Library Shame

I lost my first library book this week.

Rather, I lost it weeks ago, but it was officially due this week, and I have absolutely no idea how to handle this. And I think one of my nice bookmarks was in it, so I’m mourning two losses.

It all started when I was moving apartments. As I packed up the boxes and boxes of books and other nick-nacks (plus, like, clothes and stuff), I foolishly decided not to pack up the library books, figuring that I would deal with them separately. When the time arrived, I piled a whole bunch of stuff that still needed to be moved into my boyfriend’s car, and instead of unpacking everything, we left it there overnight, with the four library books on the floor of the passenger side. I went to retrieve them sometime the next day, and they were gone!

Three of them were in the trunk. He shares the car with other family members, and someone had cleaned them out. But the fourth was nowhere to be found. We looked under the seats, in the trunk, everywhere. Nada.

I’ve never experienced library shame of this caliber before. But losing a book? I know of others who feel intense pangs of guilt over the library system because of how late they’ve returned items or in what condition, but the true shame has eluded me, until now. Part of me hopes that it’ll just pop up unexpectedly one day, and I can slip it into the return slot and pay any fines online. But I know it is a fantasy. And actually the book was Grimm’s fairy tales, so I can maybe hope for a little magic.


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