By Zella Torchia

An atmosphere of gloominess and concentration rushed to meet me as I, loaded down with a dozen texts, five pencils, three erasers, and a large pad of scratch paper, struggled with the public library door.

Anxious (?) to begin the long evening ahead, I headed straight for the nearest table which happened to be occupied by four very industrious‑looking students. I was about to sigh with relief when, to begin my night of horror, my 12 precious text books toppled to the floor making a noise that can never be duplicated by Professor Loon's commercial machine or otherwise. Feeling the angry looks of the entire library upon me, I quickly gathered up my "storehouse of knowledge" and sank into a chair and began my work with a red face.

After a few minutes of quiet study, I found myself observing those industrious people around me. Directly across from me sat the strangest looking intellect I've ever seen. In front of him was a gigantic encyclopedia opened to the study of the tympanic membrane and tyrothryan. He peered nervously through a pair of horn-rimmed bifocals from a 20‑page study guide to the encyclopedia to three other large books scattered around the table.

Finally he gave a frustrated sigh, gathered his books and walked out mumbling something about tranquilizers and semester exams.

Of course, the library wouldn't be complete without that good old jerk that everybody loves ‑ cool, calm, collected Cal. You know, the one that claims exams are a whiz and that all you need is confidence and a good night's sleep. (Sheesh!)

About this time I'd had it; I piled up my text books and gathered my aray of "lead sticks" and "boo‑boo abolishers," struggled with the darn library door, and went off mumbling about tranquilizers and semester exams.