My leather seat compresses slowly beneath me as it becomes accustomed to my weight. To my left, heat emanates from a noiseless fireplace, which causes me, having donned several layers to combat the morning chill. Every so often, I hear the varying, yet unmistakable bumping and screeching sounds of a door being pushed open, followed by the footsteps of breakfast-craving students, muffled by the carpeted floor. Sometimes the doors are opened quickly, causing a loud bump, like a large metal pot being dropped, followed by a short but loud screech. Such an entrance generally precedes rapid, eager footsteps. When the doors are opened slowly however, the bump is softer, more akin to a rattle, and the subsequent screech is quiet and more prolonged. Often, the following footsteps are more gentle, barely audible at most times. This early in the morning, these footsteps are usually unaccompanied, and rarely do I hear them pass in pairs. Between such bursts of sound, a persistent mechanical drone fills the air with white noise. A woman begins to pace the area as she answers a phone call and puts the male caller on speaker phone. I refrain from from eavesdropping out of courtesy, but it is difficult not to note the poor audio quality of the call, as well as the echoey nature of the space. Such conditions seem to add a level of frustration to the exchange, which quickly ends, and I hear the woman’s rapid, light footfalls fade as she makes an exit. With the opening of every door, a frigid gust rushes inside, whisking away the scent of dining hall breakfast food and filling my lungs with thin winter air. The longer I remain, these gusts become more frequent, as more student arrive to start their day.
Phil McCutcheon
Kisiel Atrium, Friday March 1, 8:00
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