The door to IKB slammed behind me. Friday night. 10 p.m. Everyone would be partying, hanging with friends, doing fun activities — as many do on dark and stormy nights like this one.
I expected a desolate (but still desk-filled) wasteland where I could finish my homework: a freestyle rap about geopolitical sanctions in the clown industry. The library would be packed on any other night. This was finally my chance to get a good spot.
But here were people at every table, heads down, working on assignments.
What a bunch of nerds. Couldn’t they just be normal and neglect their academic responsibilities for one night so I could freestyle rap in peace?
Whatever. I climbed the staircase, scouring every floor for a chair, but there were none to be found. I wandered, a ghost in the night, staring at the comfortable students and their work areas in jealousy.
I floated through the halls for two whole hours. I tried to stay after the building closed and finally have a place to sit, but I only lasted six minutes before I was escorted out into the darkness.