So what's up with Baker? Can I say that trying to find a book in the dungeon commonly referred to as the stacks is like trying to find a Big Mac in Hanover?
So I'm sitting at the computer at Baker staring in disbelief at the call number which On-Line Library swears will lead me to the book, "Tribes In Iceland Actively Engaged in the Production and Consumption of Coconut Extract and How it Affects the Economy of Japan" which will guarantee an "A" on my research paper for the class Tribes In Iceland Actively Engaged in the Production and Consumption of Coconut Extract and How it Affects the Economy of Japan 101. Good thing that writing down the call number, HVGSF/&*#^%$(&(#&^#&/029876264578647/DFHWIIVL/1996, only took me 45 minutes, three pencils, and four notebooks.
So I'm looking at the paper posted next to the stairs trying to figure out the change in altitude I will experience as I begin my search for the book. At Level 10 I'm panting and sweating profusely, wondering why I didn't take step aerobics for gym instead of basket-weaving. At Level 20 flashbacks from my advanced-vigorous-expert-level DOC hiking trip begin to plague my mind. At Level 30 just as I'm about to faint from lack of oxygen in the thinning air, I conquer the last step.
So by some miracle, I find myself staring at a book binding that says to me, "Tribes In Iceland Actively Engaged in the Production and Consumption of Banana Extract and How it Affects the Economy of Japan." I exhale a sigh of relief thinking that the book on coconut extract should follow alphabetically. But can I say that I saw Dairy, Egg, Flour, Grape and Herb Extract but no Coconut???? Just as I'm about to gather my belongings and walk over to McNutt to switch to the Non-Recording Option, I see a small note stuck in between Banana and Dairy which says, "We're sorry but the Coconut Extract call number has been changed to ..." And then the timed lights go out. Or, maybe I should have set the timer for five hours instead of four.
So after groping around in the dark I finally find the staircase that I had hiked up only 21 hours ago. As I'm cursing the architect of Baker library, I happen to see a fellow classmate of mine returning the very book I had just spent eons hunting for. I hurdle the turnstile and grab the text out of his hands. The feeling I have holding the book is like the feeling a mother has holding her child in her arms for the very first time after being in labor for 21 hours. I frantically turn to the table of contents to find the page that contains all the information that is essential for my paper -- 45. With trembling fingers, I flip through the pages ... 42, 43, 44, 46. Wait. I took Math 11 first term and I know there is something wrong with this sequence, okay? Or, maybe I wasn't meant to write this paper.
So I leave the stacks crying, swearing, despairing, crying, stressing, complaining, and crying. But whatever, who am I kidding? Not going to the stacks at least once in your Dartmouth career would be like going to Food Court every day for every meal and never getting one of those annoying trays that wobble from side to side the whole time making you more seasick than a sailor who has been on a ship in treacherous waters for eternity ...
