On Returning Wet Library Books
By Mr.e

It was totally unintentional.

Returning that damaged book without a word to the appropriate authorities, I mean. I'd had no idea it was 'that' bad. I'd looked at that book. Dropped it off right on the return counter, I did. No different than any other drop off.

When I went to check out more reading material at the end of my visit, I noticed a peculiar sharpening of focus in the librarians eyes as she spotted 'the' message flashing on my file screen. Damaged book returned. I stood accused of a horrible crime against literature.

I was told that the book was still wet when I'd returned it. Then the librarian shuffled off to fetch the offending item so that I might see for myself. I saw. The page edges looked like dry lasagna noodles, wavy and rippled. A chilling sight to be sure. The book had not looked like that when I returned it, or had it?! I wasn't too sure any more.

The simple truth is that the book fell into the sink while I was doing the dishes. You see, I have this habit of reading when I do the dishes. It makes doing the dishes more fun and I get to inform/entertain myself at the same time. For some bizarre reason, the book suddenly tumbled off the ample kitchen window sill and before I could react, plopped into the sudsy dish water. Horrified I yanked it out pronto and in a panic patted dry every page that appeared wet; obviously neglecting to look under the dust jacket!

This ugly if accidental incident was enough to sour any good relations I'd enjoyed with this librarian. I may as well have tried to burn the library down. The instant coldness and subtle edge to the voice drove the message home that I was a despicable and irresponsible book borrower. What could be worse than a patron who would not lay down his or her life to save a book, any book. Now I'd failed this basic requirement to maintain any honorable standing at this establishment.

Not only did I sheepishly suffer the subtle if not searing ostracizing, but then this helpful guardian of printed matter presented me with the bill. I could redeem myself by purchasing the damaged book. After all, they could not be expected to put it back on the shelf in it's now ruined condition. Things started to become dark as I tried to focus on the numbers. Just shy of 40 bucks. My dastardly negligence cost me dearly and any library privileges were immediately revoked until further notice.

Either buy the book or never set foot in a library again; a no brainer really. I did what I had to do. And because it took me a little while to pay off that terrible debt for the privilege of continued access to books, I find that I'm still in the dog house, albeit a slightly more luxurious one that includes being spoken to, instead of being exposed to the cold shoulder.

Sadly the pleasant relationship I once had with a particular librarian vanished the day her eyes focused on that dread message; that she was dealing with a book wrecker. In time it may continue and resume some of the pleasantness, but I think that I will have to prove myself all over again. I'll either have to build a wider window sill or get a couple of C-clamps to fasten books to the window sill with when I'm doing the dishes. Dishes without a good read is simply not something I can bear to think of.

Mind you, I don't like to read hard cover books in the tub. The thought sends shivers down my spine; a ghastly mishap just waiting for the right moment. And I just don't want to be forced to buy any more books that prove uninteresting, dull, dry and impossible to finish anyway.