You'd think that I'd have figured out the general orientation of the campus by now. Ah, well, that's where I have you deceived. At the end of last term, I went to the library to look for books on any ol' artist for a short, two page (very short) paper for art class.
Returning to the topic. I went to the library. Did you know that the big, white building with the bell tower is the library? It is Baker library. I knew this. Really. However, I did not know that if it says "Art" at the beginning of the call number of whatever book you'd like to look then it is NOT located within Baker. This phenomenon is reserved for books with the concise terminology of "Baker Stacks" in their call numbers. Unfortunately, this piece of information had obviously passed me by in this day and age of ever-changing technological advancement.
So, ok, after interminable minutes of researching, furtively skulking around Big, White Baker and blitzing my equally ignorant friends, I summoned up all the courage within me and sauntered my chillin', freshman self to the information desk. All a facade. There is no doubt in my mind that I percolated fear out of every orifice. The information girl information woman (?) information engineer (?) information specialist (?) --whatever, the being at the information desk" smelled my fear. Detecting this fear, relishing it, The Being At The Information Desk told me to go to Rauner Library in order to further her enjoyment. There can be no other impetus for this act of profound cruelty.
Having left Baker, I scurried towards Rauner. Sweating bullets by now, I take off my jacket. What can possibly further the misery? Not one, not two, but three looming doors. By now, I am thinking failure of studio art is preferable to continuing in my pursuit of art books. But I took a stand. By carefully eliminating the center door from the possibilities (it doesn't have a handle), I decided on the right door (because of course, left is sinister and the road to Satan).
Upon entering, I am greeted by electronically operated doors. After fruitlessly pushing at the right side, I go the way of sinners and push open the left one. Here, Nice Librarian Lady stares at me blankly as I acquaint her with my need for art books. I am informed that Rauner is for "special" books. I am evidently not "special" and am immediately dispatched (with a map, this time) to another occupationally-obsessed library--Sherman. Waves of sonic laughter escort me out.
Sherman is the Art Library. Alas, arrival there was not the end of my travails. I was compelled to ask many stupid questions.
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Are there art books here? (Yes.)
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Where are the art books? (There.)
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Can I touch the art books? No, no, not in THAT way. (Glare. Yes.)
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Can I borrow these art books and take them home? (Sigh. Yes.)
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Do you think I'm special enough to look at books in the Special Library? (No.)
At that point, a random woman came in with a big dog that immediately tried to devour my hand. I took my leave. Librarian, random woman, and dog remained--presumably to laugh at me.
And now I'm home, simultaneously writing this article and perusing a map of the college. So that's where the River is. Gee, it seems a wee bit out of the way. But really, what's that rectangular expanse in the middle of campus? Prime land for construction, surely?
