Library luck

Dylan Hostetter, Opinions and Humor Editor

Contrary to the beliefs of most people, not all college students like going to parties — there are a few outliers, and I happen to be one. My roommate, on the other hand, is not, so when St. Patrick’s Day arrived, so did half of the university to my residence hall. I have never been pinched by so many strangers in such a short amount of time — and I was wearing green. 

Thankfully, I was able to escape to the library, a safe haven for people like me. Nothing amazing ever happens in the library, but at least it is quiet. 

As I stepped through the revolving doors, the sound of the quiet murmurs of the other recluses that were holed up there washed over me. One of them shot me a look and may have hissed at me, but I’m not sure — things can get pretty territorial in the library sometimes.

I figured I would go to the fourth floor to get the most privacy, but as I walked up the stairs, I found something peculiar. Sitting on one of the steps was a tiny gold coin. I figured it was some leftover decoration, picked it up and put it in my pocket. 

Finally, on the fourth floor, I sat down in a small cubicle and began to work. It was wonderful, there were zero distractions, no one to make unnecessary small-talk with — I mean how many times can I ask someone what their major or their favorite movie is — I was in heaven.

Then I heard something. Deep in the stacks of books, there was a strange rustling sound. I thought I was alone, but the rustling seemed to get louder. Nervous, I walked into the rows to investigate.

The first thing that hit me was the strong, distinct smell of Irish Spring. It was like a middle school boys’ locker room, albeit with much less dirty underwear and homophobia.

I could almost hear what sounded like giggling, then my foot hit something. It was a pot of gold — hundreds of the same coin like the one I found on the stairs. 

These weren’t cheap party favors after all — they were not plastic, but real gold. I kept walking. As I got closer to the noise — the smell of Irish Spring was thick as honey by then — I could tell it was not laughter after all, but the sounds of someone crying.

I turned a corner into the finance section and there sat, in the middle of the aisle, a leprechaun. Dressed in all green, from top hat to buckled shoe, he was leaning over a pile of opened books and sobbing. I tried my best to sneak away, but he noticed me watching him and was startled. 

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said.

“I know boyo,” he said, “I’m not worried about that. I could take yeh.” He made a little gesture with his fist and began to wipe his tears.

“Why are you crying?” I asked. “Is it because you’re lonely?”

“What? No. I have lots of friends,” he said, standing up and straightening his bowtie. “I’m just knackered trying to study for my business test.”

“Business test? You mean you’re a student?”

“Transfer student, aye.”

We stood there awkwardly for a moment until I offered to help him study. A glint appeared in the leprechaun’s eye, and he agreed. We spent the next four hours making flashcards and looking at graphs of the latest cobbling stocks.

By then, I could confidently say the leprechaun and I were best friends. He told me his name was Chauncy and that he transferred from Notre Dame. It turns out he was actually the model for their mascot. I asked him if the Boston Celtics mascot was also him, but he said no, that it was actually his cousin Dominic and that he would rather not talk about it.

“Larry Bird is a real pot o’gold though,” he said.

“What about Lucky Charms, is that you?”

He furrowed his brow. “What are ye, some kind of wise guy?” I started apologizing, but he stopped me and said, “I’m just kidding lad, but that is an offensive stereotype. We leprechauns don’t even like marshmallows.”

We had a good laugh and went back to work. I was then suddenly reminded of the coin in my pocket. I took it out and handed it back to him. “I believe this is yours,” I said. He told me to keep it, that it would be a token of our friendship. I promised not to pawn it.

“Aye boyo, I best be going though,” he said, “My test be early in the morning.” We reluctantly bid each other farewell, and he picked up his pot of gold and hobbled off back into the library stacks — the squeaking of his leather clogs faded gently into the distance.

I learned that day the library is a place where amazing things can happen after all, you just need a little luck. The next afternoon as I was walking through the compass, I saw Chauncy — he was doing a jig on the library steps. I took that to mean he passed his test.