The smell of old books and stale coffee is all too familiar as I take my first steps into the faciest place on a Sunday (second only to Cantina): Library West.
First Floor Library West
The first floor is an unbalanced mix of impatient Starbucks customers and activists pestering people to sign their petitions. This is the only place in the entire library that can claim such a motley crew, with fifth floor isolationists getting their fix of espresso, and non library goers meeting up with friends to just sit and chat. There is almost never a place to sit on the first floor, and if you are actually using the library to study, then this is not the place for you.
I get forced towards the escalator as hordes of caffeine fiends wait around awkwardly for their order to come. An even louder chatter masks the hustle and bustle of the ground floor as I ascend up to the next level.
Second Floor Library West
The second floor is almost always warmed by body heat and almost never has any open outlets. The people who are regulars on the second floor endearingly call it “club west” and rarely get any work done. Groups of people are split up between Student party, Swamp party, Blue Key directors and Santa Fe students alike, all talking too loud to actually be productive. In the middle of the second floor sits rows and rows of small, wooden cubicles. Students go here to be seen looking intelligent, while still being able to focus on what’s in front of them: Facebook.
Across from the small wooden cubbies sit the most calculated and even sneakier version of facey students: the group projects. Sitting in a glass box, these small rooms are the best way to stay relevant and look intelligent, without having to make small talk with people you met at midtown the night before.
Stepping into the elevator, I try to mentally prepare myself for the Greek reunion I am about to be confronted with. Do I pretend to be texting? Do I fake a serious phone call? My time runs out as I am trying to decide, and the elevator door slides open.
Third Floor Library West
A sea of backwards hats and Comfort Colors pocket-tees fill the room, so much so that one could even mistake frat attire as the mandatory uniform. Everyone from Sigma Kappa to Kappa Sigma seems to understand the unspoken notion that the third floor is the floor for facey Greeks. To the left of the elevator sits the sorority girls, in circular booths that resemble the ones at their new favorite restaurant, Zoë’s kitchen. Each sitting with a pile of loose paper and a half drunken venti iced coffee, it is seriously unclear if they’re discussing how to find the rate of a plane, or who to bring on their grab a date (it’s still 3 months away).
Across the third floor, you will find an open, hot room full of large tables and a TV screen the plays the most depressing news on cable. This is very important: Do not ever walk to this side of the third floor without at least one friend in tow. Don’t do it. I don’t care if you’re meeting friends here, I don’t care if you don’t have any friends, I don’t care if your friends dared you to do it. This side of the third floor is not a place to go without some serious backup. The tables are split evenly with Greek guys and gals, hoping to meet or meet up with someone they think they saw when they post-gamed last week. It’s a sober social where every sorority and every fraternity go to not only look intelligent, but to hopefully prove their knowledge to the one of their choosing. With everyone so focused on people watching, and less focused on study edge lectures, one slip up, one two minute time period where you’re wandering aimlessly trying to find a seat, will leave you extremely vulnerable.
I try to hold back my sneeze as I open the stairwell door. After all, I wouldn’t dare disrupt a group of students who actually go to library west to get work done.
Fourth Floor Library West
The fourth floor is where students go to get serious, either that or they just couldn’t find anywhere else to sit. Talking is only permitted if it’s rare and at a whisper, and the sound of humming laptops can be heard throughout the floor. In the far corner you can find a good amount of students who have passed out face first in a sea of Orgo notes, and for every one person there are seven cups of coffee.
Do I dare take the elevator to the fifth floor? Do I dare even think to hit the button to the sixth floor? I’ve only heard stories of this no-man’s land, only myths about confused students traveling up here to never be seen or heard from again. I courageously step off the elevator and almost walk directly into what seems like an academic jail cell. The silence is so thick I could cut it with a knife, and my heart begins to race so much so that the grad student’s might even be able to hear it. I instinctively step back into the elevator, and have yet to revisit since.
As I return back to the land of screaming whispers, Starbucks orders and very little completed work, I review what I’ve seen at the infamous library. I decide then and there as I descend down the escalator that I’d rather show less face than ever endure a journey through Library West again.
Feature photo courtesy of: Blogspot
