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.