Try as I might to change this fact, the sad truth is I absolutely cannot study in my room. I have no reasonable excuse for this, as my mother insisted on buying me a red (she would only buy it in red -- apparently, "honey" was too generic for her tastes) desk from Pottery Barn Kids that is roughly the size of Greenland in order to facilitate my studies. Though the desk has not yet succeeded in making me a more efficient student, is has achieved a certain status of dominance in my room, dwarfing the rest of my furniture and intimidating my visitors. I won't even go into the size of the hutch on this thing.
Thus, despite the best efforts of my mother, I must search for an acceptable place to study outside of my apartment. Back in the long-lost days of first year, this was not a problem, as I simply ventured down to Webb Lounge when I wanted to get my highlight on. Although Webb Lounge was far from ideal, what with rabidly driven Echols Scholars lurking about, it did have a convenient assortment of vending machines, which, if I remember correctly, was quite the priority first year. I fueled my academic efforts with cinnamon Pop Tarts and lemonade (freshman 15, anyone?). In retrospect, my time in Webb Lounge probably increased my jeans size right along with my G.P.A -- and not proportionally, trust me.
By second year, I was ready to venture into an actual library and, being somewhat of a sucker for the kind of library that those sly admissions folks put on the brochures, opted for Alderman. My decision to try out all that Alderman had to offer was also based on reports of delicious coffee sold at Greenberry's. Who cared if I had never really liked the caffeine rush of coffee? Studying with the aid of coffee is collegiate, and I, my friends, pride myself on being very collegiate.
Four lattés later, I was not feeling overly collegiate. I was feeling like a middle school cheerleader on speed. Russian history was suddenly no match for the prospect of pinging around the library making friends with every course-packet-wielding student in the place. This kind of behavior was not received with much enthusiasm and thus, I found myself at home having accomplished nothing but causing myself severe nausea and stomach cramps from the excessive caffeine.
Even without the coffee, I wasn't a fit with Alderman. On a separate, non-caffeinated occasion, I was actually asked by several people to leave the reference section after my gossiping and laughing reached a fever pitch. Clearly, Alderman Library is for those utterly serious in their academic pursuits (and those who can hold their Greenberry's).
Sometime during the course of my second year, I discovered Clemons Library. There is nothing pretty about Clemons; I actually believe it to be the most hideous structure at the University (with the exception of New Dorms -- note to University: Motel 6 called and wants its buildings back). But make no mistake, I love it. The place is equivalent to the not-so-cute boy you meet at Coupes who has such an incredible vibe that you can't help but feel a little tug of attraction. Clemons is my ugly boy.
A friend recently pointed out to me that Clemons is Foxfield minus the sundresses and alcohol (both of which I argued were present at Clemons as well). I will freely admit that I dress up to go to Clemons. This is not to say that I throw on my pearls and heels, but rather, I strive (but never actually achieve) a look of effortless and casual fabulousness. Study chic, if you will. A few people have really gotten this look down, while I continue to struggle with the "I have a mere pencil holding up all my gorgeous hair that I straightened just to come here" look.
It's certainly no secret that each floor of Clemons has its own unique function and flare. The third floor is by far my least favorite, probably because the legions of glaze-eyed students staring sadly at their class-assigned black-and-white movies remind me of zombies. Very scary, indeed.
The second floor ranks as my favorite, though I always get a bit of anxiety when first entering the floor. This is a product of my consistent fear that I am going to fall when walking down the catwalk-like runway between the tables, which ranks on the mortification scale somewhere between having your skirt tucked in your boyshorts and having your "Hollaback Girl" ring tone go off in a 20-person seminar when the professor is in full-on lecture mode. And heaven forbid you should find yourself at one of the big tables by yourself. It's so awkward you might as well suck it up, move to a cubicle, and act out scenes from Office Space. I certainly do.
Despite my anxieties about third floor zombies and the second floor catwalk, I feel like I might have really found a home at Clemons. I plan on gathering some folks, scoping out a prime table, and engaging in some serious people-watching in the coming year. With a little perseverance and work, I have confidence I'll even get that whole "study chic" look down. And if there's any time left, I might even do something truly rebellious and study. Now if only I could find a suitable use for my red giant of a desk...
Erin can be reached at gaetz@cavalierdaily.com.
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