I think I have a crush on the Smart Card man.

Chances are, you don't want to hear about it; this paper's columnists cover Smart Card issues like the rest of the press covers Clinton (next week: the Smart Card-- did it kill JFK?). But I just can't keep my feelings inside anymore. He's just so doggone cute, in a sort of unconventional, Jerry Lewis-meets-Ted Koppel sort of way.

I'm certain the school won't condone this-- a mingling of students and Smart Card gurus could be most disastrous to the delicate peace that has fallen over Convo after the initial strife the introduction of the nefarious black Smart Card boxes ("five seconds to get into Convo? I demand vengeance!") But it's the university's own fault for putting the Smart Card brigade on display behind glass, as if their office were little more than a high tech Monkey Island-- I kept waiting for them to begin throwing their feces at passing students, or picking nits off each other's backs. And after watching Mr. Smart Card in action every lunch and dinner for the past three weeks, I just couldn't help myself: much like Convo's delicious hamburgers, he went straight to my heart.

This isn't the first time I've fallen for an older gentleman. There was, of course, the unpleasantness with pseudo-actor Mark Harmon that ended in heartbreak (making me the only person ever to receive hate mail from a celebrity). And I did have quite a bit of a crush on Mr. Dingman, the biology teacher at my high school. But I've never been able to get so close to any of them-- Mr. Smart Card and I spend a couple hours a day within fifteen feet of each other. If not for that pesky glass wall, we'd practically be engaged.

Maybe it's the sweater vest. Maybe it's the accent. But he's got to be one of the studliest guys this side of the Prime Meridian. And let's face it-- how cool would it be to be Mrs. Smart Card? In essence, you'd be married to the future. Not to mention the fact that you'd be heir to the, I assume, profoundly immense Smart Card fortune (you really think all that money you'll be putting on these babies goes towards your laundry and snack food purchases? Pshaw!)

But there's more to it than that. Using the prestigious Smart Card name, you'd be able to profoundly influence government legislation ("Mr. President? Kim Smart Card is on line one.") You could throw your support behind any organization, first-lady style, and maybe even emcee their telethon ("And now, we'd like to bring out everybody's favorite public figurehead, Kim Smart Card!" [Wild applause, men begin throwing thongs on stage.]) And I'd wager that you could even use the Smart Card name to get a really bitchin' seat at the Hard Rock Café.

However, the point is moot; I realize that Mr. Smart Card and I come from completely different worlds. More specifically, I realize that, after reading this column, he'll probably keep the blinds in the Smart Card office firmly closed, and I could be brought up on stalking charges. But I know that, as my face slowly rubs off my Smart Card, we'll meet again some day. Maybe we could even engage in some social grooming.