Notes from the Desk

Author: Polly Johnson

It was a beautiful Monday morning in September. Being an enthusiastic MiddKid, I decided to wake up at 6 a.m., fix myself a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and sit out on the porch of the beautiful house I am fortunate enough to live in as the result of my seniority and take in the magnificent Vermont sunrise. Are you fooled yet?

The morning was in fact not beautiful - it was 6 a.m. Our kitchen, although adequately stocked, does not contain anything that could even remotely pass as a "steaming mug of hot chocolate." And while our porch actually is quite nice, it really only consists of a wind-blower hanging thing, acquired from the dollar store.

Why, you might be wondering, was I awake at this ungodly morning hour? I was partaking in a little talked about Midd tradition in which semi-maniacal, hopefully entirely ashamed, undoubtedly overachieving seniors select the thesis carrel of their dreams.

To fully understand the scope of what will from this point on be referred to as "Crazy Carrel Chaos Day," let me paint a picture:

I arrive at the library at 6:50 a.m., feigning astonishment at the crowded library foyer. Although I, clearly, had intended to be an even earlier arriver, I played the press snooze game a few too many times and, to make myself feel better, shelled out some pretty nasty glares at all those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed who were, evidently, more devoted to the cause than I. Waiting in line was, well, a tense experience. With each new arrival some line-tender had to step up and, as politely as possible, direct the newcomer to the end of the line, which had evolved into a rather serpentine amorphous form. As I neared the circulation desk finally gettting my chance, the choices overwhelmed me. Did I want a carrel in the mezzanine? The main level? The main level mezzanine? Options abounded. All the drama proved to be for naught, except for the poor unfortunate souls stuck with upper level back mezannine carrel numbers 43-59. Damn fools.