Illustration by Cody Angell

Working at the UA library is a much different experience during the summer than the regular school year. Fewer students. Fewer books to check in. Fewer crazed freshmen cramming their you-know-what off to pull out a C in Spanish.

But the most curious thing about the library in the summertime isn't what's missing, but what remains.

What's the one constant over the summer, the one mainstay of the stacks that endures year-round?

Shane Dale

The middle-aged people. The older ladies and gentlemen (gentlemen, in particular, for whatever reason) who frequent the library year-round. And when I say "frequent," I mean "frequent" ÷ every day, you'll see the same faces at 10am that you'll find just before closing ÷ and perhaps a little after (some of them have a hard time being dismissed from the ILC even after the final bell).

Sadly, most of these 40 and 50-somethings who make up the majority of the library population during the summer have some sort of mental deficiency that one can't quite pinpoint. This isn't to say there aren't those older people who come to the library for the same reason as everyone else: To find that elusive book they heard about, or to make a quick check of their e-mail. But these people make up only ten to twenty percent of the middle-agers.

The rest of them are most definitely not of this variety ÷ and although most UA library employees may deny it if you asked them point blank. The simple truth is that there are plenty of, shall we say, bizarre, emotionally challenged, and even sometimes, scary, older people at the library day in and day out. They are most typically the ones who show up when the doors open and are among the last to leave when the lights go out for the evening. What they do in between is something that none of us really know for sure. All we know is that whatever it is, it's very important to them.

Some use the Internet for hours on end, going from various obscure site to obscure site (not necessarily of the porn variety, despite what one may reasonably assume), while communicating with random people via AOL Instant Messenger in an undoubtedly vital, top-secret session of national importance.

Some go down to the maps section on the first floor (an area of the library that a maximum of four people on this planet fully comprehend) and serve their country patriotically through such tasks as thoroughly scoping maps of Cambodia from 1942. Again, we aren't meant to know why ÷ to have such knowledge may put the entire school, perhaps our very lives, in serious jeopardy.

Others browse the microfilm intently, seeking answers to questions that most of us wouldn't ever think to ask. However, the microfilm section is only for those who have just finished perusing the "Maladjusted Library Frequenter For Dummies" guide.

The more experienced among them are knee-deep into the microfiche, the biggest, most mind-boggling mystery of the entire library. What goes on between these people and their slides is none of your concern. Did you hear me? None of your concern. Getting tangled up with the people who protect the world on a daily basis from the security of our library's first floor is not a healthy life decision any of us civilians should make.

Alright, sarcasm aside (no, seriously), the curiosity of what these wild-eyed, poorly-dressed, uncombed-haired-folks do every day seems to be beyond all of us. And really, it's none of our business. The harsh truth is that most of these people are, again, not exactly right in the head in one way or another, but if coming to the library to do their daily business gives their lives a sense of fulfillment, so be it. We all know there are far worse things these people could be doing.

In addition, malicious as it may seem, this is certainly not intended to be any form of disrespect to the elders who frequent our campus; quite the opposite. If not for these individuals, the library would not do nearly as much business, causing library hours to be shorter and student workers to lose hours and summer spending money. In short, the UA community needs these people. Without them, something vital to the college experience ÷ even over the summer ÷ would be conspicuously missing.

If not for them, library life would most definitely be far less interesting ÷ and more importantly, I'd be out of a summer job.