The Late Fee That Broke Me

It all started with a book. 101 Ways to Cook with Cheese, to be exact. I checked it out from the library with every intention of returning it on time. I was even excited about it. I made sticky notes, dog-eared pages, and tried at least three recipes. One of them involved microwaving a block of cheddar until it resembled lava. Delicious chaos.

But life happened. One week turned into two. Then three. Somewhere between binge-watching crime documentaries and trying to grow basil in my kitchen window, I forgot about the cheese book entirely.

Then came the email.

SUBJECT: OVERDUE NOTICE – ACTION REQUIRED

The words "late fee" blinked at me like an accusation. It was only 99 cents, but it hit me like a thousand-dollar lawsuit. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the principle of the thing. Maybe it was the shame. Maybe I was just hungry and emotional.

I put on pants (a rare event for a Tuesday afternoon) and marched to the library with the book in hand, prepared to face justice like a grown-up. But when I got there, things took a weird turn.

I handed the book to the librarian, a sweet older woman named Linda who smelled like lemon-scented pledge and quiet judgment. She scanned the book, looked at her screen, and then looked at me.

"You're late," she said.

“I know,” I said solemnly

She clicked a few more times and frowned. "That'll be $1.98."

Wait. WHAT?

“It was 99 cents in the email,” I said, confused.

“Well, that was yesterday. You’re another day late. It’s 15 cents per day, per item."

My eye twitched. “So you’re telling me I owe you two bucks because I forgot to return a book about cheese?”

Linda didn’t blink. “Correct.”

At this point, something inside me snapped. Not in an aggressive way—more in a first-world-problem-induced existential crisis kind of way.

“Do you know what you could buy with two dollars?” I asked.

Linda looked unimpressed. “A taco?”

“Exactly!” I cried. “A delicious taco! And instead, I’m paying for a cheese cookbook I didn’t even finish! The grilled brie recipe was a disaster!”

A small child next to me clutched his teddy bear and backed away slowly. An older man browsing nearby whispered, “It’s not worth it, man.”

But it was worth it. I needed this win. I needed to feel like I had control over something—anything—in my life. So I did what any mature adult would do.

I pulled out my debit card, paid the $1.98, and made the most dramatic exit a library has ever seen. I whispered, “I hope the cheese was worth it,” and left, slamming the door softly because, you know, library etiquette.

I went home, reheated some frozen mac and cheese, and thought about my choices.

Moral of the story?

Never underestimate the power of a library late fee to trigger a full emotional breakdown. Also, grilled brie is a lie. Stick to cheddar.

2:

At a fancy restaurant, Bob tried impressing his date by ordering in French. “Je voudrais le poulet... flamboyant?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. Minutes later, Bob's chicken arrived on fire—literally. Flames danced as he screamed, flapping his napkin like a matador. Water flew everywhere. His date calmly took a bite of her salad and said, “Well, you did ask for flamboyant.” The fire alarm went off, waiters panicked, and Bob's eyebrows were slightly singed. As they were escorted out, he whispered, “Next time, pizza?” She nodded, laughing. “Only if you don’t order in Italian.”

3:Dog stole the wedding ring, buried it—best man now owes a treasure map.
Hhhhhhh

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