OVERSEAS BRIEFING

Author: AMANDA GOODWIN

LONDON-The culture of the British Library of Political and Economic Science is unique. Its pervasive competition makes Middlebury look like a Kumbaya sing-along. Located at the epicenter of the London School of Economics campus, the library represents everything that is cutting edge about the university, in addition to everything that is simply cutting and competitive about its student body. Upon entering, it is easy to be blinded by the shiny elevators, spiral staircases and circular atrium. However, once acclimated to daily life at the university, it is equally probable that you will be blinded by a parade of fluorescent pink suitcases. LSE students have used their intellectual senses to derive a unique use for this unusual luggage - a bookshelf on wheels. When you hear the clanking of the luggage wheels against the glass library doors or see a flash of bright pink, it means the luggage brigade is in the process of conquering your reading material and occupying the library's already insufficient staff. On the LSE traffic light, pink means 'go' - an indication to Yankees that it is time to give up the battle, succumb to the pressures of competition, and grab lunch.

After the usual chicken curry soup at the local Prêt-a-Manger, you will return to find that every computer is occupied. If you are privileged enough to find a computer without being trampled along the way, there comes the multi-staged process of printing. Should you possess ample funds in your print account, which must be paid for in specialized machines in large quantities - as documents cost a pricey eight cents per page - you must then queue at the print station, only to find that in the payment interval your session logged out. Frustrated, you stomp back to your computer on the other side of the library, only to repeat the process.

If you manage to emerge from the printing station with some remnant of sanity, you might try revisiting the Course Collection - a special section of the library that reserves all required texts for classes. As you track down the call numbers and begin the academic hunt, you are rewarded with the sight of a book long missing from the shelf it now calls home. Thrilled at your accomplishment, you do not mind waiting 10 minutes on the queue to check out. As you prepare to leave the library, a huge grin on your face, a pulsating ringing noise makes you drop your cherished material and nearly knocks you off your feet. No one else flinches - after all, it is just a fire alarm. You witness students refusing to divert their eyes from their books, or if they are so lucky, computers. After six minutes of no movement, you wonder if they are testing the alarm. Then, as you prepare to leave, you observe the mass exodus. The thousands of LSE library denizens run up or down the spiral staircase simultaneously, shoving their fellow students to the side as if the fire were inches away. As they reach the card-swipe turnstiles, the bright LSE students decide it is better to elbow their neighbors while walking through the clogged entrance side, rather than use the perfectly empty exit - the effect of a curriculum rooted in laws of competition.

Outside the library, you chuckle at your fellow students' lack of concern, and conclude that the alarm was probably triggered by an overzealous student wanting to outsmart the competition. As you flip through the book you managed to rescue, your smile fades and jaw clenches as you also become the victim of competition - Chapter Two is missing!