to a beer garden with part of my grad cohort last night and discovered beer gardens do not serve food. They should serve food.
We exchanged pleasantries--archive with illegible handwriting, check; Bronte sisters biography, check; Hillary Duff, The Wire on Amazon Prime, Stratford Shakespeare festival, weddings in Boston, tales from the dissertation defense peanut gallery. Teaching.
Finally, I asked, "So, has anyone been to the library this summer?" which naturally provoked the most incensed conversation we've had all evening because
"WHY ARE THEY DOING CONSTRUCTION"
"why is the only floor of relevance closed?"
"why did an idiot design it? why is it necessary to paint compass roses on the floors so no one dies in there?"
"why do you go to the library; I make them deliver all my books to the front desk"
"I fucking hate that library"
and me: "I tried to get to 4 South and walked in a billion circles because all I could find were dead ends and closed-off stairwells and tiny rickety Silence of the Lambs elevators and fire emergency switches that said OUT OF ORDER and I circled back into the Asian Library three times before I gave up and went to the basement to try and get up to the fourth floor in a different way but that failed and so I tried to get to the front desk--any of the front desks--but I couldn't find any way out and I ended up in a corridor lit by those lights they use in mines, the kinds with the bare bulbs inside of the cages so the bulbs don't get smashed and it led to a room full of cages and a bunch of offices full of Slavicists and I thought, it's actually Hell I've found instead."
Malcolm from my cohort, finishes us off: "I like the undergrad library better."
Me too--resounding Me toos.
"They have a coffee shop in theirs."