What your choice of library says about you

With exam season around the corner, you have probably found your go-to library, like that go-to pair of Adidas superstars you wear to every event at Canal Mills, or that go-to puffer jacket you throw on as you leave Charles Morris. Each library has its own characteristics, as do the people that go there. So get ready to have a long hard look at yourself in the mirror. Yes, Brotherton-goers, I am talking about you.

Do people actually do work in Edward Boyle, honestly?

Edward Boyle is located on the outskirts of that part of campus – you know, the part where Roger Stevens looms at the centre and the surrounding grey-wash buildings resemble those of a post-apocalyptic setting? Not particularly the best of views, but it’s forgivable because the colour-themed floors (the yellow one, not so much) and the absolute fitties that grace them are the silver lining to the dark, gloomy world of exam season.

Despite the painfully slow water dispensers, bookless shelves, claustrophobic elevators and those fucking horrendous revolving doors that have the capacity to amputate you upon entering, Edward Boyle is an essential place for those looking to kill time between lectures and seminars.

After surveying all the fitties in the room, you will tell yourself that those red sofas overlooking campus look like the perfect place to start your Politics or Sociology essay due Monday. But let’s face it: once you’ve sneakily slipped off your shoes and undone the top-button of your too-tight jeans, you will be struck by the overwhelming desire to catch up on the episode of Gossip Girl or Prison Break that you didn’t finish the day before, or on YouTubers you really should’ve out-grown a few years ago, or even make a new playlist ironically titled “Revision”.

You might even go down to the new café to take a cute, artsy pic for your cute, artsy Instagram. Edward Boyle truly is a blessing and a curse; a perfect haven for procrastinators to procrastinate without judgement. If you’re reading this, you’re probably doing it right now.

People go to Brotherton just for the sake of going to Brotherton

It is a truth widely known on campus that masses of posh kids flock to Brotherton, as Catholics do Lourdes and Beckett students do Pryzm, just for the sake of going to Brotherton. These well-travelled privileged kids will laud this library, insisting that “the Beaux-Arts inspired architecture is just so wonderful, no? It reminds me of Paris.’ And whilst this may be true, you can’t deny that the whole Brotherton experience is pretty shit. Who would have thought it would be so easy to get lost in a room that is literally just a circle?

Brotherton is renowned for its silence; the quieter you try to do something, the louder it becomes. Fact. The quietest whisper about your one night stand will echo six times, and before you know it, the whole library will know that Johnny from Economics has an average sized dick. In fact, the simplest task will draw unwanted attention and several death glares. You will hear a collective sigh and notice the shifting of eyes as you pull out one of those ugly wooden chairs, the sound booming like a rumble of thunder. Discreet.

You slowly and cautiously unzip your bag with gritted teeth, but the girl opposite you, who has probably just returned from her ciggy break on Parkinson steps – rollies only – will look at you as if to say, “Is there any need to be so fucking loud?”. You will start typing on your laptop, and stop when you realise that two guys have turned around to check where the noise is coming from.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the memo that Brotherton-goers only read leather-bound novels, write on parchment paper and scrolls, and dip their quills into ink to write their notes. That is why there are no plugs anywhere, duh. At this point, you’ve probably moved to West Wing, the lesser of two evils, where you can probably play Tetris with those tables on wheels.

Obviously, I’m talking exclusively about the main bit of Brotherton here. Who actually knows what lurks in the underground, dark labyrinth of the Brotherton library? Some say those sounds are probably a History student, savagely searching for an unavailable book that can back up their argument that Abe Lincoln didn’t deserve his reputation as the Great Emancipator. Some say it may even be the ghost of Edward Brotherton himself. Who knows?

Which normal person actually has the patience to try and find a seat in Laidlaw?

The people who find a seat in Laidlaw are the best of the best – the elite, some would say. It’s an art that takes years of practise, and you don’t want to fuck with them. They will set their alarms for 6 in the morning and rush to uni to be at the entrance of Laidlaw for 8. They will queue for hours, as middle-aged women do for the Boxing Day Sales. When the doors open, they flood in, claiming every single seat in the vicinity with their coats and every table with their MacBook Airs and pencil cases.

To find a seat in Laidlaw, you must be dedicated and committed, clever and tactical, fast and sharp. Laidlaw-goers are the most evolved and natural selection will undoubtedly favour them.

You, on the other hand, will probably stroll through the Laidlaw revolving doors at 12:30 pm (this one is much friendlier than Edward Boyle’s), wiping the last crumbs of the Bakery 164 you have just eaten from around your mouth, and walk straight back out approximately 2 minutes later. Oh, you mess. You really thought you could waltz into Laidlaw and find a seat at midday. Delusional. Unlike them, you rolled out of bed at 11 am, after snoozing your alarm for an hour. You can’t face that sort of judgement right now, especially since your exam is in a week and you haven’t started revising yet. The people of Laidlaw have been revising since last year. You may as well get a coffee from Caffe Nero on the way out though, although you’re already £500 in your overdraft.