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I face my fears. And the librarians.
Wednesday, September 6, 2017 at 06:44PM 
OK there's something you need to know about me.
Libraries strike fear in my heart.
I love lending libraries. That is, I love the stuff that is available to be borrowed from lending libraries. That would be the books. And assorted other media.
But when I darken the door of a lending library, I am instantly intimidated. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end; I look over my shoulder, then glance furtively in the other directions.
I feel instantly and irreparably guilty. Of something. As though, before I can dot another i, a sternly bespectacled librarian wearing a beige acrylic cardigan, her graying hair arranged in a matronly bun, is going to come forward and order that I be clapped in irons.
There is good reason for my paranoia.
The librarians -- without fail, every time I show up -- find some grounds on which to rebuke me.
Me! You read that correctly: they correct me. And I do nothing to deserve it.
Well; nearly nothing. I mean, sure. I've had the occasional overdue book. Hasn't everybody?
But it's rare. Extremely rare. Especially now, when, thirty-six hours into your temporary borrow-ship of a book, the library begins pelting your email with reminders that you have an almost-due book.
You can't even enjoy the "free" library materials for fear you'll fail to renew or return them in time, thus incurring a fee.
It's nerve-wracking.
In my case, if the librarians aren't telling me to be quiet or to pay some imaginary fine, they're lightly rapping me on the knuckles for failing to perform as expected.
Case in point: See that picture above, of the book Gone With the Wind?
(That's my personal volume, by the way. It's not, and was never, borrowed from a library).
A few years ago my library announced a photography contest. Naturally, I threw my hat into the ring. I forget the actual theme but it's obvious from the picture I entered, it had something to do with the consumption of books.
Anyway. I waited and waited and waited and waited to get word that I had won, placed, or shown in the contest. There was going to be a Sunday-afternoon soiree at the library, honoring said winners. There would be refreshments.
But, receiving no notice that my presence was required for polite applause, store-bought butter cookies, and a plastic cupful of warm lemonade, I forgot all about it.
Except, long afterwards, I did get a perfunctory email from the library saying that I'd WON the contest and to come over there and pick up my prize and my photo entry, which they didn't want lying around any longer.
When I presented at the reference desk and said why I'd come, I asked the unsmiling librarian as she shoved my photo and a Shutterfly coupon toward me:
Why didn't you let me know I'd won the contest? I would have come to the little party!
We were hoping all of the participants would care enough to come, whether they'd won anything or not, was her chilly reply.
Oh. Bad bad pirate, only cares enough to show up if she's getting recognition. I got the message.
Several months ago I was using one of the library's twelve-square-foot study rooms to conduct a tutoring session. It was late afternoon on a rainy day; my elementary-age student was barely awake.
In a conversational tone, I was reading to the boy and asking him questions about the story.
Next thing you know, a librarian appeared at the glass-windowed door. She wore a pained expression. Opening the door enough to peer around into the room, she said I was being too loud.
There had been complaints. I would need to pipe down.
Oh. Super-bad pirate, so loud and boisterous in a library. When would I ever learn.
Perhaps the most frustrating to me is the random levying of fines. As in, it seems that no matter how conscientious I am about returning materials, when I go to check out a book, I am told that I owe money to the library.
I can crank my car, back out of my garage, and be walking into the library in exactly five minutes. I drive by said library at least ten times a week. It's not as though I avoid taking things back, or like it's some sort of hardship.
And yet my record is sullied with book-hoarding transgressions, multiple procrastinatory infractions, and ample evidence of hopeless recidivism resulting in frequent fines.
Once, I went to check out a book and was told that I'd failed to return a DVD many weeks previous, and that there was a block on my card, not to mention a hefty fine. Or I could simply pay for them to buy a new DVD, thus wiping the slate clean.
I knew I'd returned the DVD -- on time -- and I said as much. I asked the librarian to go and look on the shelf.
She did. The DVD was right where it ought to have been. Clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses, the librarian granted me pardon and expunged the incident from my record.
But I was traumatized. Not to mention fuming.
So it was that several weeks ago when I went to the library to check out a few audio books for TG and I to listen to while we drove two thousand miles on vacation, I stiffened in anticipation of being accused, as the librarian scanned my card, of owing money for imaginary late-returned materials.
Even though I knew I didn't.
But she said nothing. Clean! I checked out my materials and left the library without being detained for crimes against the system. It felt so good to walk out into the hot summer day, a free woman.
I returned the three audio books the day before they were due. I remember because the chunky box that sits outside at the curb so that you don't have to get out of your car in order to return things, was stuffed so full that the fat vinyl cases wouldn't go in unless I pulled up ten feet, got out of my car, and walked back to shove them down the blasted thing's throat.
A week or so later, I was back to claim a book I'd requested held in reserve. I handed over my library card. My crimes and faults were reflected from the computer screen into the glasses of the librarian.
She said: You owe sixty cents. Twenty cents apiece for three items.
But I returned those things last week, the day before they were due, I said. I don't owe anything.
This is from October of Twenty-Sixteen, she elaborated.
? ? ? ? ?
Why, I wondered, wasn't that information divulged when I checked out the audio books in early August? I mean, why wait to share the good news that I am once again in arrears?
It's a mystery. Even more of a conundrum is how the fines levied are for things you can't even remember having checked out, it's been so long ago.
But I was assured that there was no block on my card this time, and I didn't have to pay the sixty cents that day. I was free to check out my book and leave the library without wearing an electronic anklet.
Why didn't I simply open my wallet, take out two quarters and a dime, pay the blasted thing and be done with it? You may be asking yourself. After all, you can't fight City Hall.
It was a matter of principle. I was going to keep my sixty cents out of the library's till for as long as possible.
I'll be paying it soon, though. I just received an email telling me that my library card will expire in ten days. And no, you can't renew it online; you have to show up in person. Naturally; they can't guilt you nearly as effectively from the cold remove of a computer screen.
Hey -- have you ever heard of a library card having to be renewed? Neither had I, until a few years ago.
Glutton for punishment that apparently I am, I'll be submitting to the librarians once more in the near future. After all, I can't live without a library card.
Without one, where would I get my regular dose of guilt and shame?
And that is all for now.
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Happy Wednesday
Reader Comments (8)
oh, you bad bad pirate! I think you're keeping the library in business paying all those fines that you don't owe.
The first time I used this library where we live now, I returned the books and got an email that I owed $35.00 for a new book that I had ruined! It was a new book; I humiliated myself. :)
My problem lately is showing up there early, forgetting some days they don't open until noon. I was there today at 11:50, and yeah it wasn't open yet although the librarian saw me. LOL
xoxo
@Sally ... You and me both deserve to spend the night in the pokey. Haaaahaha xoxo
Oh Jenny - I'm laughing like crazy here. I ended up reading this to Bob who is also laughing. The things that happen to you!
Good thing I didn't know this earlier - we try not to associate with the criminal type. :)
@Mari ... I'm so sorry! I should have told you and Bob that you were lunching with the criminal element, due any moment to be extradited back to South Carolina for crimes against the state! Haaahahaaha xoxo
Moi, not having anything else to do, watch my on line library site, like a hawk. Sooooo, if I see that I did return something, and it is not showing, I holler!!!
Seeee, when you are 80, you never back down. You will get there someday, and I am sure you will think back and say to yourself; "How about that, she was right!!!"
If I know I did something, no one is going to tell me, I didn't.
Gracious, I even remember one time, trying to find something, I "knew" I had not picked up...... Ahemmm, note the italics around "knew"..... I was in pain with my knee. The library was not coughing my item up, to my husband, who had been doing my library stuff, for me.... So in I struggled, cane in hand... And even waved it around, while at the information desk!!!!!!!
And now, you can see, why no librarian messes with The Crone!!!!!!!
But.... Back to that "knew".... Actually I was in the wrong on that one. Something about reserving both the LP and regular print version of something... And leaving one, there. Or something. Which I noticed later. Did I hobble back in and say this??? NO!!!! Never show 'em fear!!!!!
Luna Crone
@Luna ... oh girl, now I'm the one laughing out loud. For real. The visual of you waving that cane around at the librarian ... I LOVE IT. I will have to try that sometime. And of COURSE you're never to hobble -- or swan, for that matter -- back in and admit you were wrong! Let them tremble at the memory of your presence in their midst. Haaahahaha xoxo
All I can say is, you seem to have been "black listed". happy reading.
I can no longer read "real" books because of my formaldehyde allergy (paper and ink have it), so I'm electronic all the way. Years ago, I spent many a happy hour in the library browsing and reading. Often, I left with so much reading material I needed one of those little old lady carts with wheels to haul the bounty home. I have never been traumatized by a librarian - it must be a southern thing! Loved your story about librarian trauma!