Locked in the library

At about 4 a.m. last Wednesday, I found myself locked in the library.

It all began about five hours earlier, deep in the belly of Firestone. I had been working in the Social Science Reference Center, putting in a marathon session for my JP. I wasn't sure when the library closed, but at about midnight, my rational side figured that I needed to get out of there. The evidence was fairly compelling: the lights had been turned off and I was the only one in the massive room. This is a room usually teeming with people, and when devoted data librarian, Bobray Bordelon, headed home, I knew things had to be winding down.

But I was desperately behind and figured that if staying late didn't actually improve my paper, it would at least make me feel studious. I was also waiting for the fire alarm to go off, which is what happened the last time I stayed in the library too late. Instead, I got a security guard who walked by my work space without a word. He then gave me a look that probably meant to say, "Get out of here, kid," but could just as easily have meant, "Why on earth are you in the Social Science Reference Center at 1 a.m. watching videos of the world's greatest ping pong shots?" For his information, it's called a study break.

I stayed in the room, figuring that if they were going to lock a kid in the library, they would at least give him a heads-up. I was wrong. About three hours later, having exhausted the Google video library, I got up and prepared to head home. This is when I found out the bad news.

The front doors to the library were locked. It was clear that if I was going to escape the building alive, I was going to have to find another way. But how? My mind began racing. Perhaps they have other doors. Brilliant, Tom, but where? My gut told me to follow the signs marked exit.

All the other doors in Firestone carried the warning "Fire Escape Only. Press and hold handle for 15 seconds and door will open." These are the kind of doors that are made for a horror film. The innocent teenage girl would have about a 10 second head start on the serial killer.

I was convinced that I could execute the push and run without a problem. By the time the alarms were sounding, I would be sprinting back to my room and no one would be the wiser. Maybe I would walk. That would seem less suspicious.

But then I started to look around the library. Alarms were everywhere. I imagined a brigade of fire engines charging to my rescue and the campus-wide manhunt that would follow. They would find me, of course, as the library was probably full of security cameras, what with the USA PATRIOT Act and all.

After a pitiful poke to make sure the door wasn't already open, I moved on.

Next, I tried my luck with the windows. I quickly discovered that for a building so big, Firestone has very few windows. Or clocks, for that matter. The parallels to a casino were overwhelming except for the fact that a casino would have been bustling with life at 5 a.m. whereas I wandered the library alone and frightened at that time.

At this point, I gave up. I sought out a dark corner and grabbed a book on transforming gender identities in the 20th century. It quickly put me to sleep. The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of a vacuum cleaner and opened my eyes to see a janitor staring at me with a gaze filled with fear and pity. I grabbed my backpack/pillow and walked briskly through the now unlocked doors. I was free at last, and it felt good. Tom Knight is an economics major from San Juan Capistrano, Calif. He can be reached at ttknight@princeton.edu.