No – It might be a hit among students but they are rarely there to study.
Picture the scene. Your essay is due in tomorrow and in a desperate attempt to shut yourself away from conversation, procrastination and the delights of your kitchen, you head to the IC.
You arrive after storming through the wet and windy streets of Sheffield, hoping for a nice dry seat and at last a chance to get your essay down in some form.
You then spend the remainder of your time looking for a computer to work on and cursing the day you chose a mini fridge over a new laptop.
If you’ve ever been unlucky enough to require the services of the Information Commons, this won’t be hard to imagine.
And it seems recently there is an ever-growing trend of people using the IC’s facilities, and with it, an ever-growing number of computers dedicated to anything but work.
I went into the IC at the beginning of the year – assuming, as a put-upon third year with bags of work and a newly-found work ethic, that I’d be one of the few people foolish enough to be there.
Instead, I wandered the different floors aimlessly whilst every computer I came across was occupied by somebody harvesting their strawberries or Tweeting Katie Price.
The IC is usually a last resort for a lot of people when their home is too cold, too noisy, or too close to their bed. But there are far too many people taking up space who could easily be sitting in their rooms instead.
Why move to a public library to play Mafia Wars? Can’t people buy and sell their artillery in the privacy of their own homes, or is the draw of the IC’s overpriced sandwiches really so strong they need to do it in full view of everyone while many others scramble around them for space?
And forgive me for thinking that napping next to a computer after an hour of intense social networking is taking the piss a bit.
I tend to sit at my desk, surrounded by dirty plates and clothes, seconds away from my TV and even closer to my duvet. Yet I still prefer to sit in that relative squalor than brave a trip to the IC in some vague hope of finding space to work.
And if I am lucky enough to get as far as logging in, I’m often greeted by the dulcet tones of a troop of girls giggling about last week’s Space on the sofas.
If that’s the sort of atmosphere I liked to work in, I would pick up my laptop and jump on a tram.
I’m much more likely to find a seat, I’m guaranteed an available working computer, and aside from the incessant conversation of fellow travellers the only distraction would be the occasional “fares please” from a bubbly conductor.
And fortunately, I can pay her to leave me in peace.
Andre Nunn
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