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I worked a shift in the library on Friday last week: my first time back in the Great Building since the end of June, when we were told to pack up our laptops and go home. Three and a half long months of lockdown in Sydney have passed since that day. It was a strange feeling coming up from the security entrance into the main body of the library; the empty spaces silently echoing, devoid of human activity. The lights were all off. The neatly packed shelves stared me down.
The workroom was similarly quiet, lacking the animated chatter of the many dedicated staff who normally work here. We're not expected to re-open to the public for a few weeks yet, but essential library tasks still need to get done. One or two librarians sat here and there, four metres-square apart, absorbed in their screens.
I had reason to ride the lifts down to Stack 1 to view a particular collection of material I was working on. Those vast cavernous spaces beneath Macquarie Street that store the nation's treasures can be creepy at the best of times, especially when you’re unfamiliar with the layout of each floor, as I am, being new here. I stood completely alone, underground amongst the storage boxes, for what seemed like ages, until - out of nowhere, a tall security guard rounded a corner of shelving right next to me, smiled and said "hello". I almost jumped clear of my skin. Where did he come from? My heart pounded in my chest. A sheepish smile was all I could manage in return.
At lunchtime, reluctant to leave the safety of the building, despite the surrounding CBD streets being all but deserted, I opted to eat my home made sandwich on one of the long wooden bench tables just inside the public entrance. I sat like a queen, with my back to the sliding doors (just in case, I thought, some passer-by knocks on the glass, expecting me to let them in) and stared at the empty foyer. The sun streamed in all around me, casting shafts of light over the white marble on the floor and making the sandy wood glow with a pleasing warmth. I considered my very good fortune to be here, in this very special place, at this
strange point in time. My spirits lifted. I leafed through an old cafe copy of Openbook magazine, ate slowly, and felt like I owned the place.
Five o'clock came too quickly and it was time to sign out, don the mask, duck out the back security entrance and up the side of the building, passing the bedrolls of the homeless men who planned to sleep there, on to the emptiness of Macquarie Street again. A few stray office workers snaked their way down to Martin Place station, heading home. Outside the Federal Reserve Bank, seagulls had gathered. They splashed happily in the water fountains, spread out wet wings to the wind, impervious to Covid.
The workroom was similarly quiet, lacking the animated chatter of the many dedicated staff who normally work here. We're not expected to re-open to the public for a few weeks yet, but essential library tasks still need to get done. One or two librarians sat here and there, four metres-square apart, absorbed in their screens.
I had reason to ride the lifts down to Stack 1 to view a particular collection of material I was working on. Those vast cavernous spaces beneath Macquarie Street that store the nation's treasures can be creepy at the best of times, especially when you’re unfamiliar with the layout of each floor, as I am, being new here. I stood completely alone, underground amongst the storage boxes, for what seemed like ages, until - out of nowhere, a tall security guard rounded a corner of shelving right next to me, smiled and said "hello". I almost jumped clear of my skin. Where did he come from? My heart pounded in my chest. A sheepish smile was all I could manage in return.
At lunchtime, reluctant to leave the safety of the building, despite the surrounding CBD streets being all but deserted, I opted to eat my home made sandwich on one of the long wooden bench tables just inside the public entrance. I sat like a queen, with my back to the sliding doors (just in case, I thought, some passer-by knocks on the glass, expecting me to let them in) and stared at the empty foyer. The sun streamed in all around me, casting shafts of light over the white marble on the floor and making the sandy wood glow with a pleasing warmth. I considered my very good fortune to be here, in this very special place, at this
strange point in time. My spirits lifted. I leafed through an old cafe copy of Openbook magazine, ate slowly, and felt like I owned the place.
Five o'clock came too quickly and it was time to sign out, don the mask, duck out the back security entrance and up the side of the building, passing the bedrolls of the homeless men who planned to sleep there, on to the emptiness of Macquarie Street again. A few stray office workers snaked their way down to Martin Place station, heading home. Outside the Federal Reserve Bank, seagulls had gathered. They splashed happily in the water fountains, spread out wet wings to the wind, impervious to Covid.