I’ve been lingering in the library for several years now, giving students and staff alike to get over the boost they need to get over their Monday morning slump, their Friday midday migraine, or their senior scramble stress. While many complain about the mediocre flavor, the murky-water color, and the lukewarm temperature, I am refilled more times a day than the kegs at Tofher’s on a Thursday night. Why, you may ask? Because I am merely overused and underappreciated. As the students approach the librarian’s desk at 7:57AM, I hear their snide comments of disapproval: “These Midwestern people just really don’t know how to make their coffee.” And yet, there they are, pumping ounces and ounces of coffee, as well as my Mate, into their cheap, WalMart travel mugs, day after day.

“Their actions speak louder than their words,” I must tell myself. “They love me, but they won’t know it until they lose it.” I am sure there is at least one other in the library I call home who feels the same…

There is nothing more humiliating than being danced upon… scratch that. There is nothing more humiliating than being danced upon by a giant gorilla. There I sat, supporting the heavy burden of several students’ homework as they worked so diligently. And then it all happened… the gorilla came out of nowhere, jumped onto my torso, and began dancing in rare form. It was almost as though a high school girl were trapped inside, letting herself go as she got lost in this jam called “Harlem Shake…” and shake I did as my legs began to buckle, weakening with every pelvic thrust and moonwalk the wild animal performed in the once-quiet library I like to call home. I shook my head in disbelief as the lower level of the Hulst was filled with strange creatures, all contributing a rare form of dance moves and hand gestures. I can only imagine how Mr. Hulst would feel if he saw this scene. The lack of respect for us tables and chairs made my heart break. “Surely these people would feel dishonored if they, too, were moonwalked upon by a giant gorilla,” I thought to myself. But no… the shaking continued.

And we, the research books collecting dust particles left by those shaking creatures and students alike—we, too, feel the neglect. How long we have been waiting to be touched, opened, even glanced at, just to share our valuable information. Days, months, years pass, and here we sit, our spines begging to be brushed by the hands that hammer upon keyboards, desperately searching Google for the information we have contained for years and years. But no, the attention we crave, the ears we beg to have lent for us to share our reliable resources… all of that fades, just as the stability of those danced upon tables and chairs, just as the appreciation for the coffee that practically saves lives from 7:57AM until midnight. We are left here, in the home we love, waiting to serve the students we love, and gaining nothing but depreciation in return.

Jennifer Van Der Hoek, Columnist