I hate to scare you, but it’s almost Thanksgiving break, and after that, it’s practically finals season. Soon, the time students spend in the library will significantly spike, with many students trekking to our hallowed Hes for the first time all semester. As a library diehard, I’ve been there all year (sometimes just to show face), so I’m pretty well-versed in proper library decorum. Already under the stress of finals, I become easily irked by newcomers pleading ignorance of such norms. But this year, I am ensuring there are no excuses by officially transcribing proper library etiquette.
Saving your spot
When every seat is taken, and it’s looking like you’re gonna be relegated to the jungle for the third straight day, it’s always painful to see a prime study spot empty, except for a water bottle, calculator and pencil saving the seat and warding off squatters. And while this is annoying, to some extent, spot saving is acceptable. But there is a limit to the amount of time you can rightfully reserve your seat. I have developed the following formula to help struggling students determine the maximum hours they can acceptably leave their books unattended:
Time allowed (hours) = N + 5R/0.1G - .05C + E*D - sqrt(P) + 14/L
Where N = exams in the next 48 hours, R = number of No. 2 pencils you carry, G = IQ, C = lectures you actually paid attention to this semester, E = times you’ve cried in the past 24 hours, D = days since last shower (which I’m guessing will be high for the men of St. Edward’s Hall), P = your current GPA and L = hours of sleep. And voila, there is the math behind the etiquette. Luckily, the timer doesn’t start until you leave the building, so feel free to take as many in-house brain breaks as needed, such as playing hide and seek, completing the Hesburgh challenge, and online gambling.
Pulling the fire alarm
Formal rules instruct us to only pull the fire alarm in the event of a fire emergency. But starting after LDOC, these standards loosen up.
Acceptable times to pull the fire alarm:
- When you can’t find a seat — the fire alarm is the great equalizer. Whether the student held down the fort all night or freshly arrived on the scene, each must evacuate. So after the fire department gives the all clear, it’s a mad dash for unclaimed seats, similar to the Oklahoma Land Rush of 1889. So if you slept in a little too late to claim a spot, go ahead and yank the alarm. It’s just like the old saying: “When one alarm is slept through, another gets pulled.”
- To preserve the curve — when you’re heading out for your mid-afternoon break, but on your way out, you see several classmates still hitting the books, you must do what you can to prevent them from getting ahead. All is fair in Hes and war.
Unacceptable excuses to pull the fire alarm:
- To escape: Hes, despite its lack of windows, is not actually a prison. The doors are unlocked, and, with enough agency and whimsy, you CAN just walk out! No forced evacuation necessary.
- Because you like loud noises and flashing lights: Please spare the rest of us the torture and just go to Newf’s instead.
- To pull a prank: They say that after the best pranks, both parties should be laughing. I will not be laughing if you prevent me from learning how to maximize shareholder value and passing my finance exam. You don’t have to pull a fire alarm to pull a fire prank. Try something more harmless, like labeling everything.
ABP
Fr. Hesburgh, who bears the namesake of the building whose beauty rivals that of the Basilica, declared upon the library’s construction, “Let the Library be a place on this campus where that hunger for truth will keep getting stronger.” But we aren’t only hungry for truth. Students need food to fuel all that top-20 university brain power. Luckily, there’s ABP, a restaurant which I have spent many hours convincing gullible peers that my family owns (which is clear based on the first three letters of my last name) through an elaborate lie that ties in Watergate and the inventor of aerosol spray. During the winter months, not having to face the elements to secure nourishment makes the establishment all too appealing. Thus, it is completely acceptable to have a diet of entirely ABP (and I don’t just say this to boost the profits of my supposed family business).
The true gift ABP provides is half-off pastries one hour before closing. When the clock strikes 8:00 p.m., the ABP pastry rack is practically “The Hunger Games” cornucopia. Pushing, screaming and yes, even killing, are acceptable behaviors when done in pursuit of your desired pastry. There is no such thing as too little violence and competitiveness when it comes to saving $1.35 on a dessert.
