Trick of the Light? Or Actually Just Ugly?

Such are the questions I ask myself every time I enter the lobby of my apartment building, in which I have lived for nearly two years. And no, it wasn't always this way.

The answer used to be "Just ugly."

Then they had to go and make everything *complicated* by getting new "art" for the walls and painting the floor. Yes, the floor. Why would they not simply replace the tiles? Or perhaps lay down new linoleum? (I take that back, I hate linoleum.) Why would one take a surface that, by definition, is going to get scuffed, and put a substance on it that, by definition, flakes off?

I come home in search of a respite from the outside world, or at the very least, the opportunity to ask my own questions instead of having them foisted upon me. ("Why is the R train running express today? How can a deli not carry pumpernickel bagels? Who says you can't get refunds for paperback books, even with a receipt? What do they mean by "organic" insecticide?) At home, I like to ask the big questions, like "Where are my pants?" and "Who threw out my stale bread?" You know, the questions with concrete answers.

Did I mention they painted the floor brick red? To uh, match the exposed brick wall? I can't even talk about the "art," it upsets me too much. Suffice it to say that it resembles framed wallpaper, in an aluminum relief that has been painted with shoe polish. The frames are nice, though.

But since this is MY apartment and I make the rules, I'm going to answer the unanswerable questions.

Q: WHY did they do this to my lobby?

A: To raise my rent, I'm sure.

(I'll update you when our lease comes due in February.)

The Stacks Story

For those of you who don't know, I am now a grad student in a rather heady discipline at an equally heady university. The other day, I went into the library stacks to get a book - fairly standard operating procedure in academia-land. The stacks occupy some ten floors in the windowless core of the building, extending several stories underground, too. They are therefore insulated from light, sound, weather, the passage of time, happiness, humanity, puppies etc. The outer part of the library contains a fine selection of desks, couches, armchairs and other studying options, so you tend not to come across too many people in the stacks themselves.

I entered the stacks on the main floor and snaked my way down to the area where my book was located. When I got to the aisle, I was a little annoyed to find a sheet draped across it. It was definitely a bed sheet, not a tarp or a painter's drop, but I was busy thinking about getting the book and going home. I was quite surprised, then, to pull back the sheet and find five or so people seated cross-legged on the floor amongst a sea of books, notebooks, papers - and a rice cooker.

"Can we help you?" one of them said, clearly irritated that I'd found them. I looked at him blankly. They were probably undergrads and they were trying as hard as they could to look like they were doing work without actually accomplishing anything; I mean, the rice cooker was on. Who in the world has RICE in the STACKS? (I always prefer crunchy foods while studying.) I was confused and a bit stunned by the whole thing.

"I'm just getting a book, sorry..." I mumbled, trying not to laugh as I reached for my book. They were clearly serious about this whole secret-intellectual-rice-hideout thing.

"Well, in the future, could you please knock? Thanks," came the reply.
Personally, I think they should have offered me some rice.

PS - No, this isn't my story. It happened to a friend of mine, but it's a good one, eh?

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