Our location in the bustling metropolis of Hanover insulates us from most of the traditional daily threats to our personal safety (last time I checked, there was a higher incidence of moose attacks than of muggings), but the population here, composed of the overwhelmingly type-A student body, introduces some less obvious dangers that stem from rampant multitasking.
At any given time, you could be tagged by an errant highlighter that flew from the sweaty grasp of a girl trying to do her reading on the elliptical, suffer third-degree burns from the strawberry split pea soup spilled by someone barging through the Collis mob while on her cell phone, or fail your class because you conducted 65-minute Blitz sessions for an entire term.
Basically, no one here is able to do just one thing at a time.
This insatiable need to do everything at once means that during Spring term, the Green is mobbed not only by people displaying their possession or lack of athletic talent, but also by the tanning studiers -- also known as those people who still mistakenly believe that it is possible to combine their outdoor relaxation with their chemistry book and be productive on the Green.
This is blatantly impossible. First off, your laptop screen becomes useless when you take it into even the barest hint of sunshine. I hear there are some people who study when they are actually disconnected from computers, but my terrible handwriting, tendency to lose things I have printed out from Blackboard, and physical need to check Blitz every 15 seconds make my MacBook a necessity.
Even if you come to terms with being unplugged from Facebook, there's another problem: the Green is pretty uncomfortable. Sure, the name inspires visions of a field of thick, luxurious grass, but we all know that won't show up until they dump that freaky-colored fertilizer on it two weeks before Commencement. What you're actually sitting on when you stretch out on the Green is a rock-hard slab of solidified mud, dotted by a few brave strands of grass that will poke uncomfortably into your thighs. There are the ambitious few who actually carry towels in their bags, but that's a poor substitute for my comfy armchair in Sanborn.
While attempting what even the most expensive ergonomic chair can't remedy, you're actually even in greater physical danger on the Green. The gravel paths seem to create nicely demarcated sections for studiers and Frisbee-ers, but there's nothing separating your head from the path of an errant lacrosse ball. It seems kind of pointless to study if any knowledge you retain is just going to be knocked out of your head two minutes later.
Also, dealing with the uncoordinated person who owns the random projectile is both awkward and distracting, which goes to the root of the problem: studying on the Green is a social experience. You have to wave to people, go say hi to your sorority sisters, and adjust your sunglasses every five minutes. It is a place to be seen doing work, not for actually doing work, and yes, these concepts are unrelated.
In our facetime-driven but also facetime-persecuting culture (my favorite thing to do is call people out), we cannot be seen in the active pursuit of a social-butterfly status, but must instead camouflage it with a textbook. Do not deny that there is an element of playing Superman: "I am the person who can chill and simultaneously do work, IworkhardandpartyhardIgotothegymat6amandIneversleep. BOW DOWN TO ME."
I suppose my point (I hear these types of columns are supposed to have one) is screw studying on the Green. Grab your towel, grab your sunglasses and relax. Socialize unabashedly. Score factime points. You can study at 4 a.m. in the 1902 room.
