As we walked toward the Bartle Library to use the computers, I was trying to explain to George W. Bush that Terrence Howard got robbed when he didn’t win the “Best Actor” Oscar for his performance in “Hustle and Flow,” when he interrupted me. “I’ve got a joke for ya,” he said.

“All right,” I replied, slightly annoyed by his interjection. “Go on.”

“What’s the only thing worse than sharting by accident while you’re in bed with a lady?” George inquired.

I thought about the question for a little, and then replied, “Um, listening to a certain Macroeconomics professor talk for any length of time?”

“No,” George responded. “Close though. It’s searching for a computer at the Information Commons!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty much the worst thing ever.”

We walked into the Commons and looked around. “At the South PODs, you could pretty much tell right away if any computers were available,” I commented. “But in the Information Commons you have to wind all the way around the room, quite literally looking at each and every single computer to see if anyone is using it.”

George added, “Yeah, and not only that, but the little nook that each computer gets is also a double-edged sword. Sure, it allows everyone their privacy and makes group work easier, but now that people aren’t right next to each other, they make a lot of noise when they talk.”

I agreed. “That place is even louder than Shea stadium. The only difference is that in the Information Commons, actual people are making the noise, whereas at Shea, it’s just planes from JFK and La Guardia.”

George and I continued to look for an empty computer.

Day became night. Night became day. Weeks went by, and still we searched.

As time wore on, we became weak. Sometimes a computer would become available, but we just weren’t fast enough anymore.

While we waited, we both missed most of the semester and failed our classes, but George promised me that his father would fix those grades. “He always does,” he said.

Finally, the day after the semester ended, I spotted an unoccupied computer. “I see one, in the far region,” I hissed to George, my voice raspy from dehydration. “It’s mine.”

“No. I got dibs,” George wheezed. “I’m the President; by law I get it first.”

George and I were using the last of our energy to race toward the computer. I threw a monitor at him, and then leapt over a desk. As George turned to throw a chair at me, I flipped the desk on its side and crouched behind it for a moment to shield myself.

“Laws don’t exist inside the Information Commons!” I managed to scream just before blowing a deafening note from my conch shell. “This is Darwin’s playpen!”

We continued toward the lone available computer, each avoiding obstacles and airborne office supplies.

Reaching the computer at the same time, we prepared to grapple, but before we could, our contest came to an end. “You have got to be kidding me,” we said in unison.

Taped to the monitor was a paper that read, “OUT OF ORDER.”

Graham Kates is a junior political science major, and if you really need a computer, feel free to stop by his room and use his.