The Arabian Nights

At my school library, they have a shelf where they sell used books for really cheap. Most of them are super old; like, you can imagine them sitting on a shelf in Belle's library and being completely at home with their worn bindings, yellowed pages, and engraved cursive lettering. 

If I'm a sucker for two things, it's old books and antiques. 

Las night, I found a gloriously vintage copy of The Arabian Nights, it had two volumes of peeling, crinkling beauty. I was going to buy them ($5 for both of them? I think yes), but the circulation desk had already closed for the night. And so, with a parting sigh, I placed them back on the shelf (indented a bit, so they were more hidden), and promised to return the next day. 

I came back today after class with a crisp five dollar bill (okay, it was actually a ten, but that's not important. It was also kind of old and wrinkly); I was very excited for my new/old books. 

I got there, and there was a man standing there, holding my books! I was about ready to snatch them from his hands and tell him they they were my books--I has found them first, but some minuscule amount of social awareness kept me silent and helpless as he walked off with my hopes and dreams tucked under his arms. That might be a little bit of an over-exaggeration, but that's basically how I felt. 

Moral of the story: being polite and normal was totally not worth two beautifully glorious books.