In one of the most dangerous areas of a little-known University in the even less well-known state of North Carolina, there’s a place called Perkins Library. And during midterm season, this is possibly the last place you want to be.
Recently, local members of the nearby and infrequently visited community of Durham have reported a strange murmuring coming from this area.
“It sounds like, I don’t know, a combination of wails of desperation and Netflix streaming,” one member stated in a description to local authorities.
A local professor expressed concern over unknown activities occurring inside. “You see a kid go in there, and they seem completely normal,” he told officials, “but then they come out the next day, and they’re changed.”
Upon these complaints, the Durham police gathered on Duke’s campus late Sunday night to investigate. But after entering through those dreadful Gothicc doors with expectations of a rescue mission, what they found was much, much worse.
One officer was forced to abandon the mission immediately after entering the building due to what she described as “body odor and that smell when you leave your food in the sink for three days.” She lost consciousness after speaking to us, but thankfully is reported to have recovered.
Officers first encountered a Pratt student on the first floor, who upon seeing the police squad, immediately jumped up to speak to them. She clarified that she was, indeed, a Pratt student, and described to officials the “19 finals and 47 labs” she had due tomorrow alone.
“I’ve been here since 6 a.m., and I probably won’t leave until at least 2 a.m.,” she said while turning to a table of her giggling friends who were all also not doing their homework.
Officials later discovered that of the 12 hours she’d spent in the library that day, five had been spent telling others how much work she had to do, and four had been devoted to a hybrid of online shopping for sweaters and texting about how stressed she was.
One of the other girls at the table sighed, “I know, this semester has been so hard for me. I hope I’ll never have to overload again.”
A third girl at the table responded, “I totally feel you, but like I’m taking eight classes this semester, and probably nine next semester so I doubt I’ll ever get a break.”
When asked which of her eight classes she was studying for that night, the girl responded that none of her classes had an official midterm that week, but she figured she should be studying anyway. “Goldman doesn’t take just anyone, you know,” she told police agents.
On the second floor, things only got messier. Literally. Sagged in a second floor cubicle, officials found what they first thought to be a dead body surrounded by West Union Brodhead Center cardboard boxes. Upon probing, the lost soul came to life with a start.
“Is it 10:05 already?!” He shouted, startling everyone in the cubicles around him (which all were full). His outburst was answered by his peers with passive-aggressive sighs and cold stares, save for the cluster of frat boys at a nearby table who used the noise as an opportunity to loudly discuss their party that upcoming weekend.
When questioned about all the empty food containers, the student explained that if he ate his meals in an actual designated dining location, he would lose an estimated 15 minutes per day of studying, which would, in fact, make or break how he did on his midterm.
“I’m already behind. There’s only four days left, and I’ve only rewritten my notes 28 times and done 206 practice sets. It’s worth 15 percent of my grade, you know, and since I only have a 99 in the class, there’s not a lot of cushion between an A+ and an A,” he explained before frantically asking the officials to leave him alone or he was going to have to “move to the fourth floor to actually get some work done.”
Venturing further into the depths of the stacks, officials came across a large, well-lit room. Students were studying calmly, scattered between cubicles, tables and armchairs.
“We finally felt relieved, because everything seemed so normal,” one official told the Chronicle. That was, he said, until one of the students in a cubicle began to gather his things.
“In my 27 years on the force, I’ve really never seen anything like it,” the chief investigative officer said. “It was like they just went rabid!”
Students all around the room suddenly perked up at the sound of a backpack being zipped. The student who was leaving tediously looked left, then right, before bolting toward the door.
Suddenly, every student in the surrounding area was sprinting towards the empty cubicle with either a jacket or a notebook in hand. Officials report that they were shouting things like, “It’s mine! I’m calling it for a friend!” and “I already offered it to someone in my GroupMe!” One yanked another’s hair back and another knocked over an armchair before two finally crashed into the cubicle, engaged in a desperate struggle.
Three students were injured in the conflict but fortunately were still able to take their midterms that week, despite two minor concussions and a broken wrist. Alas, a beautiful and never-ending midterm season continued happily along.
Stephanie Mayle is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs on alternate Thursdays.
Editor's note: This is a satirical column.
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