“Ma’am,” I said, “There’s a sticker warning against this. You need to come out.”
“But all the books. You can’t just throw them away,” she said, peeking out over the lip of the blue dumpster as she dropped a tattered and torn copy of the DSM IV. The metal bin held the library’s trash, including a healthy amount of materials.
“The books in there came from the book sale, ma’am,” I said, “They were there for months and nobody wanted them.”
“So put them back on the shelf,” she said.
I dodged a copy of Janet Evanovich as it clattered to my feet. I picked it up and noted the holes in the item which looked suspiciously like bullet holes.
“We deemed them unusable. They sat on the shelf for years and nobody wanted them. Then in the book sale. They are unwanted.”
“Your prices are too high,” she said.
“The highest price thing in the book sale is a quarter.”
“Then donate them,” she said, “Goodwill could sell them. That Salvation Army could.”
“Maybe, but these are torn and broken books.”
“The dumpster company does that.”
Two volumes of an encyclopedia hit the ground and several worn pages fluttered out, “I won’t give up on them.”
“Okay,” I said, and walked away.
“You’re just leaving? I’ll call the news.”
“We already did. They didn’t want the books either,” I said and opened the door to the library and left her in the dumpster.