renting

Some time ago our apartment mailbox door cracked under the pressure of being responsible for the security of our most secret correspondence, ("New Release from AOL!") assorted bills and catalogs. There is something very intimate about a person's mail, even if it is -- like ours -- mostly haunted by the ghosts of political candidates past and eager non-profits hoping that our contribution towards environmental action groups means we'll be interested in funding the GOP and its ongoing attempt to eradicate poverty by eradicating, well, people.

As I say, the strain finally got to our mailbox door, which was not of high-end manufacturing to begin with, and certainly not psychologically prepared for the constant assaults on its virtue. The end result was a mailbox door that swung open whenever someone passed, as though inviting everybody it encountered to dive into the inner recesses of our life.

"Oh look, honey. The people in Apartment 3G get the Good Vibrations catalog! And the new fall collection is out at L.L. Bean!"

After a few weeks of having to pick up our mail off the floor and getting the odd look from neighbors (not to mention the occasional, peculiar sheep sounds they'd make when we passed) we finally got around to complaining to the building management. They responded quite quickly, and a couple of days later we were the proud owners of a new and improved mailbox.

Unfortunately, new and improved mailbox only had one key. As I am usually weighed down with groceries and gym bags and computers when I return home, and the Guy is weighed down by -- well, anyway, it was generally decided that he would be the keeper of the key. It is his household duty to check the mail every day when he returns home from work. He performs this chore quite well, all things considered.

That said, there are times when this can be of debateable benefit.

I have mentioned before my peculiar relationship with libraries, in which the word "rent" is more relevant a word than "borrow." I "rent" books from libraries, in the same way that I "rent" DVDs from the local movie rental store; I understand that libraries are functionally free for all community members, and while I am grateful that that option is open to me should I choose to take advantage of it, the occasion has not yet arisen.

Our local libraries are considerate in that at some point, they will eventually begin to call and remind you about books that are overdue, just in case your possession of them has managed to slip your memory. Once the books are returned, if there should be some outstanding charge attendent on returning books a few days, weeks -- or, possibly, a month and a half -- late, they will considerately send you a postcard with the final tally so you are prepared when next you go by the library.

If you have too many fines to fit on one postcard, they will send you two. Or three. Or however many it takes to communicate the final tally to you. I consider this good service.

"Why do you owe $48 to the library?"

The only problem with this is that anybody who gets the mail gets a free pass into your private business dealings with the library.

The Guy does not understand my relationship with the library, which he feels -- rightly or wrongly, I can't say -- is somewhat dysfunctional. "Did you even read these books?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't feel like it."

"So why didn't you return them?"

"Because I thought I might want to read them. Later."

"But you didn't."

"But I thought I might want to."

"This is how they tell you about overdue books? They send you postcards with your current bill? In a week are we going to get another bill for more money?"

"No. They're just sending those to tell me how much money I owe now. I already turned them in."

"You did? Were there more postcards?"

"They called me..."

"Oh. That was nice."

"...a few times."

"A few. So you knew they were overdue?"

"Well, of course I did."

He stared at me blankly. "Of ... of course you did?"

"Well, sure."

"And you still owe $48?"

"It adds up a little."

"How is it possible that you knew they were overdue and you now owe $48?"

"I didn't return them after the first call," I explained patiently. "I wasn't done with them yet."

"And now you're done with them."

"I turned them in last week."

"And ... did you read any of the books in between the first phone call and the time you returned them?"

"No."

"So they just sat there."

"Well, I wasn't done with them yet."

"Done doing what?"

I sighed. "I wasn't done thinking about whether or not I felt like reading them."

The Guy doesn't get this. You can see him struggling with it. His philosophy is that anything I am interested in, I should simply buy.

"We have too many books."

"It would be less expensive if you just bought them."

"But some of these books are hard to find, and that's why I go to the library."

"But you didn't read them!"

I fail to see his point.

He is, like most men, extremely inconsistent. Discovering that I was buying CDs of music I liked, he instantly suffered a violent reaction -- in the opposite direction. "You're buying CDs?" he cried. "My God. You're just a giant waste of money, aren't you?"

I'm not sure how to take that. I'm fairly sure it was not meant to be flattering.