When I was in Kindergarten, I borrowed The Mixed-Up Chameleon from the Sandy Hook School library, and on the very same day my mom bought The Very Hungry Caterpillar from Borders. Two weeks later when it came time to return the book I had borrowed, I accidentally returned The Very Hungry Caterpillar and left The Mixed-Up Chameleon at home. Since both were written by Eric Carle, it was an easy mix-up.
The next time my class had library, we each stood in line at the front desk with our book. You could either renew your book or slip it through the small opening in one of the desks for due books. When it came my turn, I dropped The Very Hungry Caterpillar down the aperture. My heart sank as soon as I did it; I realized immediately after that it was my book- not the library's- I handed in. It was gone. It seemed that when I handed in my book through the slot, I had really dropped it into an alligator's mouth that swallowed the book entirely. In my mind, I would never get it back.
Being as shy as I was, I was reluctant to speak to the librarian about just about anything. This issue mattered to me, though. My mom had spent her own money on the book I so carelessly threw in the bin. Using this as my motivation, I was able to gather enough courage to converse with the Mrs. B, the librarian, who was known to be impatient and tactless with kids such as me. As soon as I approached her, however, I choked. How could I explain this complex problem to her? I started to sob, but I was able to give her bits and pieces of the story. Unable to understand my concern, she made the problem worse by telling me that I handed in the book already and that everything was worked out. My mind screamed, 'No! No! You don't understand! I handed in my book, not yours! Give me back my book! Your book is at my house!' The world stopped turning because Mrs. B misunderstood my situation. I remained heartbroken.