Shhh... It's the Library.

There are two things in the world that I absolutely detest: people who -- no matter how shitty your own life is -- always thirst to prove that they have it worse and the 24-hour Study Room in Hale Library.

When I went to Hale tonight (an effort to avoid the weekly annoyance of poker and to try and buckle down on my Harry Potter paper, now due in fewer hours than it will probably take me to write it) I imagined that I would be able to avoid this pit of weird smells, foreign accents, and ceaseless cell-phone ringing by venturing to one of the other quiet, beautiful floors. Unfortunately, all these wonderful places for study were closed, because this is Kansas State, after all, and one can't expect too much.

No, biggie, I think to myself. It's a Saturday night, and it isn't too loud down here in the depths of hell... I'll cope. So I find myself a table and sit and read/plan my paper for a good, oh, I dunno, forty-five minutes, when a gentleman approaches my table, asks if I could possibly share as all the other tables are full, and, upon receiving my affirmative reply, sits across from me and begins drawing a diagram that looks like a spider.

This is a bit of a stretch for me, but I've had a good day -- I can deal with this. And I do; for thirty gloriously silent minutes, I read my book while this gentleman (clad in head-to-toe KSU regalia) draws his diagram. I begin to think to myself that at some point he's going to ask me what I'm reading, so in an effort to avoid that (and any other conversation) I put a bookmark in my book and go get myself a bottle of citrus-flavored water (pretty tastey,) giving the very ardent K-Stater a chance to glimpse the title and author of the book I'm reading, thus quelching his thirst for knowledge of my activities. Why, oh why can't people understand my generous gestures of nonverbal communication?

Fifteen minutes later, as I'm joyously reading about how this angel is going to be the guide and protector of our hero, Will, I hear the dreaded question:

"Whatcha reading?"

This is the first moment I've given him a good look. He's a darkly complected lad perhaps one or two years my junior, but he has the sickly pale look of an engineering major. His interest appears genuine, so I hazard to tell him that I am reading The Amber Spyglass, the third book in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy for my Harry Potter class.

"Your what class?"

My eyes follow his to my stack of four of the five Harry Potter books sitting to my right. I tell him again that it's a Harry Potter class, prompting him to ask all the usual insipid questions that result from the newfound awareness that such a course exists at an accredited (for the time being) University.

"Yeah, well, at least yours sounds fun... I have been working on this elevation grid for three days now, and..."

I begin to prepare. As I smile and nod, I begin to check my cell phone periodically as though I have to be somewhere at a certain time. He continues.

"... and then, as if that wasn't enough, she is giving us a make-up test, but we have to correct the first test before we can take it, and..."

I respond beautifully with cliches like "sounds like it's been a helluva week" and "don't we all" and "it'll pay off in the end." All the while I'm picturing in my head what this fellow would do if I packed my things, stood up, and walked away.

"... so Spring Break was pretty much the best week of my life, but afterwords..."

Looking at the absurd amount of purple this guy is wearing, I begin to realize how he pretty much epitomizes my experience here at Kansas State University: as much as I work to succeed, I can't really get past the fact that I'm not at Stanford or Yale or even KU... I'm graduation with a B.A. in English from Kansas State University, and as a result, in order to acheive any sort of success, I'm going to have to work at it that much more.

"... and after this I have to do an entire 'nother one of these, and then I have two tests, so this week is really going to suck."

I'm sorry, friends, for bitching so much about my hectic scholastic life in this venue or elsewhere.

"--"

This is my cue... either to say something or leave. Stupidly, I simply continue my reading.

And it continues on in this vain for longer than I care to recall. At some point, he returns to his work, and I notice an open computer, so I go to it to check my e-mail. When I return, I start to pack up and leave.

"Leaving?"

Yeah, I tell him. I am really stressed about a paper I have to write, and so I'm going to go get it done.

"You could write it here."

And even if I wanted to, I know that I couldn't because people like him are there -- in the 24-hour study room in the library, in any other computer lab on campus, and in my own living room. I might as well go to a place I'm comfortable... a place where I can shut my door so that people are at least somewhat aware that I am in no state to be gregarious. I tell him it wouldn't work. "Wotshurname?" he asks, but as the spelling indicates, it was indecipherable, and I don't respond. I look at him to give him that "It's been real" eyebrow-raise, and notice him waiting for something and realize that he asked my name. I tell him "Mike" (who do I ever say my name is "Mike" to?) and he tells me his is "Kevin."

And I vow never to go to the 24-hour study room again in my life.

Sorry potential friends, but if I'm there, I'm not there to meet you. That is all.