Back.

I'm back from the Outer Banks. It was a more glorious vacation than I ever could have imagined, although I did not, as BL predicted, meet a vacationing Boston boy and fall in love. She was disappointed to learn her prediction didn't come true.
I was disappointed that BL was still around to harass me when I returned. (WHAT? One can hope!)
So I'm back, everything is still the same, and within about three point five seconds I was in my closet about to tear my hair out.
Some guy comes down from the textbook floor. WITH THE SHELF TAG from text. That, oh, indicates the course number and book for the class.
"I need this book."
"Uh....you're really not supposed to take this tag."
"They didn't have the book."
"Well...you should then write down the book and bring it to me to see if we have it in trade. Not take the shelf tag."
"Well, now people won't be disappointed like me and find an empty shelf."
Yes, really, THAT was his rationalization.
"You can speak to someone on the text floor. They would be happy to tell you when the book is arriving."
"No one up there wants to help me."
Since I had JUST walked down the escalators and, from a limited vantage point, had seen at least three people on the text floor, I knew that he was full of shit.
"If you go up there, someone will help you. I'll call up to make sure."
"No. And you can take care of this." He hands me the shelf tag.
I'm all alone on the floor and VERY irritated by this point.
"No." I am livid. "You can return this because someone up there will be happy to help you." My voice drips with sweetness.
But my soul is rotting.
I AM NOT A SERVANT.