Potatoes

I was speaking with a librarian the other day because I was (guess what?) in the library. We were discussing the woeful situation the library has found herself in, due to the fact that many students now have Wi-Fi in their rooms. I have a problem with this, and there are multiple reasons why I do. But for the sake of brevity, I will leave that discussion alone and if any of my fellow students have a problem with me not liking that, they know where I live.
As we were discussing the ways in which the library could be more appealing to the general populace, I felt something in my right shirt-pocket.
Now, the conversation was taking a rather serious tone, as I was relaying to the librarian my deep concerns about the future of the bookish institution, when I noticed the unfamiliar presence in my pocket (a familiar presence would be something like a pen).
I took it out, and I realized after a brief moment of inspection that it was a small chunk of potato.
A hash brown, to be precise.
I do not regularly eat hash browns, and when I do I do not do so via my right shirt pocket. Needless to say, this broke the mounting tension of the conversation and I was called back down, as it were, to earth.
The lesson in all this? There really isn't one, except for advising against putting potatoes in your pocket. They get very hard and lukewarm, and they assume a very peculiar texture.
Sorry, that's all I got.