Before I hit Club Med for Spring Break, it looks like I'll be hitting Club Clemons.
It may be easy to forget from year to year the monstrous amount of work that stands between you and the perfect tan. If it's not midterms, it's a paper. If it's not a paper, it's a campaign. The list goes on from there. And on, and on, and . . .
I've always been one to study in my room, but when the midterm crunch hit me hard last week, I knew it was time to pull out all the stops.
I was going to Clemons.
The fourth floor was out - entirely too social and noisy. There also was the possibility of running into someone I knew, which would require that I look somewhat presentable.
I took a quick glance in the mirror and realized that I'd been wearing the same shirt and socks for two days.
Make-up and a hairbrush seemed like distant memories. No, I can't be running into anyone today, I thought as I surveyed my disastrous appearance.
But it was 9 on a Saturday morning, and I was proud of myself for just being awake. Bed-head was the least of my concerns.
The first floor of the library enticed me with its promise of quiet study. The poster on the door had a big "X" through a person talking and using a cell phone.
This was the place for me. Even if someone wanted to make a comment about my two-day old T-shirt, they couldn't - no talking, the sign said so.
Settled into my chair with a green cushion and three freshly sharpened pencils, I already was feeling productive.
Then I heard a phone ring. I turned around to watch the girl behind me pull a black Nokia phone from her backpack and contemplate the contents of the Caller ID for several seconds before answering the call. As she walked into the stairwell, I resisted the urge to point out the sign about cell phones to her. Instead, I took her seat cushion for some extra padding on the back of my chair. Anything goes at Club Clemons.
As the day progressed and more students made their way out of bed to the library, I watched as the first floor of Clemons came to life.
There were the regulars, who came in through the door with an Orgo book and made a beeline to their usual spot. Some came to eat, with steaming Styrofoam containers from Newcomb brunch.
As lunchtime drew near and stomachs were rumbling, the guy who strolled in with the warm Belgium waffle must have had a death wish. If he'd gotten up to use the restroom or sharpen a pencil, I guarantee that waffle would have been history.
I was slowly learning that the quiet floor was not exactly the silent floor.
Cell phones continued to ring at fairly consistent intervals, friends greeted each other with the same weary smile and someone even was snoring.
The poor guy was sitting upright in his chair, with his head thrown back, snoring as loud as can be. The people sitting around me in this section started to chuckle, but secretly we all could relate. There seemed to be a silent consensus that day that sleeping in the library still was somewhat more productive than sleeping at home.
After spending a Saturday at Clemons, watching people come, go, listen to their Discmen, catch some Zs, eat their waffles and even do a little work, I decided that I might just become a groupie after all.
I've even been known to slip onto the second and third floors from time to time for a change of scenery.
But the fourth floor is still off-limits. My T-shirt still needs changing.
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