IN DEEP DEWEY

Before the take-out place incident, however, K. and I visited a certain library-themed hotel located in midtown. First we went to the “Library Garden Bar,” which was on the roof. Fittingly, the “Library Garden Bar” featured neither books nor a garden of any sort. We expressed our dissatisfaction to a man wearing a blue apron. Back in the lobby, he had welcomed us, and led us to the elevator.

Now he explained why the hotel had a reputation for being library-themed. Many of the rooms, if not all of them, had interior designs based on categories of the Dewey Decimal System. The man in the blue apron advised us to venture to the second floor, where we would learn more about the hotel. He also promised that we would find a lounge which might satisfy our desire for something more academic.

K. and I got off on the second floor. We took a right, which led to a lounge that had some unspectacular shelves stocked with unspectacular books. They were out of alphabetical order, and seemed to have been arranged in a mish-mash of genres. But the seats in the lounge were plush and comfy, so K. and I sat down and relaxed.

Now of course, we weren’t supposed to be in this room. The lounge was reserved for hotel guests, people of greater means, who had actually paid money to stay there. The few guests in the lounge didn’t question whether K. and I belonged. Either they were too engrossed in their reading, or had too much faith in the man with the blue apron, and his ability to keep outsiders away. So we helped ourselves to the free crackers, cheeses, and nuts. K. later told me that, had she been feeling more audacious, she might have uncorked a bottle of the champagne. Instead, we just enjoyed the ambience. We got our fill of the free cashews.

There was a tense moment, however, when I was plucking those good cashews. Although the snack table sat unmonitored, waiters and hotel employees would venture by (Perhaps to gather snacks for paying guests at other parts of the hotel?). One of them studied me intensely, as if wondering, “Have I seen this person wandering the halls before?” Luckily, I was wearing a clean polo shirt and slacks, not my usual garb of T-shirts and blue jeans. I gave the waiter a haughty look, as if to put him in his place. Amazingly, it worked. He left the lounge; K. and I followed his lead soon after.

Before taking the elevator back down, however, we studied a large chart on the wall of an adjacent hallway. It had icons for each room, with their respective themes under each room number. Apparently, the hotel had a Philosophy Room, and an Astronomy Room. There was a Journalism Room, an Archaeology Room, and an Engineering Room. Couples could request the Romance Room. Brave souls could venture into the Occult Room for a night. K. and I weren’t feeling brave enough to find out the daily rates for any of the hotel’s many rooms. Also, we felt hungry. I, for one, was only interested in mushrooms at that point.


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