The Stacks

Here I am, 11:00 pm on a Monday night, out of breath, heart pounding, palms sweating.
Did I just get chased down by a mugger on Sheridan?
Was I threatened at knifepoint outside my dorm?
Was I followed home by a tall gaunt man in a menacing trench coat?
No.
I had my first experience getting a book in the Cudahy Library Stacks.
The night started innocently enough: I had a paper to write for British Literature on "Utopia" by Sir Thomas More. Procrastinating as usual, I came to the Information Commons at around 6:30 pm with the hopes of finding a quiet corner to concentrate and pound out my five page paper before 3 am.
After slaving away for four hours, brainstorming ideas, finding evidence, and outlining my body paragraphs I overheard a fellow student scoffing at a paper she was reading: "Really Tyler Hughes? Only two sources? This is college," she spat. I looked down at my lonely copy of "Utopia" and the sparknotes pulled up on my screen, and bashfully searched through the online library catalogue for outside references.
With four cryptically numbered titles in my hand, I headed from my safe, warm, brightly lit corner of the IC to the windowless tomb that is Cudahy.
As I traveled from the IC to the library, I began to notice that there were more and more students but the noise level got quieter and quieter. It was like walking into an zombie like society where the farther your nose is into a book the more entranced you are. I finally reached the first part of the stacks.
The silence was thick and tangible. I slowed my pace as I entered what I thought was the reference books section. The ceiling lowered about three feet and the walkway was pinched to two feet between where the zombie-like studiers dutifully read and the cages the books were enclosed. Yes cages. I remember touring through these on orientation week, but I couldn't remember how to get past the black wire that surrounded stacks upon stacks of reference material. Looking confused, disoriented, and fully like a freshman I tiptoed up three flights of stairs, fully circling these literary jail cells before I finally gave up and went to the reference desk for help.
Sitting behind the desk aways was this old man, with a bushy white beard (but no mustache) looking creepily prophetic. "What are the reference numbers to your books?" he asked. "PR, B7, HX, and DA," I replied. "Oh yess..." he paused-I got this strange feeling that he was going to whip out a wand and pull the books from thin air- "The second floor for PR, and third floor for the rest. Take the elevators behind you to get there." I turned around and noticed (for the first time) two decrepit old elevators hidden behind a huge janitor's trash receptacle. "Those elevators?" I gulped. He nodded. I turned around and pushed the up button. A second later the narrow doors violently creaked open, and I stepped in, the doors quickly shutting behind me.
I rattled up to the second floor and stepped out into a silent, endlesss maze of books. "PR99, PR99..." I thought as I searched the small signs at the end of each row. As I walked further and further into the depths of the stacks to the seemingly nonexistant PR99, I came across more and more students at every turn. The deeper I went, the more crazed, stressed, and zombielike they seemed to become. I nearly expected them to look up at me and have no pupils or be chained to their desk or be mouthless, but none of them even looked up to satisfy my curiosity. Finally, I found PR99.0. One book. Not Mine. Frustrated and getting more paranoid by the minute, I hurried out of the rows and pressed the up button to get to the third floor. As I waited for my rickety ride, I glanced to my right, and saw a long row of private stalls, encased in thick glass. The sign on the doors said: Graduate Student Corrals. My heart skipped a beat. Is this where I will end up? Sure as a freshman I start out in the bright and cheery information commons, but slowly over the course of four years I'll deeper and deeper into this pit of information until finally I set up camp, living like an animal with just my laptop, adderal, and reference books to sustain me? I started to panic and rushed into the opening elevator door, pounding on the level 3 button. The door screeched shut, echoing ominously into the second floor stacks.
I reached the third floor and sprint/walked to all the numbers of my books. B7? Jewish social norms? NO! HX? Socialism? Okay closer... DA? "Divulging Utopia"! Finally success! I just had to cross the entirety of the floor to reach the stairs, but every step seemed harder and harder like the zombie studiers were reaching out to me and the stacks were pulling me in with an inhuman force, imploring me, seducing me to just take a seat, study some more, you'll never want to leave, you'll be safe in the depths of the stacks...Ah! My palm pushed open the cool metal of the stairwell doors, and as the door swung behind me, I could have sworn I heard a sob. I dizzily climbed down to the first floor and my tension began to ease as I moved into brighter and noisier rooms. I'm safe! I wanted to cry. The deadly lull of Cudahy didn't get me this time!
However, I have another paper to write next week...
Wish me luck.

(NOTE* The Cudahy Library basement recently caught on fire. This lends to my theory that it is the secret location of hell on earth.)