A Library's Guilty Pleasures

By Isadora Mosch

I live in New York City. Regardless of how much money one makes, a lack of cash flow always seems to be an issue. Similarly, regardless of how educated, refined, or sophisticated we each consider ourselves, we all have a number of guilty pleasures, from chick flicks and cheap chocolate to reality television and wine-in-a-box.

Thus, in an effort to disguise my lack of funds and affinity for sap, I decided to start taking advantage of one of the best free spots in the city: the New York Public Library. It’s like a Barnes and Noble, Blockbuster, and a silent wireless classroom trifecta creating one beautiful concoction.

My first time visiting the NYPL, I took my time perusing the shelves upon shelves of great literature in an attempt to disguise my true intention. I browsed and removed books from the shelves in a faux-interested manner. Then, I went to the sections I actually liked: the DVD’s, teenage fiction, and books on tape.

Come on. Everyone does it. We all talk about the books we like reading, the TV shows we like watching, the movies we enjoy the most, and what we say is never the truth. Sure, we might be “watching” the National Geographic special on crop circles, but we’re really flipping to The Real Housewives of New Jersey each time our spouse or roommate or family member leaves the room.

We all have our “favorites” that we tell everyone, making us sound like we rise above the “riffraff” of popular culture to momentarily disguise our guilty pleasures. And then we have our favorites, the ones we actually pay money to have in our possession, forever.

You know what I’m talking about. No ones favorite movie is actually Pi, and no ones favorite book is actually a piece of classic English literature. And everyone, I mean everyone, has watched and enjoyed Project Runway, whether they admit to it or not.

The point of all this is that what we truly love and what we say we love is not always the same thing. In fact, we sometimes go to great lengths to protect the truth. It’s a cloak of some sort, without which we feel culturally naked and ashamed.

But there I was, at the library checkout, arms overflowing with all types of media– the kind that would leave me mortified if anyone found out they were in my possession. And this is exactly why I love the anonymity of libraries.

As my luck would have it, just as I was sloppily pouring my choices onto the counter to check out, a boy– and I kid you not– who was cute enough to have played Edward in the Twilight movies walked past me and got in line to check out. We made eye contact. Prolonged eye contact. My heart skipped a beat, as it always does when I see anyone or anything that reminds me of Twilight in any way. I felt a squeal start from the bottom of my throat– the type you hear from a pre-teen as Justin Bieber walks by– but I was able to suppress it. I was in the quiet of a library, after all. No squealing permitted, regardless of how warranted.

Still, you can imagine my mortification when the librarian proceeded to shout all of my book and DVD titles aloud for all to hear. “Shhh, don’t you know we’re in a library?” I wanted to snap.

For some reason, the scanner would not scan some of my more embarrassing choices, and so she kept shouting out the names of the books and DVDs to the people in back, in order to figure out how to check them out to me. I wanted to tell her to use code names. “Excuse me, can you please say The Economist, when you actually mean People magazine? Thankssomuch.”

The straw that broke camel’s back was when she yelled that my previously checked out book, Confessions of a Shopaholic, was almost late, and I need to hurry up and renew it.

“I know!” I hissed, and turned on my heel to leave. I felt I could have saved my last shred of dignity if I just left then. I mean, I was already holding up the line due to the scanner being on the fritz, so she should have just done everyone the favor of letting me be on my way.

No. No. No. Nononono. She felt the need to stop me to explain that all of my reserved copies of the Vampire Diaries series were ready to be picked up. “These books are found in the young adult science fiction section,” she explained.

Inwardly, I jumped with glee. Those had been on hold for weeks. On the outside, I was beet red. I backed carefully away from the librarian, when I noticed that she had failed to check out my copy of 27 Dresses. Ugh, fate. I had to tell her. I mean, I wanted to watch it. What was I going to do, steal it? I could… But then I remembered all the other city girls who were likely in the same situation and waiting to rent this ideal choice for a girls’ night in.

I got back in line. By then, Edward-boy had had enough and had apparently left the library, sans renting any books. So finally, I got out of there, too.

The lesson learned here is not the obvious one. When one wants to disguise her love of sappy stories and handsome, debonaire men that seem to always arrive at the right time to save the girl from life in the single lane, it takes risks and sacrifice. Sure, it would be easy to decide that I was never going to show my face at the public library again after that. But the easy route is for the weaklings.

No, I went back. And back. And I keep going back, so much that it’s now a weekly ritual (if not more), and the librarians know me by name. I have forfeited my pride, yes, but I have gained much in return: a place that houses all my favorite things, from movies to books to just a quiet place to sit and think. The library has offered me more than any other building in the city can, and that is a home. And it’s a glorious home that houses free indulgences– the best kind.

Isadora Mosch

Isadora Mosch
New York, NY
Isadora Mosch currently works at a French bilingual elementary school in New York City, which is only a little strange considering her college degree is in Philosophy. Her future is up in the air, and she likes that. A lot.