This incident happened several years ago, when I started learning Tibetan language at the department of far-east studies at my first university. As always, I didn’t fail to make a strong first impression…

The department was one of those places, where regardless of outside world, life seems to flow in its own way, brushing past people, books and tea sets, just like stokes of a kaligraphy.

I was completely new to this world, unaware of its unwritten laws, its half-closed, half-opened doors and quite speaking, when I came there on my the first day.

I wanted to study certain book on Tibetan Buddhism, that was quite hard to find elsewhere, so I asked for the library.
 

The library was in fact only one big room, stuffed with books and magazines from floor to ceiling. There were books in shelves, piles of books rising from floor and tables, books stored in boxes in every corner… Books written in scriptures I couldn’t even define, not to say read…

As I watched how the overall entropy of the place had evolved, gradually growing over all traces of order and organization, I was struck by the idea, that there possibly never was any system, that the librarian simply remembered the location of each book.

If I had known Terry Pratchett’s works back then, I would have believed to had found his inspiration source…

I took my book and settled down by the one of few tables, that looked insignificantly less cluttered and started reading.

After I struggled my way through several lines of unfamiliar scripture, some Asian guy looked into the room, came to me and took some book from the table. I said ‘hello’, he replied with a polite smile and left.

Several minutes later he came back, picked through a disordered pile of papers on the table, choose one and left, with a second polite smile.

Some time later he was standing by my side again, gesturing towards a particular book, that was out of his reach, as my chair blocked the narrow corridor. When I helpfully passed it to him, he smiled somewhat wider and I could not quite concentrate on reading anymore, wondering whether this guy is maybe hitting on me or something…

The next time he came, he just scared the shit out of me, when he bent down and opened a drawer in the table to get some brochure. As he stood up, giving me another smile, I couldn’t help but panic.

The words of my worldly-minded classmate, who said that all Chinese and Japanese and just generally all Asian men are inherent pervs resonated in my mind, as I realized a dull silence of the library, with no other people around than me and him.

I could not stand it any longer! Leaving my book where it was I sped out of the room like it was on fire.

In the corridor doorway I ran into my friend, who was a student of  Mongolian language. He noticed my bewilderment and asked what the hell happened so I told him the whole story of how this weird Asian pervert wouldn’t leave me alone. His shock changed into pure amusement, and then he put his arm around my shoulders and said:

“Honey, that guy is our Mongolian professor. You were sitting by his table…”

And yes, this was exactly the best time for a big loud headdesk, if only I could find one unoccupied…