Everyone loves the library right? The library is the bees knees! It is open access to everything that has ever been written. Fiction, nonfiction, science fiction, and any other iction that you can dream up. There is no monetary requirement from your past, your present or your future. You can even go on line, give relevant information and acquire the use of a temporary card. Now, you must understand that this privilege and the card number allocated to you, will expire, if you don’t make a personal appearance at a local brick-and-mortar library within the compulsory 21 day “trial period.” This visit confirms that you are a county resident and smart enough to find the building.

I’ll tell you right up front that I NEVER use the library. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the library CONCEPT. It’s wholesome. It’s congenial. It’s free!  However, I PERSONALLY know my own limitations and understand that I am simply unable to conform.

By conform, I mean abide by their rule of, Thou shalt not borrow a book from the library unless you guarantee that you will return it within 21 days. I know, this seems like an uncomplicated request, but for me, it’s a prison sentence.

I BUY books. Not, unfortunately because I believe in the artist’s right to freedom of expression, or their inalienable right to earn a living. And it’s not that I’m rich and have more money than I know what to do with. It’s because, in all honesty, I’m too damn lazy to return the books on time! I will spend hundreds of dollars on books that I plan to read only once, because of the sheer fear that I might be charged a fifty cent late fee.

One day however, after noticing the feeble balance in my checking account, I decided that maybe it was time for me to join the ranks of “everyday” people. I was about to begin a new hobby and understood that I would need access to multiple sources of written information. “The Library” I told myself was the perfect place to start my quest for knowledge, with the perfect price tag to join. Nothing! If I just paid attention to the “due back by” dates, I would be safe.

So I conformed. I followed all of the guidelines and secured my very own library card. The first book on my list needed to be special ordered, but that was okay, because when it arrived, I saw that it was a beauty. The book was about Beekeeping and was fresh off the presses. Although this manuscript was considered a “paperback” it was of extremely high quality. Each luxurious page felt like poster board between my fingers as opposed to tissue paper on which most publishers mass produce.

“You understand our policy don’t you Mam?” was the flat interrogative delivered by the librarian that couldn’t possibly have been old enough to possess a drivers license.

“Yes, I believe I do,” I retorted. What did she think I was, a moron?

“Fine,” she added as she scanned the bar code and handed the publication over. “It must be returned no later than 21 days from today.”

“Geeshh, I got it,” I said under my breath. But what she heard was, “Thank you so much.”

I love new books, which is another reason why I buy them. This was a brand new copy. I was the first person to open it’s cover, smell it’s ink and turn it’s virginal pages. It was beautifully photographed and chock-full of well researched information. Reading each page was a delight. I carefully handled and respected this book that was not mine. I also kept a close eye on the calendar so as not to abuse my deadline. No way I was going to incur a fine.

One morning while sipping cappuccino in bed, I decided to give “Homegrown Honey Bees” one last read through. I was a little sad that our days together were numbered. The coffee in my cup had cooled before I was finished, so I set the book down and went into the kitchen to microwave the remainder. As I came back down the hallway, I could hear an unfamiliar rustling sound coming from my room. Getting nearer, I spied my cat Prissy clawing around in the covers, gnawing on something. Her head shot up like a bullet when she saw me and she quickly scurried off the bed.

“Holy Crap,” I yelled. “Prissy, what the hell have you done?” I rushed to the bedside where I found my precious, borrowed book with a mangled cover. My eyes flew open. “NO…. NOT MY LIBRARY BOOK!” But there it lay, wrinkled and damp with cat spit. Teeny tiny teeth pricks and irregular bite marks dotted it’s innocent, surface.

I grabbed it up and immediately tried to press the frayed parts back together. Since they were wet with saliva, this worked better than I thought it might. I laid the book on the bathroom counter, where I gently kneaded the picture of a semi disemboweled insect, trying to make it whole again. Next, I opened the linen closet, and using the steam iron as a paper weight, smacked it on top of the book and waited.

Several hours later, I returned to survey the result of my efforts. I held my breath as I lifted the iron. “Not bad,” I said somewhat relieved. The cat slobber had acted like glue and since I had gone into action so quickly, the damage had been minimal. With tremendous relief, I noted that no pages containing text had been vandalized. Feeling good about it’s overall appearance but willing to go the extra mile, I placed clear, packing tape along the outside and inside of the cover. Perfect!

Two days later, I drove the book back to it’s home, very impressed with myself for returning it within the legally allotted time frame. I glanced at it laying beside me on the passenger seat. Okay, you could see the shiny tape, but what borrowed library book doesn’t undergo a little wear-and-tear? “Just place it on the counter with all the other returnees,” I told myself. “No one will be the wiser.”

But the closer I got to the library, the more guilty I felt. I was pretty sure it would be no big deal, but I could not in good conscience, hide the fact that this book had been injured on my watch.

I backed the car into a parking space and gathering up my bruised friend, entered the hallowed domain. Working behind the desk was the same young woman that had checked me out weeks ago. We made eye contact as I approached and then very offhandedly she groused, “Just put it over there with those other books.” With that, she dismissed me and resumed her duties.

“I think I need to speak with you about something,” I said knowing that my mother would be proud. I couldn’t take advantage of the public library system and I was sure that I would be rewarded for my honesty. “I need you to look at this book, please. The cover got a smidge torn, but I’ve mended it. I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to hide the damage.

She removed the book from my hand, gave it a cursory glance and then raised her eyes to meet mine. “You just bought this book Mam,” was her declaration. “It has been damaged beyond repair.” Then, like a general stripping a sergeant of his stripes, she began tearing off county stickers and scratching through bar codes. The final insult was to scribble black magic marker down the top, bottom and sides of the pages to make sure that everyone who laid eyes on it, would know that this book was “damaged goods.”

“That will be $14.99 plus a $3.00 processing fee,” she declared, “How do you want to pay?”

I shook my head and stared with my mouth agape at the book she had just defaced and abused far worse than I. Anteing-up, I once again thought of my mother and her honesty is the best policy belief. Are you watching Mom?

So I now OWN a bee book and here’s what I learned:

1. Borrowing a free book from the library can end up costing more than purchasing one from Amazon.com. (and that includes shipping and handling.)
2. Just because you return your book on time, doesn’t necessarily mean there won’t be a penalty.
AND

3. If you’re determined to borrow anyway and you own a cat that likes to eat paper, you better have your credit card nearby.