The Northwestern Library is an architectural monstrosity. It has no first floor, four towers of 2nd through 5th floors that are built up on stilts like Louisiana swamp-dwellings, and approximately ninety-two miles of maze-like hallways that make the place look like a level from Doom. It houses some alleged 7 million books, none of which you can find because they're all in the wrong place. But it is quiet (probably because everyone's too scared of the damn place to go there), and I'm finding more and more that it's the only place I can get any work done. I have a little desk in the core section that I have claimed as my own (unless someone else is there), and it's where I've gotten probably ninety-percent of my work done this quarter. The dorm is just too noisy and full of alluring distractions like Winamp, Mario Kart and staring blankly at the wall for extended periods of time. Besides, the brisk walk gets my mind into a study mood. So whenever I need to get something done, I just head for my tiny study-table, the one marked by the picture of a naked woman etched into the wood that's entitled "Your Mom."
So last week, I was sitting at my computer, trying to decide which swimsuit picture of Heidi Klum would look best as my wallpaper, when I suddenly had this incredible revelation. "Whoa, Jury!" I thought. "I bet you could get a ton of shit done if you spend a whole 24 hours at the library!" It was truly an unprecedented brainstorm; unprecedented, of course, meaning completely retarded. But something in me was deeply stirred by the idea. Or maybe that was Heidi. But I digress. Soon my logical self spoke up. "Paul, the library closes at 2. What are you going to do about that?" What my logical self should have said was "Wake up, you stupid bastard! Do you think you're going to want to stay in a frickin' library for 24 hours? Do you have the brains of a carp?" But it didn't say that - my logical self's not all that bright, either. So basically I had to do it. Not because it was a good idea, or because I even thought I could get everything done, but because it was just stupid enough to be fun. Maybe.
So two days later, there I was. Monday night, 9 o'clock, 4th floor East Wing (the "Books Written About How To Write Other Books" section, I believe.) I had a backpack full of books, as well as a water bottle, flashlight, walkman, and an alarm clock (in case I needed a break). My plans to beat the 2 o'clock closing time were devious and intricate - I was going to lock myself into a study room and refuse to leave. It took me 7 whole seconds to think it up. Actually, 24 hours was out because I had to go to class the next day; but I figured if I stayed over night that would be good enough. I carefully selected the ideal study-room for my night of scholarly-endeavor (namely, the first one that I found that was open), and began my reading. It was a big room, one where small classes would occasionally be held if anyone could find the damn thing. It was furnished with a long wooden table and the twenty most uncomfortable chairs ever constructed by human beings. It would have to do. I wasn't exactly expected a hot tub, anyway, though a Barca Lounger would have been nice. But again I digress. I soon set about my work.
After about 5 hours, my eyes were getting rather tired, and I could no longer feel my legs. It was now about 2 o'clock, and the library was officially closing. It seemed to me that if they were ever going to come around and kick me out, it would be now, so maybe this would be the ideal time to turn off the lights, hide out in a corner of the room, and catch a little rest. Besides, I'd already gotten quite a bit done - I read 30 pages from a text book plus a whole other book, a medieval-history-romanticist thingy about these knights kicking the crap out of these other knights for 150 pages. It was tight, except it was in prose. So with images of Charlemagne and company splitting skulls with their swords, I picked a nice comfy spot on the floor and curled up to sleep. Actually all the spots on the floor were about equally 'comfy', like sleeping on a basketball court is comfy. So I choose a spot that seemed to be less filthy and a good distance away from any mouse holes. For some reason it never occurred to me how this was better than just sleeping in my bed, but that wasn't really important. I tumbled quickly into slumber.
It was about two hours later when I found myself jolted suddenly awake as the door of my new bedroom was jerked open and the light flicked on, blinding my tired eyes. I sat up abruptly and balled my fists in defense, ready to do battle with whatever horrible evil had rousted my from my awkward sleep. And evil it was - for in walked a three-foot tall Turkish cleaning lady, the kind that haunts every child's nightmares. I know she was Turkish because I decided it would make a funnier story if she was, and because I obviously understand Turkish. She was short, squat, and ugly - traits crucial for all Eastern European cleaning ladies. She raced into the room, cast an unsurprised glance in my direction, then went about her business of picking up scraps and emptying wastebaskets like a walking communist vacuum cleaner (because obviously all Turkish people are communists). Though I could not remember where I was at first, I rapidly collected myself, carefully analyzing the situation, and then asserted myself with the most articulate comment my mind could muster.
"Whoa, shit," I said.
At last the Turkish cleaning machine finished her obliteration of all dirt pieces in the room of larger size than 3 molecules, and turned to me. In a deep-voiced accent characteristic of Austrian action stars, she spoke. "You sleep? You sleep? You sleep home. You sleep? Heh heh heh!" she chortled in a manner that was not unYoda-like. I stared at her long and hard, before I could come up with a response that I felt was safe.
"Uh, yeah," I said.
Not satisfied with my profound argument, she gibbered on, employing a whopping fourth word of English vocabulary. "You sleep here? You sleep home? You sleep here?"
Apparently she was offering me a choice. Though still sleep-dazed, I was resolved not to let my night of library conquest come to an end so soon. "Yeah, I'll sleep here, if that's cool with you."
Evidently it was, indeed, cool with her, for with that she turned and left. I stared after her for quite a while, too confused to move. After probably half an hour, I came to the conclusion that A) she knew I was here, and B) she didn't seem to mind, therefore, C) I might as well go back to sleep. Returning to my nice warm bed (thought still filthy, because Mrs. Clean had neglected to clear the dirt that I was sleeping on top of. Some people just have no respect for a quality job) I was soon dozing soundly again.
But again, my dreams were shortly interrupted. Somehow I had managed to misinterpret the incredibly clear directions of my dear friend, the thicker picker-upper. For the light flicked back on, and there, silhouetted in the door stood not one, but two squat figures. She had brought reinforcements! In came housekeeping employee #1, accompanied by yet another cleaning lady, who was also Turkish, or else something else. She must have been the first lady's superior, for she spoke a solid ten words of English, and immediately took control of the situation. She bellowed at me "You no sleep here! Illegal!" She then seized hold of my backpack and began stuffing things inside, adding "Heh! Heh! You sleep long time!"
I had indeed been 'sleep long time,' but that gave her no right to mess with my stuff, so I grabbed my bag from her and began groggily packing up my things. I somehow managed to convince her that I was sorry, I must have dozed of for… some four or five hours… I guess she believed me that it was an accident, despite the fact that my alarm clock was still plugged into the wall. Snatching it, I stuffed the last of my survival gear into my bag and ran. Into the maze of bookshelves I disappeared, with the sound of the deep, accented chortling fading out behind me.
And so, defeated and still very disoriented, I trudged from the East wing, my mission on the verge of failure. I was wondering why there had been two cleaning ladies still there at 4:30 in the morning. But as I entered the central corridor, my jaw dropped and my confusion was multiplied. It was cleaning-lady circus! There was a bucket and vacuum at the entrance to every wing, and every one had a woman standing by it, all between the heights of 5'1" and 3'10", and all staring at me. I felt like I was trapped inside the "It's a Small World" ride at Disney, except my boat was stuck at Eastern Europe, and instead of their song, all the little midget robots kept chanting "You no sleep here! You no sleep here!" in deeply accented harmony. Actually they weren't saying anything, just watching me as I freaked out and ran for the stairs. 3rd floor was the same thing - the number of cleaning ladies at the library that night could make both sides of a football team! Though they probably wouldn't be very good. But I'll bet they'd sack Gavin Hoffman a few times. Then they'd stand over him and taunt "You know run here! Illegal!" But I digress again. I ran all the way down to the 2nd floor before it hit me that "Oh yeah, the library's locked at 4:30 in the morning!" This meant from the inside too - the revolving door was no longer revolving, and there was a huge metal wall where the passage to the exit used to be. I suddenly realized that I didn't know of any other ways out, and that I had no idea where the cleaning lady super secret entrance was. Even if I did, they probably wouldn't appreciate me romping through their cleaning-lady lounge at this time of night.
And so I stopped. I weighed the sides. "Sleep bed home" would have to wait - I didn't really have much of a choice because the doors were locked and it was kind of too early to get expelled for breaking a library window. But on the other hand, I could finish the challenge! I'd just have to find a place to hide for a bit until the library opened… in four or five hours. I headed back to good old core, where, not surprisingly, there was another cleaning lady. But now I was determined - as soon as she turned around the corner, I was sprinting passed and diving ninja-style under a desk to hide. I got there and realized I didn't really know what my plans was, but hey - it was five in the morning and I was playing hide and go seek with a cleaning lady in the library. This is what college is all about. After a while, she moved to a different part of the room, and I jumped up, ran down the stairs to the downstairs of core, and locked myself into a study room. I held my breath for a minute, and when no one came, I took out my Stat book and went to work. Soon the vacuum went off, and at 6:00, they finally cut the electricity. Mr. Pen Light came out of my pocket, and the rest of the chapter was devoured in darkness.
By the time the sun began to rise, I was nearly hallucinating with fatigue. I struggled with some of my books for a bit, but then it occurred to me that I was trying to read J.S. Mills at 7:00 in the morning, and that I'd been on the same page for 45 minutes. I was better off staring out the window, which then did for about an hour. By 8 o'clock I was clinically insane, and even though the library 'technically' didn't open until 8:30, I saw people coming in and out, and decided that I had had enough.
So off I went, packing up my bag and probably forgetting two-thirds of my books. I had plenty of time to think about how I was going to get out the doors, since the walk from Core to the exit is approximately 10 miles long. By this point, my limited logic could only keep repeating one thought, the classic advice of "Just look like you know where you're going, and people will leave you alone." And so I walked, or should I say I marched, towards the exit, getting somewhat surprised glances from all the early morning library people I passed on the way. But they just took one look at me, saw how serious I was, and decided "Hey, that guy really looks like he knows where he's going! It must be alright that he's here." My final test approached. There, sitting behind the checkout desk, was this Arabian guy with a funky beard that had an earring in it (or maybe it was some religious thing, I don't know. If you haven't figured it out from the rest of this story, I'm not exactly very culturally enlightened.) Anyway, this guy looked up from the scroll he was reading, and stared. I stared back, because obviously I knew where I was going. But he was not having it.
"Hey! How the hell did you get in here?"
Casting him a cool glance as I pushed through the turn-stile and whisked passed him, I replied, "Dude, don't worry about it. I was just helping the guy with the thing. You know."
Apparently he didn't know, for he yelled after me, "What guy? What thing?" But it was too late - I was gone.
I entered Hinman at 8:15 and sat down with some friend to eat breakfast. They were complaining about how the had stayed up until 3 studying, and how they were all tired. But I just smiled and nodded. I knew what a real man's night was all about. Then I passed out into my Lucky Charms.
