I always get a tad nervous as I enter the Central Library, despite the fact libraries are not the type of place one usually gets jittery about entering.
I find most libraries to be relatively peaceful, people-sparse buildings patrolled by thick-ankled women with severe up-dos who, as long as you shelve your books correctly, are sweet natured.
Your general library tends to attract book-worms, little children, the occasional pimply faced high-school kid seeking respite, and a scattering of senior citizens; a mix of people who probably wouldn't even notice if I walked in on my hands.
However, through hours of observation, discussion with fellow students and semi-clinical trials I have concluded the university's Central Library is not, in fact, a library in the sense of the above. It should more appropriately be considered the social hub of the University of Otago.
Its inhabitants are part of an ever-changing (in a tectonic-plate kind of way) society which creates and regulates its own set of unwritten social norms, behavioural guidelines, dress code and hierarchy.
Breaching of these do not, obviously, result in legal repercussions.
Instead, the crossing of these unwritten rules elicits only unspoken consequences: the odd look, perhaps a whispering between friends, but generally just the inward sense you have done something awkward and uncool.
One sure method of attaining cool credibility is to learn library lingo. One quickly picks up that Level One is not the First Floor: the First Floor is up the first flight of stairs. The Ground Floor is the floor of main entry and thus Level One.
Once you have that sorted you can then organise to meet people in the library without sounding like a first year who presumes no-one else realises the First Floor is not the Ground Floor so for convenience just uses the two terms interchangeably. Do not do this.
Just say it how it is; and if someone gets confused, you can smile and say, "But didn't you know ..?" And simultaneously plop yourself one social-standing rung higher in this ladder of library hierarchy.
Once seated, the watching game begins. A while back, my friend and I were watching and evaluating why meeting a boy in the library surpasses meeting a boy in a bar (as far as potential husband material goes).
This is because the Central Library is full of self-motivated, diligent young academics who are (unlike in a bar) not intoxicated.
It is, however, a slightly inappropriate place to be offered a drink and thus actual means of initial interaction with these studious boys is unfortunately problematic and limited. I could always drop a pencil, I guess.
But with boys nowadays - there's barely a gentleman among them - it would probably remain on the floor.
My relationship with this Central Library has got to the point where it is substantially influencing my non-academic life.
Even when clothes shopping, I often ask myself, would I wear this to the Central Lib? If the answer is no, the item is probably not suitable for everyday wear because I have got to the point where everyday life now involves the Central Library.
So, I guess I would consider myself a regular. And I can recognise other regulars. We are a select bunch of true Central Library goers, not just exam-time users and abusers who show up only in the last few weeks of each semester.
Quite often, I really look forward to going to the Central Library ... All those people to watch. I get to catch up with the latest fashion, the latest gossip and use a toilet that's actually cleaned on a regular basis. It's a place to really strut your stuff.
But on other days, I just can't handle the concept of the social pressure a trip to the Central Library entails. I tell myself I'll just study at home; that'll be nice.
However, without anyone for me to watch and without anyone watching me, I very rarely get anything done and end up trudging, like a crack addict, back to the source of my inspiration.
• Katie Kenny is studying English at the University of Otago.
