Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

By Dana M. 

It was 11:00 pm. Wednesday of finals week and the last quarter of my senior year. My paper was due the next morning and I didn’t have a word on the page. I stumbled into the library in my pajamas carrying the heavy certainty that this moment of failure eradicated all my past successes.

And that was when I saw it: two folding tables, practically bowing in the middle under the weight of huge platters ladened with variety after variety of homemade cookies.

I might have cried.

I later learned that a single librarian was responsible for every cookie on that table.

God bless librarians.

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