As I walked down the hallway of the Memorial Union, I search for the staircase that will bring me to my haven for the next hour and a half. After I expressed worry to my friend that I would have nowhere to go during my long class breaks, she told me that Sparky’s Den is where she goes to hang out between classes. As I descended down the gray staircase, I pictured what the room would look like; with a name like Sparky’s Den, I saw a crowded room with dark brown wooden paneling on the walls, dim lighting, red, plush booths lining the walls, and gives off a sports bar atmosphere; you can imagine my surprise when I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into a bland, white room with light brown finishes lining the walls with thirty-or-so tables and booths, and two long couches. As I walked through the opening in the room, I was hit with a cool blast of air. While the Memorial Union was cool, it was no match to the artic breeze of Sparky’s Den; as the cold air hit me, goosebumps rose all over my body. One of my first assumptions upon entering the room was that most of the people were here just to escape the blistering heat of the Arizona sun, a judgement I still believe to this day.
