The law library is a government repository for government documents. Our collection bulges with material from Congress. We get this information free of charge, and in return our library must be open to the public.

My school's approach to this situation is to open the doors and simply allow anyone to wander freely around the school. Occasionally, they have had a "security guard" posted. This "security guard" is usually a pregnant teenager, or a cancer patient, or a midget with a cap pistol. It is the security guard's job to sit by the door and sleep. In the few moments of wakefulness the "security guard" spends on the job, moments usually brought about by the sharp retort of gunfire outside, it is the duty of the "security guard" to simply allow anyone at all entry to the building and ostensibly the library.

In colder months it is not unusual to step over a homeless person passed out on the lobby tile using an empty bottle of Mad Dog as a pillow.

This morning, Peth and I went for coffee at the student center. When we reached the ground floor, we were shocked to find a guard on duty who actually looked like he might be able to secure the building in some way. He looked like a Nazi era jack booted thug and he meant business. I was counting the comb lines in his well parted hair. It was mezmorizing. I miscounted when Peth drew my attention to a sign he had posted. It read, "ALL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN."

We scooted past him and looked for retainers along the way, but saw none.

At the Student Center, there was an energy that I can't quite describe. An electricity if you will. The Student Center staff was running around, hand carts with crates of soda and bottled water in tow. "Beep Beep!" said the crazy Russian lady, formerly of the gulag, as she whizzed by.

It was odd because despite the electricity, there were only about twelve more people than there normally are. Six of them were males from Republican families, late teens, freshly scrubbed, and allowed to apply cologne by themselves for the first time ever. They wore shirts with collars and ties, but no jackets. They had large, brightly colored identification tags hanging from their necks on ribbons. They stood around, sipping punch from paper cups.

The other six all wore broad toothy "I have something to sell you" grins and headset mikes which were attached by a great deal of wire to impressive battery packs on their belts. They rushed around perparing for something, but I'm not sure what. I asked Peth if she thought there was going to be another parade "Oh, I hope so," she said.

We looked around and the headset brigade started to hang signs that said, "Volunteer check in this way." The signs also had helpful arrows so the volunteers couldn't get lost. I wanted to ask a headset creature what they needed volunteers for, but as I approached I could see my reflection in both his gleeming white teeth and his freshly shaved scalp so I got afraid and ran off.

We never did get coffee.

I wonder if the jack booted thug was assigned to protect us from the headset minions.

Posted at 11:07 a.m.

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