Yesterday at the local public library I hunted down a book about not-being-so-damn-stressed- out all-of-the-time. I flipped through it and decided it looked okay, so I put it down by my bookbag, planning to check it out when I was done with studying. When that time came, I remembered I hadn't gotten a library card yet, and I didn't have my Dartmouth ID with me with which to do so.
So I decided to take the book home, knowing that I would be back this morning at 10 to study. I would put it back in its place before anyone noticed it was missing. (It was a thin little book, and I was confident I could finish it in one evening.) (I am constantly amazed by what I am able to justify.)
An hour or so after I returned from the library, my phone rang.
Caller: Enough Fig Cookies? This is Sue from the [local public] library.
EFC (my heart in my throat, my stomach in knots, how had they found out??? would they ever let me go back??? was it time to find a new study spot??? would that study spot be jail???): Y-y-yes?
Sue: We have some items of yours here at the circulation desk. They must have fallen out of your pocket in the parking lot. Some ID cards, like a Blockbuster card.
EFC (exhaling): Oh, thank you, Sue. I'll swing by tomorrow morning to pick them up.
First of all, I'm not proud to be admitting this story to you. Please judge me only behind my back. Secondly, I haven't decided yet what conclusions I should be drawing from this situation. That I shouldn't steal? That I shouldn't panic prematurely? That I should tell Sue that those cards were once bathing in toilet water?