Returned to Low Library after years outside, this rare glimpse into the elusive event space as finals rush towards us like an oncoming train was a sight to behold. Or just a chance for university-affiliated groups to hock their merch and clear out hot chocolate. You decide.

The eternal question of Columbia University. Think of it like a trolley problem, a word problem for high-level mathematics students and first-year sociology students to chew over. You have a limited amount of high-value merchandise, like mugs and shirts, at your disposal—but you know a lot of Columbia students will show up and ask for it. Students love free merch (or anything free, really)—they’ll stand in hour-long lines for it, they’ll run a 5K for it, anything really. So what do you, the good organizers of the Low Winter Lounge, do?

Their solution: tickets. Lots and lots of tickets. The entrance hall read like a Dr. Seuss book: red ticket for a cookie, yellow ticket for swag, white ticket for ice cream, orange ticket goes in the raffle bag. Green ticket for hot chocolate, blue for—oh, you’ve misplaced that tiny slip of paper. Too bad.

The tickets didn’t get rid of the lines. Columbia was founded as King’s College, when New York was still a British colony, and it still retains some of those lovely British traditions like queueing. Once the event started at 11 am, the line for the raffle, swag, and cookies was formed by approximately 11:01 am. Preliminary studies suggest it might have been the world’s slowest line, inching across the polished floor at a rate measured in feet per minute. On the other hand, it didn’t stretch clear across campus, so a win for the organizers.

In the center of the space, there was a fundamental mismatch between tables and chairs. Perhaps they’d been set up in a familiar pattern before the lounge had been opened, with three or four chairs per table as is standard. But somewhere, the two had decoupled. Students stood at tables without chairs, looking forlornly at the students sitting at chairs without tables.

High-profile campus celebrities made their appearances. Roar-ee, who everyone wanted their photo taken with, mingled in the crowd or with the inflatable snowmen and penguins at the official photo station. Also spotted was the man, the myth, the legend behind more emails than Lee Bollinger, in his trademark bowtie and tweed jacket: yes, that cryptid, Mr. Joseph Defraine Greenwell.

For all the general mingling, the transient bunchings-up in front of the donut wall and the eternal merch line, spurred by the promise that the mugs would be replenished every once in a while, the music and the color of student group performances was able to cut through it. CU Raqs Sharqi, Notes & Keys, the Columbia Chinese Orchestra, and Columbia Lion Dance all gave brilliant performances, bringing the otherwise constant low buzz of chaos to a halt while they lasted.

Now, did it live up to its billing as a study break? That is perhaps an individual question. I don’t know that I came away from the Low Winter Lounge completely refreshed and transformed, ready to tackle the myriad papers I have yet to do. On the other hand, I felt less like my brain was marinating in a stew of procrastination and iffy grammatical constructions. So that’s good.

All photos via Charlie Bonkowsky