I drove 30 minutes out of my way to Starbucks, not for the coffee, but for the latest copy of the New York Times. There was an article I needed to read as I was recently inspired to write a paper on feminism and masculinity, but that’s a story for another time.
I stormed through the Starbucks, past the seven or eight people crouched behind laptops at tables lined along the wall, doing my best “important walk,” as I typically do when I’m deep in political thought.
After ordering my usual grande café mocha and snatching the second-to-last copy of the NYT, I sat down at a large empty table, flipped open the newspaper, cracked open my laptop, and settled into the line of others who were equally absorbed in the art of looking busy.
I began my research for the brilliant paper I was going to write but was stopped short when I found that after graduating, I no longer had access to my university’s online library sources despite still being able to log-in to my TU portal account. It was no matter though, because just minutes later I heard something from the table behind me that peaked my interest.