Page 2 of Love in the Stacks
I groan and drop my forehead into my hands. “I do know that. What did I say?”
“Alex.”
Great. Not only did I likely insult my colleague, but I will also now be replaying that interaction in my head for the rest of the day, reliving the embarrassment. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and change the subject. “How’d your paper turn out?” I ask Tasha.
She brightens. “Really good, I think. This was a pretty short one, and I wrote it pretty quick, but it’s definitely a steppingstone to what I want to write for my senior thesis next year.”
“Cool. Let me know how I can help as you work up to your senior thesis. Research, proofreading, whatever.”
“I will.” Tasha glances at the screen of her phone. “Ah, I need to get out to the circulation desk. My shift starts right now.”
I nod as she sweeps her backpack off the table and we both stand. As she leaves the room, I open the refrigerator and set my lunchbox on the top shelf. I am scheduled to work the reference desk later this morning, but I can spend a few hours checking my email and polishing my pitch for the meeting first.
The Parker Library is a stand-alone, three-story building on the Harkness campus. Right now, I’m in the main staff work area, whichhas the back door out to the parking lot I used this morning, as well as an entrance leading in from the library itself. The staff area is just big enough to hold six offices, a break room, and a meeting room that can seat about fifteen people. As the newest librarian on staff, the office assigned to me is not along the exterior wall of the library, so I have no windows, except for the small rectangular one on the door that looks out onto the hallway. No natural light.
An hour or so later, I emerge out of the staff door and into the public area of the first floor and walk toward the reference desk. This part of the first floor is mainly a collaborative study space with tables and armchairs. The first floor also houses the circulation desk—a long, curved desk that contains a work area where some staff and student workers are situated. Here, students and faculty stop to check out or return materials, pick up holds, or even ask questions.
Diagonally across from the circulation desk is the reference desk. Though many libraries have done away with any kind of permanent reference desk, the Parker Library has yet to make that leap. We keep a desk just large enough to seat two people, with a large sign hanging from the ceiling above it saying ASK QUESTIONS HERE! During the weekdays, we switch off so that each librarian is on reference duty only about three hours each day.
Ingrid, one of the reference and instruction librarians, and I are scheduled on the desk this morning. Ingrid is a librarian in her fiftieswho has been working at Parker Library for twenty years. She’s already seated when I arrive.
“It’s quite busy here today,” she notes as I pull out the chair to sit down.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “The second floor is nearly full.”
I glance sideways at her. Her eyes are focused on the computer screen. “Should one of us do roving today so the second floor is covered?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” she answers. “Things always get busy the closer we get to lunchtime.”
“What’s your preference?” I always try to defer to the more tenured librarians on staff. After all, I’m happy to stay put at the desk or walk around upstairs.
She sighs. “My back has been a bit achy…”
“Okay, no problem. I can go upstairs,” I offer.
“That would be great,” she says, looking at me directly for the first time since I approached the desk. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I mean it. While it is fun to sit in the main thoroughfare of the library watching everyone as they come in and disperse, it’s even more fun to walk around upstairs in the midst of the students working. I get good insight into their general mood—are they panicky? Exhausted? Jovial?—and into their study patterns.
“Don’t forget to log any reference questions for our statistics,” Ingrid says.
“I won’t,” I respond as I prop my open laptop against my forearm and start toward the stairs. I haven’t forgotten to log referencequestions once in the year I've been here, so it’s not likely I’ll forget today. Not sure why Ingrid feels the need to remind me.
The second floor is the “stacks” part of the library—aisles of tall shelving filled with the library’s print collection of circulating books. Along the perimeter of the second floor are group study rooms, individual study carrels, and one small classroom-type space that library staff use to host in-person library instruction sessions, or that students can schedule to use to practice presentations or meet in larger groups.
Once upstairs, I find the rolling media cart and set my laptop on it. I walk the perimeter of the library first, pushing the cart in front of me and keeping an eye out for anyone who might look like they’re struggling. It really is nearly at capacity up here, mostly individual students cordoned off in study carrels, headphones on and staring into their laptop screens.
As I round the first corner, I see a couple at a table in a group study room, their chairs pulled out so they’re facing each other without the table between them. A young man is holding up index cards, one at a time, while the young woman says something in response to each one. He shakes his head after a response, and she scrunches up her forehead, thinking before she tries again. This time, he smiles, and leans forward, placing a quick kiss on her lips as she grins. He instantly straightens and holds up a new card. She gets this one right away.
Well, that’s adorable.
As I continue my path around the library, my mind’s eye lights up, projector-style, with flashing memories of my own collegeboyfriend, Steven. We were together for three years while I was earning my bachelor’s degree back in Austin. My first love. My only love so far. I was so much more serious about schoolwork than he was; I’m honestly not sure he ever stepped foot in the library, while I practically lived there. He never helped me study, but rather complained whenever I said I couldn’t go out because of schoolwork. I guess I should have recognized that as a red flag.
“Excuse me…” I hear a tentative voice say on my right. I turn to smile at a student with long, wispy brown hair.
“Hi! How can I help you?” I ask.
