I’ve never written a hate letter before. A sensuous love letter, sure. A pseudo-sext post-Mug a lá Freshmen year. The occasional passive aggressive e-mail to “group project” members. But never an in your face, caution to the wind, here are the things that make me want to defile everything that you hold dear. However, my first library visit following October Break induced such vitriol (yeah, I took the SAT, what of it?) that I can only articulate my feelings in a hate letter. I’m looking at you, noisy kids in the library.
The cacophony of chatter reached such deafening heights that I asked my table-mates whether I should shout, “Snitches get stitches” over the balcony at my inconsiderate classmates. I decided not to since kids at Vassar don’t typically “get” such references. Also, no one was “snitching,” per se.
In case you are wondering whether my anger is directed at you, ask yourself the following questions:
Do I come to the library and find/join a gang of my friends?
Do I frequently leave the libz feeling as though I “didn’t get that much done?”
Do I love my voice so much that I feel it necessary to shout?
Does my version of flirting involve raucous laughter at any/all things anyone in my presence says?
Am I so immune to my effect on other people that the entire room could be glaring at me, but I’m so delighted that the attractive swimmer* over there is finally giving me the time of day that I don’t even notice?
You, yes, you. The one with your feet on the table, looking at Facebook, and cackling wildly. I don’t mind if you want to come to the library and then peruse social media, BUT when your deviant behavior leads to raucous revelations with the students around you, I take offense.
In simple terms, stop F*CKING talking in the library. If you want to rock your leggings as pants and dirty hair** and laugh uproariously at the lewd and/or incomprehensible jokes of your peers because they simply are just too funny – do it in the comfort of your Lathrop dorm.
I get it. The idea of a “work break” is not foreign to me. I am not Mrs. Trunchbull. Every hour or so I leave my cubicle, walk to the media room pretending to “check” something while really copping a gaze at the dimes working at the Reserve desk, or have an uncomfortable chat with the kids in Matthew’s Bean while waiting for a boring tea. There is a distinct difference between my low key mini-breaks and you talking for 45 minutes about the new jorts you just bought and how FUNNY Billy Bob is and how you think that last text from her means she is really, really into you. This unfiltered, idiotic nonsense makes me want to jump over the balcony and smash your laptop to bits; it also makes me question why you are so interested in a girl named after our local BBQ shack.
Overreaction? Yeah, I bet you think so. You probably also think that the people in your hallway who ask you to stop shouting at 2 am are “unreasonable.”
Whatever, call me a crazed Senior (I don’t even have a thesis, btdubs-I just like to get offended), but don’t say I didn’t warn you. The next time you get all snazzy in a long skirt and hunter boots and go to the library to “see and be seen,” remember how many truly crazy people are sitting around you. People who have a shit-ton of reading, essays, projects, thesis proposals, emails, applications, photoshopping, hacking, hijacking, blackmailing and all those needs also known as STUDYING. I would suggest instead that you display your goods at UpC with all of the other time-wasters.***
**This would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black—guilty as charged.
***I have been informed that people “do work” at UpC but I don’t believe it.