little niche in which to live your life, eh?

But for now, I guess I’ll just wait a few more hours and then run into Heredia central hoping that the copies I need for class will be ready by the time I get there. If not, well, I suppose Columbus’ letters have waited this long for me to read them, a few hours longer probably won’t hurt.