Harvard students are like dogs, especially during reading period. Not only do they refuse to bathe and eat anything they can get their hands on, but they also do disgusting things to mark their territory. Walk into Lamont on any given weekday, and you’re going to have a hard time finding a seat. You’ll scour the first floor, hope for an open carrel, but walk the length of the room to no avail.
Then you see it, the mark of a Harvard hound: a North Face jacket draped casually over the back of the chair, open books, and a half-eaten bagel cluttering the desk. Yet, conspicuously missing from this scene is any evidence of human life.
I understand the frustration of finding a spot in Lamont, but I just can’t empathize with those of you who save seats for hours on end. What could you possibly be doing for ten hours? Impromptu trips to the country? All-day marathons of America’s Next Top Model? Trying to show your TFs other “talents” to make up for the fact that you’re not studying? While you’re out cavorting, I’m forced into one of the overstuffed chairs, a hot laptop on my legs, trying to balance three books with two hands.
Enough is enough. The next time you can’t find a seat in Lamont, don’t be afraid to toss that half-eaten bagel in the trash and mark your own territory. If someone comes back to claim the carrel, do not panic. Give them the call number for Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species” (QH365.O2 1859a, fyi) and direct them to the part about “survival of the fittest.” Should this tactic fail, you can always just bare your teeth and go for the throat.