Spring 1985, Issue 3

Books trigger guilt complex

by Nicole Martin
Koala staff

A strange thing happened to me the other day at Central Library. I was sitting on the sixth floor hastily trying to finish an assignment when I was suddenly disturbed by the sound of shuffling books. Slightly Perturbed I tore myself away from my work and encountered a man about thirty, and a boy of around nineteen reshelving and straightening all the books down the isle next to me. I watched them for awhile in curiosity and was struck strangely at how serious they took their jobs. They would carefully Pull a whole shelf of books forward and then gently Push them back with the palm of their hands. Next they would line them up precisely with their knuckles and finally fun their fingers over the entire shelf with a look of satisfaction. At first I was very impressed with their accuracy, but after five minutes of watching them work on just one row, I started to get antsy.

Questions kept running through my brain. I wonder if those guys alone are responsible for the entire library? There are so many rows. How are they ever going to set to them all? I began to glance around the room. The sheer amount of books glaring back at me was overwhelming. There were green ones, blue ones, black ones , purple ones and even a little neon one. And sadly to say, almost every one of them was shelved wrong. Some were sticking out some were scooted in, some were tilted diagonally, and others were even lying on their sides. What's more they all seemed to be looking directly, at me with confused hurt expressions. As I tried to finish my homework I could her them pleading, "Shelve us. Please, someone can't you see we're crooked? Why doesn't anyone fix us?" For some reason maybe it was all their years of experience, they knew that I was aware of their unhappiness and that it was distracting me from my homework.

"No! I kept telling myself. You can’t, save the world. You can't get involved in every Problem." I tried to ignore them but their cries for help kept echoing through my brain. I glanced up at them through the corner of my eye, and they were all staring at me with that sad irresistible grin that only book can give. How could I withstand it? I couldn't deal with the guilt, so I turned toward the window. But even the trees had a sober sway to them that kept saying, "Help the books. Can't you see that they're part of us? Remember, their grief is our grief.”

By this time me I was feeling very overwhelmed and trapped. Why is it, always me who has to fix all the wrongs that no one else even notices? I’m always the one who has to turn out all the lights at night because I'd feel guilty if I knew I was responsible for one dying prematurely. I force everyone I'm with to stay on the sidewalk or path so no plants will get stepped on. And I'm also the type who has to smooth out every bump in the bedspread not because I'm a neat freak but because it looks like an uncomfortable position to be stuck in all day.

Well I reasoned I suppose I can't change my personality now. I began my crusade by wandering around the floor counting the rows of shelves. Its measurements were 16-22-32-4, not quite a perfect figure, but considering that there was a microfiche area on the

side of the last number, it wasn't to bad. That added up to 74 rows on this floor alone and multiplied by the six floor, it save a total of 444 rows in all. Next I figured that if it took two guys five minutes to straighten one row, it would take me at least twelve. Therefore the entire endeavor meant spending 5,328 minutes88.8 hours, or 3.7 days of straightening with no breaks (including steep).

I pondered this thought for a while. I looked to my right, and all the books were staring at me eagerly. I looked to my left, and all the trees save me their saddest puppy-dog eyes. Could I let them all down? Could I live with myself if I said no? I supposed I could quit school and devote thyself entirely to this one cause. I wouldn't even have apartment expenses, considering I would be spending 24 hours a day at the library. The anticipation was rising. I could feel the tension in the air. Then it hit me. "Wait! If I never go home again, who’s going to water my plants?"

The books all turned away from me in dismay. They knew I had made decision. Walking out of the library, I admit I was upset at the thought of loosing what I estimated to be around 50,000 friends but I figured what the heck maybe I'll get a job at the post office this summer to make up for it.

Editor's Note: Nicole, the next time that you and your roommates do acid and then to the library to study, don't feel compelled to tell us about it