Trapped at Robarts
In which our protagonist ends up in a sleep-induced lock down, featuring an iron turkey and a leftover sandwich.
I left anatomy class this morning, the realization of the true weight of my life’s decisions causing my legs to buckle as I realized that weight was actually about 28lbs (4000 kg) in textbooks in my backpack. As the other students started to pour out, a strange look of calm in their caffeine-engorged eyes, I realized that my time was running short, and that while my heart longed for food truck Poutine and a night out, I would need to submit my mind to the merciless gods of learning.
I arrived at Robarts, narrowly missing being sliced in half by the heavy revolving doors, and as I stepped into the giant metallic turkey, I knew I had to think quickly to find the study room that would take me from superstar procrastinator to a magical double-digit percentile achiever. I flashed my student card to the sleepy desk-person and jumped into the metal elevator gates that would be the last of my interaction with humanity for the evening. While I saw them as an ally at the time, they would prove to be my biggest enemy very shortly.
I darted along the corners of the quiet study lounge on the 11th floor, more self-conscious than ever of my squeaking soles, heavy breathing, and regretting the decision to have six cast-iron pots and pans hanging off my backpack. Then I saw her: a quiet little study room in the corner, and knew she would be mine. I set sail the 8 meters I needed to walk to get to her, and as I opened the door to claim the room as my own, I knew we were going to be a team. Me and the room.
I took my backpack off, felt my body decompress to provide me with my original height that was earlier being held down by said bag, and unzipped it to start taking out my textbooks. “Introduction to Histology”, “Neuroanatomy”, and “Anatomical Observations” felt far too unfamiliar for someone who should have been studying this shiz for the last 8 weeks with undivided concentration. I flipped open to the first chapter indicated on the syllabus and started to read. Light conditions were perfect, I had finished coffee #6, and the chalkboard smudges provided more encouragement than distraction. This was probably going to go incredibly well.
Darkness. Total darkness. And what time was it?
I felt myself groggily arise from the significant puddle of saliva dripping down my forearm. I found myself in a state of panic as I reached into my pocket to pull out of my phone. She didn’t respond; I had ignored her ailing cries of help as she beeped herself into a dead battery just hours, or maybe days (?) prior. I had failed her, and now I needed her most. I hate not knowing what time was, and in the dark, my impending lack of certainty and absolve was becoming apparent. I banged my knee against the desk once with intense resolution by complete accident and managed to find the handle to the study door by fumbling around.
I turned it to step into even more darkness, with the added bonus of squeaky metal book carts that seemed to scream in response to a non-existent wind. Or library ghosts, but I couldn’t let my head go there because holy shit ghosts. I tried to find the wall, with my breath pent up, and relied on my memory to find the elevator buttons. I tried to use the outdoor ambient light coming in through the windows to gauge perhaps what was going on, but then I realized had invented those windows in my head out of desperation since Robarts’ illustrious concrete structure is with certainty padded on each side with more concrete and the bodies of students who were never able to make their way out of the stacks (like me). When I thought I had found the elevator doors, I pressed the buttons to no response whatsoever. The elevators were non-functioning, or more likely, had been dismantled in this post-apocalyptic time warp I had woken into (see scene below for most likely rendition).
I got on my knees and scraped them along the rough single-pile carpet (or was it sawdust) to find the emergency exit. I didn’t even know if Robarts had such a thing, given how immune post-secondary institutions are to many necessities, like a water fountain you can actually drink out of without making out with the person who used it before you, but I digress. I felt my arm bang against a structure after about 15 minutes of fumbling around and not developing mole vision contrary to my best intentions. My heart stopped: emergency phone. I picked it up and my heart jumped back into action when I heard it ring. A groggy voice on the other side responded: “campus emergency.”
“Hello… I uh fell asleep studying at Robarts…”
“You’re there right now? Who are you?”
“Yes. A student. On the 11th floor. In total darkness. It’s pitch black.”
(Annoyed) “You can’t be there right now.”
“I know. I am trying to leave but the elevators are busted.”
“You can’t leave?”
“No. I’m on the 11th floor. Please come quickly.”
“We’ll be there shortly. You shouldn’t be there. It’s after hours.”
“I know.”
*click*
I sighed with satisfaction as I knew the city could now call off the search and rescue team. I regretted not asking the elated campus security representative on the phone what time it was though. It took forever (or 30 minutes? I don’t know) and I did embarrassingly make some repeat calls )“Ma’am, we’re on our way. Please stop calling.”) because I was terrified of the ghosts/shelves. Finally, he arrived.
A very unimpressed guard told me I shouldn’t have been there (I hadn’t realized this), and then proceeded to search through my bag to see if I had created this set-up to steal precious resource journals that were definitely not crumbling away in the dust. He kept brushing through my book bag and then gave it back to me, a familiar oregano-tinted scent informing me that he had just shoved his hand into the leftover veggie sub in my bag. We took the elevator downstairs in complete silence.
I don’t study at the library anymore.
