The Overdue Shouty Old Man

It had been four months since I last saw him darken our door, but he was back just the other day, and of course he had to make another scene. He walked past the book return slot, but whether he was being oblivious or obnoxious, I do not know. Instead, he walked to the front desk with two plastic grocery sacks of books and asked me to check them in. I oblige, and discover that they are all six months overdue.

Our district went fine-free some years ago, so we do not charge a daily overdue fee for items. Instead, accounts are restricted. This is usually incentive enough for items to be brought back. However, if kept too long, they are marked as "lost" and the cover price is charged to the patron's account. If this sum exceeds a certain threshold, the account eventually enters the collections process. This entails a collections fee which is non-negotiable.

We just want our books back. We don't want to profit from forgetfulness or the chaos of normal life, but we are custodians of literature, and it needs to remain available to the public. This shouldn't be a point of contention. However, Shouty only heard the part about "no overdue fees" and assumed he could indefinitely keep nine hardbound large print novels with cover prices averaging $30 apiece. It does not work that way.

He hadn't even finished the books, and still thought this whole mess was somehow my problem! He took offense when I informed him of the collection fee, and said we wouldn't be getting any money from him. "Send me a bill if you want me to pay. I'll throw that in the trash anyway and you won't get a penny," he said, or something near enough to that. Never mind that returning the books removed at least $250 of missing item charges, and there were no late fees left over whatsoever. No, that $15 collections charge was still a bridge too far.

For those who have been following this saga, I asked about that snowblower. He said he had not fixed it, and the snow had not only caught up before he was ready, it buried the machine when the roof shed its load of white slop. He probably needed to return those books way back then, but was either distracted by the mechanical quandary he faced, or had already convinced himself that there was no urgency whatsoever for returns.

The morals of the story? Don't bite off more than you can chew. Don't borrow more than you can read. Return your books in a timely manner. Librarians do not mind if you remove yourself from our daily routine if you're a jerk. Age is no guarantee of wisdom. I dunno, maybe I'm just turning into a bitter cantankerous old man myself. Whatever. Git off mah lawn!