The tunnels are a dangerous place, young Harry

You’ve been party to late endless nights at Butler enough times to know attempts at shutting down the party would only result in a dislocation of the party. But what if Columbia administration, that beacon of brilliance, efficacy, and overall good ideas, decided to actually close Butler for a whole six hours? What if Butler were no longer a ~*~24 hour study space~*~? Daily editor Tatini Mal-Sarkar brings you the horrific results found below.

Dear friend,

I write this by candlelight as the dawn beckons over the ephemeral horizon. Not, of course, that I can see it from my silent perch in the dark and mysterious realm known as the Butler tunnels, but you appreciate the sentiment.

The sound of keyboards pounding trickles through the air like wintry condensation on the windows I once took for my due, but now can only relish in form the hours of 6 AM to midnight (those most innocent of hours).

But soft – what light from yonder window hole breaks?

A sudden rustling, louder than that of paper, more reminiscent of a tiger crouching, ready to pounce on its innocent prey.

Quickly I snuff my Japanese cherry blossom scented candle – evanescent midnight is difficult enough without the telltale musk of the underground – and bemoan the energy that will later go into alighting it once more.

Indeed, the silence is no longer an empty one penetrated infrequently by sighs of frustration with Linear Algebra or Advanced Gender Studies. Rather, it is filled with implications and insinuations, the suggestion of an outside presence, a forcefully erased page rather than a perpetually blank one.

Could it be? Have I been caught? Has the administration finally cottoned onto the burgeoning sect of students who, deserted by their former friend, accomplice, and occasional lover, Butler Library, have descended to the tunnels?

To be fair, about time. Since the administration declared the new policy about a month ago with a nod of the head and a brisk electronic mail to the student body, the tunnels have become the only refuge for like-minded serious students, like myself and hundreds several of my colleagues. Enacted in an effort to “increase school spirit” and “celebrate community,” the policy has been virtually useless except in that twenty new #ourblue videos have been posted in a desperate bid to lure us out of our safe haven. Alas, in an entirely uncharacteristic manner, the administration did not foresee the inevitable ramifications of their hasty actions, and the only actual bonding has been through students’ clandestine usage of the space quite literally off the radar.

Indeed, the very next day following the announcement, an anonymous student group committed the unforgivable and hung a sign in the hot spot known as Barnard Hall, declaring, “The chamber tunnel of secrets has been opened. Curve busters beware!”

The rustling grows louder, and I begin to think I will no longer be able to hear it over the escalating palpitations of my wayward heart. Is this what the purpose of limiting But hours was? Increasing the anxiety of a poor, already anxious, already perturbed, already pusillanimous student?

I begin to breathe lightly once more, ascribing the din to an overenthusiastic freshman, perhaps who has at long last understood the meaning of “dialectic,” until suddenly my vision perceives the red rimmed eyes of one who has been up for many an hour. She approaches, crouched like a lioness, and I see her arms are stretched out, reaching toward the scarlet 5 Hour Energy I have come so close to consuming. Her ragged, stress-bitten nails approach my face and I –

She’s coming for you via Shutterstock