Columnist Melissa Schorr: An overdue look at library fees

Melissa Schorr

Monday, Nov. 30, 1998 | 11:24 a.m.

So my life got a little hectic recently, and by the time I made it to the library to return some books, I found out I owed them, roughly, the equivalent to the GNP of Siberia.

So, I exaggerate. But still, if you're like me, stocking up with reading material in bulk on each trip, a couple days of attention deficit can end up costing more than, well, a trip to Borders would have cost in the first place.

And there's just no reasoning with these library clerks.

You can't wheedle your way out of the fines, play dumb, or stalk off in a huff. (I've tried.) Oh, and, bribes don't seem to work, either.

Compared to Henderson's library district, which charges a mere nickle a day, and Boulder City's, which asks for a dime, Las Vegas-Clark County's quarter a pop seems downright putative. And lucrative: last year, their penal system raked in $626,306 in fines from miscreants like myself.

Yes, I know, it's my own &*^%$ fault, so I'll quit my whining -- shortly.

But honestly, I've paid so much money in late fees that I'm beginning to feel like a honorary contributor -- only without my own plaque on the wall.

Whatever became of the sensible practice of stamping the due date prominently inside each jacket cover, as opposed to issuing these idiotic green slips, which promptly end up crumpled at the bottom of my purse?

The worst of it is, I can't even be indignant when the library clerk busts me for tardiness. What if they start scrolling back and revealing what I've been reading lately? No, nothing the Feds or the CIA would be concerned with, but nothing I'd want announced to my fellow patrons, either.

I have a knack for checking out, shall we say, a strange combination of reading material: "The Complete Works of Dorothy Parker" alongside "The Rules -- Part II."

I guess my privacy alone is worth a little hush money.

That's why I don't begrudge the library its exorbitant late fees. Really I don't.

For one thing, it's tax deductable -- hey, reading "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus in the Bedroom" is a legitimate job requirement for someone in my profession.

Also, the district must desperately need the money, because from what I can tell, they don't have too many books there.

Oh, they've got a $1.2 million new computer system in the pipeline, and videos, magazines, and CDs galore.

But books? Only fifteen percent of a $28 million budget goes to actually buying them. All I know is I've been trying to score a copy of two recent bestsellers, "Angela's Ashes" and "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil," for aeons now, and haven't been successful yet.

I suppose I could just put my name down on the "reserve" list, but I'd rather not be such a overt library weenie.

I prefer sneaking in every few weeks or so, confirming that my selection is still off the shelf, floating somewhere out in check-out land, and slinking out -- with my dignity intact.

At least that way, I don't have to risk another encounter with the library squad, who must recognize me my now -- or, at least, my checkbook.

Next time I'm running late, I may just save face and hold out for Amnesty Day.