Dear HOLLIS: Why?

We get it HOLLIS, you're too "chill" for me now. By Lydia L. Cawley

Dear HOLLIS,

We used to have such a healthy relationship. You know how other couples fight? You and I were never like that. (Well, there was the time you fined me over $50 when someone requested my specific copy of Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay over winter break, and I couldn’t return it in time, and why do you have only one copy of Bad Feminist, and why did that book really need to be recalled over break—never mind.)

We understood each other. You didn’t question when I requested season three of Veronica Mars on DVD, once during reading period and once during finals. Some people would call that enabling. I think you just knew when I needed a break from things. And all the books you bought for me! I haven’t purchased a book for class in months. I thought we were forever.

Recently, though, I feel like a wall has come up between us. First there’s this whole makeover that you got. You think that now that you look sleek and modern, you’re out of my league. And I mean, you do you and I respect your choices, but what if I liked the classic interface? You say, “Let us know what you think,” and I try to be honest with you, but you still haven’t fixed your glitches. And what’s up with logging me out and not redirecting me once every, like, three hours? Sweetheart, you’re shutting me out.

You don’t pay attention to me anymore! My requests don’t go away when I cancel them. Whenever I check my search history, it’s just empty, even though I was searching for a Plutarch text for a paper just the other day. Do you ignore me when I talk about Plutarch? What’s your problem with Plutarch, babe?

Worst of all, you pretend like everything’s totally fine. Whenever I check my account and see that chilled out sunglass-wearing emoji, I start to wonder if I’m overreacting. Clearly this is a walk on the beach for you, right? A tropical vacay? Well, I’m here to say that I’m putting my foot down. I liked the old you better. You’re gaslighting me, HOLLIS, and I just won’t have it anymore. I’m going to go browse in the stacks instead; they were always hotter than you anyway.

Screw you,
A disgruntled patron