Yes, we can: Barack advocates for better library etiquette.

Loud roommates and claustrophobic Dunster walk-through coffins usually drive people to settle for a long night at Lamont instead. But certain peers, like those who play Miley Cyrus at full volume through their earbuds, can sometimes make us wish we hadn’t trekked all the way to the yard in the first place. Noice sympathizes with those who can’t even find sanctuary at the library. Beware of some of these types of people who may transform what should be a studious environment an experience from hell.

The Widener Walker. Some like to take a break from reading room by browsing the books, but beware of these leisurely strollers. It’s not unusual to see a random person hovering in between the expansive stacks. What’s weird is when they inadvertently end up playing hide and seek with you as you look for that elusive copy of a circa-1960s porn manual for your Lit & Sex paper. Peek-a-boo at its creepiest.
The Cabot Concentrator. Those isolated study rooms in Harvard’s dingiest library look like prison cells for a reason. Aesthetic appeal doesn’t even make the list–people come here to get some serious shit done. Those coffee stains crusted over on virtually every desk would shock us, if not for the fact that there’s probably a guy right now sprawled over his problem set, drooling. Noice advises bringing your own Clorox wipes to get rid of all the mystery bodily fluids.
The Lamont Lurker. Please extrapolate those assumptions you’ve held all along–that kid never ever EVER leaves. Ever. An anonymous source who works a late night shift at access services confirms the fact that these Lamonters will leave their stuff on the table at around 5 in the morning to head back to their house for a quick shower, and promptly plop back at their third floor desk to stick their noses back in the books at around 7am. This urban legend appears more than likely, given…

Today’s public service announcement continues after the jump.

The Desk Douche. Whoever told this hog that it’s okay to claim a spot by splaying his or her backpack and miscellaneous shit all over the best stack aisle on the first floor deserves to have his library privileges disabled. More likely than not, the selfish bastard is awkwardly chatting up his crush in the café (while everyone else has to listen. CRINGE). To those who encounter an empty yet monopolized desk, Noice gives permission to pull one of those sexy cinematic moves and sweep that shit under. Bitch, please.
The Café Canoodler. Don’t blame these people for coming to Lamont for some lovin’–packed with people of all years on weekday nights, the sham of a coffee shop gives plenty of boasting opportunities for that desperate grad student studying some kind of esoteric existentialism who just wants some fun distraction from his pointless dissertation. Under the pretense that they’re doing “work,” these mostly freshmen late-night prowlers creep around to check out the hot chick tutoring Life Sci, but usually just get fat from the double espresso shots they steal from the fridge instead. Understandably so, though, seeing as how Harvard plans to offer an alternative social space any time within the next fifty years. Any time now. Really. The library it is!
The Farnsworth Fuddy-Duddy. Be frightened–exhale once in the poetry room and expect to be shushed like a Catholic schoolgirl sassing the priest during mass. Oops, you dropped a Let’s Go guide on the floor accidentally? Prepare to die.

Langdell looks more appealing by the minute. That is, if you can handle a building full of law students.

Well. In that case.

Photo courtesy of If Charlie Parker Was A Gunslinger.