As the clock strikes 7:30 pm and the doors to seemingly every building on campus clang shut, our protagonist must find a place to study for her midterm… no fairy godmother in sight. 

Once upon a time last Tuesday, Bwinderella sat peacefully in Avery, tucked away between towering bookshelves and a couple of hopefully no longer bedbug-infested squashy chairs at one of those long wooden tables. It was dark out, the only light coming from a dim yellow lamp at the table and some watery rays from a streetlamp through a nearby window. 

Just as she was about to crack open her political science textbook (well, more akin to opening a browser tab because the textbook was online, but I digress), Bwinderella glanced at the clock. 

7:28. 

The sun had only set less than an hour before, but Bwinderella was running out of time. She could no longer be here. The building would close in exactly two minutes, and she would have to leave. Looking around, she could see others packing up their bags. The quiet tapping of keyboards had transformed into the shuffling of papers, zipping up of bags, and snapping shut of laptops. 

This reading could wait, she thought. It had to. 

She began stuffing her belongings into her bag. Her heart was racing, and as she snatched pencils and loose pieces of paper, she could hear her breath whistle through her nose and her palms grow sticky with sweat. 

Glancing at the clock once more, Bwinderella’s eyes widened in fear. 7:29. She swung her backpack onto her shoulder, the weight of it nearly knocking her over. Bwinderella took a lunge towards the exit. Suddenly, she veered backward, grimacing to herself. How could she forget? There on the table sat her CUID and keys, the flexible plastic cardholder shining in the fading light like glass. Without it, she couldn’t get anywhere. She’d be trapped. Losing that cluster of jangling keys would mean losing the ability to study where she pleased. 

Keys and ID in one hand, computer charger swinging in the other, Bwinderella sprinted out of Avery. Just as 7:30 arrived, she pushed past the heavy doors, and she could hear the lock click into place behind her, her chances of returning for the rest of the night now gone. Her only sanctuary was Butler now. 

Running down Low Steps, she could see that every other student had a similar idea. A small crowd had formed around that wind tunnel of an entrance, bottlenecking as they tried to all swipe in at the same time. A steady stream of people trailed down the brick path toward Low. Students were emerging from every corner of campus, kicked out the moment the clock struck 7:30. Fearing scarce desk space would quickly fill up, Bwinderella pushed through the crowd. 

“Excuse me, sorry, excuse. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” she muttered, clutching her ID close to her chest.

Finally, after shouldering her way through the doors, she was able to swipe in. She dashed up the stairs, knowing that any spots on the first floor were definitely taken up. The inside of Butler felt like Noah’s Ark, except instead of housing animals of every species to escape a flood, it was students who were seeking refuge from the lack of study spaces. 

It was 7:32 on a Tuesday evening and the only library open was Butler. Desk after desk was occupied. Some people had pulled up extra chairs, seating five to a four-person desk. The whole building rumbled with a soft murmur, the usual serene quiet that permeated the second, third, and fourth floors threatening to break with the sheer number of people crammed within its walls. 

Finally, Bwinderella found a seat on the fourth floor. Exhausted, she dumped her bag, computer charger, and clear plastic ID case on her corner of the desk, wiping the damp sheen from her forehead. Rummaging through her bag, she began to set up her 9×9 inch workspace for the night, sitting basically shoulder-to-shoulder with the person next to her. 

Bwinderella sat in Butler for the next four hours, cranking out an essay she had definitely not done enough research for. Each word, each phrase came easily to her. Maybe the fluorescent lights were doing something to her brain, or maybe she was feeding on the focused energy of everyone around her. To say the least, it was a magical academic night. 

As the clock struck midnight, she sighed, emerging from the haze of focus. She really had to leave now. Eyes drooping, she sloppily dumped her belongings in her bag. She then traipsed down the stairs, out the doors, and was forced to take the long route out through the one open exit from campus. 

It was only until the next morning did she realize that she had left her ID on that fourth-floor desk, or perhaps dropped it while lumbering down Butler’s marble steps, enveloped in its clear plastic case. Panicking, Bwinderella checked her email, praying someone had picked it up. 

To her surprise, there was an email with the subject line “Found ID in Butler” from someone with the ID number starting with “PC,” and the sender’s last name signed “Charming.” Funny, Bwinderella thought, opening the email. 

Illustration via Author