Notice of Overdue Books

I don't handle deadlines very well. Any type of deadline, I generally have a mild to severe negative reaction to. It's like a disease, except one that people don't sympathize with. They do, however, get irritated and their face can turn many shades of various pretty colors. Pretty fascinating to watch as long as you’re not trapped in a small room with them at the same time.  Let me start by saying that I mean well. If you need tips on having good intentions, I'm pretty much an expert; I just don't have much follow through. Let me explain...

Library books: People who go to the library look smart, ergo; I want to go to the library too! I like books, and have the ability to read, and live about a ten minute train ride away from a library. All good, except for pesky due dates! A due date is a deadline. 'You must be finished with your text selections by THIS DATE!' I never am.

 I take care of the books, I never spill staining liquids on the title page, future readers never need to pry open two pages glued together with a mysteriously sticky substance, and if you were to read a book after me, you wouldn't get to the last chapter and find half of it torn out or chewed. Nope, instead of that, you just won't see the book at all, in any of its well-kept glory.

 Renewing books only gives me a false sense of security. 'Sure, I'll make to the library during this month. What type of person doesn't visit the library that often? Man, I’d be so embarrassed if I only went there sometimes, in fact, it’s my mission to be a ‘regular’ at the library from now on!’ (One month later) "Shit. Uhh, how much do I owe you? "

You see, I'm so bad with deadlines, I have turned the free book system into another bill. I have paid more than I care to admit in order to appease the literary powers that be. My money probably goes to help fix the books the rest of the people return all gross, but on time. Really, I could just stop going altogether, but I like the idea of being an upstanding citizen.  Like if I win some huge award at the Mayor's office, and the news anchor was introducing me, he could be all "So and so is a fine example of responsibility and character in our society." And then his co-anchor would chime in, "That’s right Chuck, she even goes to the LIBRARY!" The studio audience would ‘ooh’ and ‘aahh’, and everyone at home would soften their glances, tear up a little, and believe in good again.

So, you see, I can't just NOT go. I mean, the fate of the world sort of depends on it. So, as I shuffle my feet up to the checkout desk, (Once you have an abundance of fees, the privilege of self-checkout is removed temporarily; I have a sinking feeling it comes down to the fact they don't trust you after a while.) I mumble to the 19 year old girl manning the desk who looks like she’s never had a fine during her entire span of life, “I, umm, hi! Uh, how are you? Gooood, sooooo, I'm going to hand you my card, but… just....don't judge me okay? Like, okay, you can judge me, but can you do it only in your head? And can you think quiet thoughts, so I can't hear them? I may have a fee, little, of course. Or big, actually. But, uhh, (speaking lightning speed now) IneedtoknowhowmuchIactuallyhavetohavepaidofthatcatastrophicamount, so you'll let me use the self-checkout again. Because, let's face it, this is just awkward and I do much better when talking to a machine and not a human, and I don't even know if your computer has numbers that big, and yeah, okay, just, here." (I hand over the card.)

 I don't even look to see their judgment, as the weight of shame pulls my gaze downward, to the counter, to my hands, to the floor. I slide over my debit card, mentally apologizing to my checking account. But, hey, wait a minute; you know, really, I'm donating all this money to spread knowledge and goodwill to my city. At this thought, I perk up a bit, 'yeah, I'm doing something pretty, well, good! Helping out my community, inspiring children, removing soda soaked pages off of shelves! You're welcome, fellow patrons, you're welcome!'

 I take back my card, look the teller/cashier/checker outter of books right in the eye, and smile. "Have a great day!" I tell her, and I turn to leave. I don't look back to see how they are recovering from being my financial liaison into the world of library fines, but I've never had the same person help me twice. Can't imagine why.