Overdue

The library.  What a great resource.  Since rediscovering this community gem a couple years ago, I have no doubt saved hundreds of dollars, because it turns out you don't have to actually pay $12-$32 to read a book.  Get this: you can actually borrow books, and borrow them for free! They also have people there that will read to your children for you, and bonus: puzzle pieces to lose and computers to break that aren't even your own.  If I feel like starting another craft project I will never finish, I can find at least 24 books to inspire me.  Picky eaters?  Try bushel of books that promise that if you just arrange peppers in a flower shape, your kids will consume them.  When I wonder  if the weeds I just hacked were actually tomato plants, I have ready access to a shelf of gardening guides that tell me how I can apply myself better next spring- and build a fairy garden while I'm at it. 


Yes, we love the library.  But it terrifies me.  Let's start with the book sensors.  Every time I walk through them, on my way in and on my way out, I'm irrationally convinced that I will set off the alarm.  They will siren, lights will flash, everyone stares, and I will be handcuffed on the premises by an officer that will no doubt be waiting for book-swiping offenders just around the corner.  He lurks somewhere near the plexiglass shelves housing tax forms.


And then there are my own children.  In an uneventful visit, minimally Charlie will be found dragging around the kick-step stool, climbing the shelves, dumping out seven boxes of games and playing with none of them, running through the stacks, pulling out rows of books, coloring previously-stacked nametags with permanent markers, and trying to check out a pile of books he has no intention of taking home, just to play with the barcode scanner.  Oh! And my favorite: kicking and screaming when it's time to physically remove him to go home.  Because, you know, libraries are, well, quiet.


I faced my most significant of library phobias this evening: approaching the librarian about overdue items.  While being scared of unnecessarily setting off the book sensors and being arrested on the spot may be slightly irrational, my fear of approaching librarians is completely justified.  I always look to see if there is a younger librarian available, because the older ones give me a punitive school-marm vibe.  They often don't return my cheerful "have a good night!" exit line as I nervously walk through the sensors, and usually don't look at me at all.  They hold their lips together in a tight line and have impeccable posture.  Their hair has been perfectly set and a single hair has not shifted out of place since our visit last Wednesday.  When I lose my library card, I am met with a sigh, and am asked for my information in a tone that clearly communicates I am annoying her.  What an irresponsible citizen, she thinks.  I look down at the desk, waiting for my hand to be slapped with a ruler.  I will not lose my library card ever again, and I will pay the $5 replacement fee in cash...I write this phrase obediently 100 times each on the dry erase board in the conference room, on the electronic card catalog database, and the felt board in the children's corner, cutting each letter out using stencils for accuracy.  I take my new library card with shaky hands because I had to use kiddie safety scissors on the felt, and apologize profusely, promising that it will never happen again.


And it doesn't, but then I lose a book.  And after several weeks of feverishly searching for Elmo and his colors under the couches, in the car, in the bookshelves, in the pantry, with the movies, and in the bathtub, I hang my head low again and make my confession to the school marm.  Yes, I looked for it.  Yes, I know I have to pay for it.  Yes, I understand it is a $4 replacement fee.  Yes, I am sure it is lost.  I am really, really, really, really sorry.  I hand over the four dollars (one for each "really" in my sorrys) which I had to score from Oliver's piggy bank because Mommy doesn't carry cash any more and the library cannot accept electronic payments under $4.01.  Back to the whiteboard.  I will not lose a library book ever again...I begin to write.


The only way I could convince Oliver to attend story time tonight was by promising he could check out another superhero book.  This negotiation took 45 minutes.  Standing at the check-out kiosk to keep my end of the bargain, the Spanish prompts on the screen told me to pagar my late fee.  I pressed "pagar," only to be met by the message that I couldn't pagar with my credit card because the 60 cent fee was under $5.  Frantically, I searched for a dollar bill, which I was relieved to find crumpled in the bottom of the diaper bag.  Oliver wasn't going to let me out of this building without Spiderman and the Green Goblin.  I was happy to see that there was a pretty woman in her 20's working this evening, but my heart sank when I saw she was helping someone else and a school marm was available.  I bravely explained the situation to Helga.


"Wow, you have three items overdue," she said.
"I know, I'm almost finished with them, I can return them tomorrow and pay the fees now," I chirped.
"Wow, these are really overdue.  And one of them is a DVD, at a dollar a day!  This is a really old one.  Your fine is $30!"
I quickly did the math and figured out that this was more than 60 cents.
"Wow..."I muttered, shamed.
"Well like I said, one of them is a DVD, so it's a dollar a day, and you checked it out last month."
"I will get on that," I promised, red in the face.  "I thought it was a CD..."
"No. It's a DVD.  And you've had it for over a month."
"Okay."  I held out my wrists for the ruler and begged for mercy.
"So what do you want to do?"
"I can pay the fine now..."
"I can't do it here.  You have to do it at the kiosk."


Clearly, the kiosk en Espanol was in on this conspiracy, making me face unnecessary humiliation.  Fantastico.


With profuse thanking and apologizing, we returned to the kiosk to pagar the fine.  Spiderman and the Green Goblin better be worth this, kid. I held Charlie and Oliver's hands and ran through the sensors as fast as my humbled feet would go; after all we had been through tonight, I just couldn't let my boys see their mother arrested.