Alice Gibbons had left high school, but would never leave it – if you get my drift. She had finished school, but was always coming back; to talk to her friends, to stalk the corridor, to haunt the library. She lingered in the place she’d left.
Go away, Alice. You’ve left school now. You should be looking for a job. Make the break. Build a new circle of friends. Find new interests. You don’t belong here anymore.
But Alice wouldn’t go away. She loitered, she hung around. She couldn’t make the break.
The librarian grew tired of the persistent returning to the place she’d left. Alice was called to the book returning desk.
“Look at this, Alice,” said the librarian pointing pseudo-enthusiastically to a computer screen. “Here is a list of all the books issued to you in your years at school.”
“WOW! Amazing!” said Alice.
“Now, I want you to press this button,” said the librarian, pointing to the computer keyboard.
Alice pressed it. Up came a message on the screen:
ALICE’S RECORDS HAVE BEEN ARCHIVED. SHE IS NO LONGER IN THE SYSTEM.
“You’ve just deleted yourself,” said the librarian.
Alice burst into tears, and never came back.