The Eighth Page

Library Libel

As I am a consummately organized and conscientious student, I am confronted on a daily basis by hordes of lesser beings who wish for me to teach them about my study routine. So, I’d like to present A Night at the Library, a scrupulously detailed, play-by-play account of just one of the countless nights I’ve spent hitting the books at the Oliver Wendell Holmes Library. 7:54: I enter the library and take quick glance at the enticing pleasure-reading shelf. I pick up one particularly thick volume and leaf through it until I realize I’m holding it upside down. A librarian notices and makes the What Is Wrong With America’s Youth??? face at me. It occurs to me, after a moment of further reflection, that I get this look not infrequently. 7:56: A hoard of freshman girls are gathered around the computer bar (you know what I’m talking about). I approach the table and, doing my best Sean Connery impression, request a martini shaken, in the preferred style of suave jetsetter playboy James Bond. I roll on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter, but the girls don’t think it’s funny and they quickly scatter. One of them remarks, “Ecchh! Dan Adler is weird!” I also get that one not infrequently. 7:57: Still chuckling from my excellent line, I log onto PAnet to see what I have in the way of important e-mail. Unfortunately, the only e-mails I have are from my mom, Mr. Driscoll, and I follow up on the SomebodyLikesYou e-mail. It turns out my admirer is 6’8”, 323 pounds, and has long blonde hair. She sounds nice. 8:01: After my quick e-mail check, it’s time to go to I check out all the regular writers and find out that my beloved Cleveland Cavaliers have lost again. To ease my pain, I read up on LeBron James. 8:34: (Yes, I screwed around on for that long) Finally, it’s time to do some work. I enter the Garver Room and look around for friends. Since I have no friends besides Paul Kim ’05, I expand my search to any seat around a non-freshman. Next, I move on from Garver because there are no spots that fit this bill. I walk the treacherous path to the Freeman Room. On my way through the Dole Room, I am forced to pay the toll. I am low on cash, but luckily the toll booth operators are nice and they let me pay by check. I make the check payable to Dan Koh ’03 and Colin Liotta ’03. 8:39: When I reach Freeman, I head straight for the magazines. I scour the shelves for Maxim, FHM, Blender, Stuff, and Gear. Unfortunately, I don’t find any of my magazines of preference, so I settle for Yahoo! Internet Life. 8:51: I get that inkling for tinkling, which means it’s time to hit the bathroom. I enter the bathroom and use the kiddy urinal to avoid confrontation and questions about manliness. 8:53: I get up off the floor and wash my hands. Who’s with me when I say that we need to get better automatic sensors or go back to old-fashioned faucets? Personally, I feel nothing is worse than the water shutting off during a good hand washing. After telling everyone in the bathroom my thoughts on the faucets, I am shoved out and asked never to return. In light of this little episode, I resolve to trek to Commons at the arrival of any future inkling. Worst of all, I am kicked out before I get to dry my hands, so I am forced to wipe the water off on my pants. Struck with a sudden urge to play with the microfiche, I head downstairs. 8:57: I go past the freshman table at the bottom of the stairs to the familiar file cabinet and pull out my personal favorite microfiche (according to the American Heritage Dictionary, “microfiche” is “a small sheet of microfilm on which many pages of material have been photographed; a magnification system is used to read the material”), the 1989 Sports Illustrated Special 25th Anniversary Swimsuit Edition. I’m quite familiar with the cabinet, so it only takes a second to load the microfilm and commence ogling. 9:17: Oh yes, this is ladies’ night and I feel all right. So I load my last 40 cents into the microfiche copier and make copies of Cheryl Tiegs, Elle McPherson and some article (accidentally). I try to fool the machine into taking 20 Honduran cents in place of a dime, but I am unsuccessful. I will later pin these copies to my ceiling. I return to gazing until I am dizzy from too much time in the world of itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikinis. 9:30: It’s getting late, so I go into the bottom stack to do some real work. I open up a book and immediately fall asleep. Somehow, I wake up on the third floor of the stacks and I realize it’s time to head out. I grab my stuff and head back to Fuess for some real work.