OPINION: Feeling peevish?

A large part of my sad existence are my feeble attempts at bending and breaking the most simple rules known to man. In return, this usually lands me on awkward island—population: One.

Before I narrate my most recent attempts at rebellion, I want to describe my ability in being sneaky.

I am 6’6″ and more clumsy than Liza Minnelli with vertigo and when I walk I look like Bigfoot’s “It wasn’t me” pose.

So here’s the beef, the Central Michigan University Charles V. Park Library doesn’t allow drinks with lids on them BUT does allow anything with a screw on lid. I get the rule but that doesn’t mean I agree or respect it.

If I’m going to spill something, am I not the one paying to have it cleaned anyway?

It’s 10 a.m. and I want to drink some coffee while I kick back on the fourth floor couch while reading Mick Foley‘s autobiography—don’t you dare judge me on that, you’ll find better opportunities.

I’ve got my backpack and it has a variety of different sized pockets on them, I’m trying to decide which one is the safest for smuggling my ice coffee and bagel past the defenders of the sanctity of reading.

Let me give you a life lesson, plastic cups with lids don’t appreciate pressure. I knew it was a bad idea, I just have an obsession for breaking rules that I feel are unjust.

I seal my drink into the long side pocket of my classy Fireball Whisky sponsored backpack and begin my mission. I’m not even past the vending machines before a cold rush hits my side.

Here I am, standing in the middle of Java City in the Park Library reeling from the embarrassment of coffee leaking from my backpack and the feeling of anger and confusion from the question that many of us ask here at CMU.

Why the hell can’t I bring my coffee in the library? Why is there a coffee shop 30-feet from the entrance of the library? Is it placed there just to tease us?

I can’t help it that I like to sprawl out like I’m in daycare when I read. Java City just doesn’t accommodate my demands, so I’m forced to smuggle my delicious treats into the library.

There are so many frustrating questions sprinting through my mind that I forget about the coffee spill in my backpack, so here I am, 24-years old acting like a child in a public place.

I accept defeat and return to the confines of uncomfortable chairs and frowns.

The moral of the story: you can’t pick and choose what containers can come inside, that’s liquid discrimination.

 

Photo | Shannon Millard, Photo Editor