In the hallowed, slightly drafty halls of Biblios Heights Stacks Academic Library, “Governance” isn’t just a series of meetings—it’s a performance. And once a year, when the budget cycles align and the institutional mediation is at its peak, we host the Faculty Governance Gala.
The gala is the only time the Cricket Chorus leaves the damp shadows of the Sorting Room to take center stage in the Grand Reading Room. This isn’t just any concert; it’s a sonic representation of every committee meeting, sub-committee report, and “motion to table” ever uttered in the history of the university.
The Red Carpet of Red Tape
I arrived early to find Kevin, the Human Anomaly, standing by the hors d’oeuvres table, looking deeply suspicious of a plate of artisanal crackers.
“Kevin,” I said, adjusting my lanyard. “You’re actually wearing a tie.”
“It’s a clip-on,” he whispered, glancing toward the ceiling where a Stealth Fox was silently rigging the stage lights. “The Fox told me that if I didn’t show up, the Topic Changer Goose would appoint me as the permanent chair of the Policy on Policies Task Force.”
I shivered. “A wise choice to attend, then.”
The room was packed. The Busy Beavers were in the front row, clutching sharpened pencils and digital recorders. The Slow Processor Sloth was also there, though he had arrived three hours early to ensure he’d be seated by the time the first note was played.
The Performance
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. The Topic Changer Goose waddled onto the stage, wearing a miniature tuxedo vest that was, frankly, a bit much.
“I totally agree that we’re all here for the music,” the Goose honked into the microphone, “but before we begin, I’d like to remind everyone that the faculty lounge is still out of napkins, and we really need to brainstorm a five-year plan for our collective ‘vibe’.”
“Not now, Goose!” a voice yelled from the back. (It sounded suspiciously like the Fox).
The Goose huffed and exited. A heavy silence fell, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the building’s aging HVAC system. Then, the Cricket Chorus emerged.
They didn’t use instruments. They used the library. One cricket began a sharp, rhythmic chirp against a metal book cart. Another scraped its wings in a way that sounded exactly like a highlighter dying on a fresh syllabus.
They launched into their greatest hits:
- “The Dissonant Beat of the Unfunded Mandate”: A frantic, polyrhythmic masterpiece that made everyone’s eye twitch in perfect synchronization.
- “The 4/4 Time of the Permanent Proxy”: A steady, hypnotic drone that caused three Associate Deans to fall into a deep, bureaucratic trance.
- “Frantic Chirp (Abyss Access Only)”: A high-pitched, chaotic remix of their classic warning call, reminding us all of the books still trapped in the deep stacks.
The Encore
As the final chirp faded, the room remained silent for a full ten seconds—the standard institutional pause before anyone commits to an opinion.
Then, the applause broke out. It was a rhythmic, measured clapping that followed Robert’s Rules of Order.
I looked at the progress bar on my phone. The library’s soul flickered. It moved from 35% to 35.2%. It wasn’t much, but in a year of “The Great Cataloging Glitch,” we’d take every decimal point we could get.
Kevin leaned over to me as the Stealth Fox dropped from the rafters to grab a handful of crackers.
“Nice move, Cardenas,” the Fox whispered, his blue hoodie pulled low. “But just between us… did you hear the hidden track? I think the Crickets just leaked the 2027 Strategic Plan.”
I looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at the “Maybe” calendar he’d brought in his pocket.
The calendar said: Possibly, or Never.
Case Closed. (Until the next meeting).
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