Library Love Affair

Me and the New York Public Library don’t exactly get along. Odd, I know, considering both myself and libraries are for the most part non-confrontational. If I had to personify a library I’d say it was the quiet, docile, wallflower type. Perhaps my outgoingness is clashing with the library’s more reserved features?

I was so excited the day my library card came in the mail in 2007. My membership will let me borrow books for the price of nothing! It will let me pour over play scripts and musical scores. It will provide me with entertainment and enlightenment on my 45 minute commute into the city. I intended to take advantage of my membership like no other little actress has ever taken advantage of the Public Library system before. And did you know, there’s over 87 branches of the NYPL and you can use your card at any one?! So many possibilities!

How quickly you let me down, Library. The first time I went to drop off my books on their due date was a Friday in November of 2007. It was cold. And raining. It was just a quick stop to the library before taking the train to visit my boyfriend in CT. But the doors were locked. That’s weird, it’s 10:32…aren’t libraries open by 10 on weekdays? Oh, well I’ll drop these off in the…where’s the drop-off box? I circle the whole building, twice, as the clock ticks and I suddenly realize I’ll be late for my 11:15 train. No drop off box? How are you supposed to drop off books if there’s no drop off box? Oh! Security Guard! You can’t hear me because there’s a huge glass door between us, but can you read my lips: “Where – Do – I – Put – These?” He must have read the anxiety on my face because he’s coming over to me. Hopefully to take these books off my shoulders. Did I mention their heavy, too? They’re hard-cover musical scores of Cinderella, Kiss Me, Kate and Songs For a New World, along with a Neil Simon play.

“Sorry, miss, we’re not open,” says the little old Indian man. He’s rolly-polly and about 5 feet, and his front teeth are chipped. “Oh, ok,” I smile ever-so-politely – as that’s the only way I know how because I’ve only been living here for a month and not quite a New Yorker yet – “can I just drop these off, then?” “Oh, no, you can’t do that. We’re not open. We open at noon.” WHAT?! What about us morning people? We go back and forth because I’m having a hard time fathoming this flaw in the library system. And I really can’t wait for 12pm. Then I’ll definitely miss my train. “Well, would I be able to hand them to you, and you can drop them off for me at 12?” “Oh no no no, miss,” and he turns his back on me as if I’ve just asked him to give me his first-born child. With desperation in my voice, because it’s hitting me that I am just a little girl in this big evil city and that even the rejection of the little jolly old elf-looking security guard at the library can knock me off my feet, I ask “Well then what should I do?” He points to the north. “One block up, there’s another library.” “Thank you! Thank you!” I shout as I run with my track-star speed down the stairs of Lincoln Center, my heart lifted again at the hope this city offers and the pay-off of my persistence.

I approach the giant doors of Library #2 of 87. Good, I see people inside, that means…wait, why is this door locked? Hello, can you let me in please? Three librarians stare at me as I try to break in. C’mon, you are right there on the other side of the door, just let me in. They shake their heads no. I put my hands in prayer position and mouth a “please!” Point to my figurative watch. Motion I have to go. They shake their heads no. I slowly drop my plastic bag of books to the ground and put my arms up as if I’ve just dropped a weapon and am backing away slowly when the tall hipster librarian man shoots me a glare through his black rimmed glasses and mouths “don’t’ you dare.” Fine! I throw my arms up in anger and disbelief, shooting an equally menacing (in attempt) glance back at him. It’s 10:59. If I run, I will make my train to the safe haven of CT and although I’ll have to pay a fine for overdue books, at least I’ll have a good weekend. And I do. Until I find out that the fine for my late library books is $11.50! I could have bought one of the darn books for that! Or a cocktail!

The fury of my late fee, the absurd hours, and absence of drop-off boxes has put an end to my love affair with the library. In fact, I don’t go back until a Monday in January. I've even looked up the Monday hours on the website. Full of optimism and forgiveness I march up to the glass doors to find out... it’s closed! For Martin Luther King Day! Strike again! Reminder notices should be posted around the city and the internet that things like libraries are closed on holidays such as this.

My relationship with the Library has been a long, difficult road these past three years. Every time I try to learn from a mistake, I seem to then make another. In fact, I’ve taken up an affair with Barnes & Noble to curb my reading fix. Inspired by the new year, though, I logged onto the Library’s website ready to request some books last week. After 20 minutes of selecting my browsing and selecting my books, I find out…my library card expired…yesterday.

This relationship is just not meant to be. Good thing there's other things in this city to take advantage of...