Like the rest of you, I was pulled under by the riptide that is midterms. Inspired by all the studious Sallys out there, I decided to step into the role of “student” and go to the library. 

The library is a strange, oddly intense place. Always dodging something or someone, I scuttled like a house mouse to my secluded nook in the back corner. Then, when I finally settled into my spot and approached the idea of productivity, I was immediately disrupted by the infuriatingly loud sounds of my fellow students. What I experienced in the library was absolutely abysmal etiquette.

• There is a sign at the front of the library that says “no food or drink besides water” for a reason. Here I was, staring catatonically, and you swoop in only to loudly unwrap your Blueberry Bliss Luna Bar. After the cacophony of this grand unwrapping ceases, I am accosted by the artificial scent of blueberries; apparently we’re now sharing your tasty little treat together. I don’t care if you eat; I don’t care if you drink — I just don’t want the smell of whatever you’re ingesting to waft over to my desk.
• The library bathrooms are quiet, clean and usually empty. But there you are, in deep examination of the pimple in the middle of your chest, and here I am about to soil myself. We’re strangers on a campus of about 1,600 people. I’ll most likely run into you again, and I would not like to be remembered as the girl who ripped one loose in the bathroom as you played dermatologist in the mirror. 

With all this said, I will be in the library on Sunday with my own Blueberry Bliss Luna Bar, and I will eventually go into the bathroom and get caught up examining the blackheads on my chin. It’s fine when I do it. But you? Hell no.