Why, why, why do I provoke the fates? No sooner do I wish for a less insane week and bemoan the stress…than J. calls saying our car won’t start, a massive project that requires a 24hr turnaround lands on my desk, Sav’s computer loses a critical file, I have to imput dozens of photos into a case where someone seems to be trying to fleece the university (in a badly managed con) and…
I get a bunch of files and briefings handed to me. There was a horrific accident last night, one of the people involved passed away, painfully.
Jaw dropping, major attitude adjusting perspective. Shutting up.
*Please keep the family in your thoughts, darlings. Even if we are having a bad day, theirs is far more painful.
“Alright, just stop panicking.”
“Who said anything about panicking? This is still just the culture shock.”
– The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
Last week was a trial, kittens. No question of it. But J., perhaps sensing my deep inner need to hurt something, wisely diffused me by taking me out twice, once to my favorite restaurant and to see a movie (Easy A. Quite funny. Go see it). And so, having lost my initial hatred for humanity, I had very little choice but to be happy and content over the weekend.
This week is going to be much calmer and less interesting…
Oh wait. J. has three interviews with Big Four firms, we have three business receptions to go to pre-interviews, he’s got two major tests, and we’re flying out to California to celebrate the adoption of our little nephew being finalized. So, with the exception of that happy last item on the list, this week is going to largely impact the rest of our professional lives. And of course, J. and I are both coming down with something.
The Ministry of Idiots has been hard at work this week. See here and here for some light reading on the subject. We were also yelled at for a substantial amount of time both yesterday and today by two separate nasty people who were teeth-gnashingly enraged that they’d been caught doing something illegal.
There is something in the water, I am sure of it. I have never experienced nasty behavior on this scale for such an extended period of time. Everyone in the office is looking a bit worn down and grim, we’re just trying to make it to 5pm Friday at this point.
And so, minions, I leave you with this thought that has been reiterated to me again this week and I wish other people would learn:
“Let me never fall into the vulgar mistake of dreaming I am persecuted when I am contradicted.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
I really am surprised and dismayed whenever it is reiterated to me that the general public thinks our department is staffed with morons. I don’t know where this idea comes from – that anyone who works at/for a police department has the IQ of a deck chair – but really, can we let it go?
So when you call up the parking office, asking us to remove a car from our records because you won’t be driving it anymore, we take pause. Because, you see, we have access to your state records and your class schedule. We can see that you live far enough away from campus that walking could be uncomfortable, we can also see that you are sill enrolled in classes. We also know that, with your student parking privileges removed, the only place your car could park on campus would be a visitor lot. And we know that you know that parking in visitor lots while still a student is forbidden. And finally, we are able to guess that a man still enrolled in classes asking us to remove his parking privileges, while living too far away to walk to campus daily, might be trying to find a loophole for parking in visitor lots.
Most vitally, we know that checking visitor lots regularly for people who have already tried this trick hundreds of times, turns up at least half a dozen like minded people a day. Here’s your ticket. Also, I have a Twitter friend for you.
We’re not idiots. And you’re not as clever as you think you are. We really have seen it all before, and have prepared accordingly.
Allow me to disabuse you of a seemingly common notion: the internet is not anonymous. No really, it’s not. Yes, there are steps you can take to protect your identity and privacy, but anyone who really wants to figure out who is posting those trollish comments at the bottom of a youtube video probably can.
From a police perspective, this anonymity myth is particularly funny. We’ve had instances with theft that we’ve traced from Craiglist, and abuse of animal carcasses (not as kinky as it sounds) that we’ve tracked from Facebook. The bottom line is, if you do something wrong and then publish photos, accounts, or step-by-step instructions somewhere online, it is really easy to find you and punish you.
So, when a kid shared on Twitter that he was jumping curbs in his car to park in visitor and handicapped parking, it was the work of a mere moment to look up his name on the campus directory, see what car he drove, and slap a ticket on it. And when he came in huffing and puffing about why he’d got a ticket because “he hadn’t done anything wrong,” it was immensely satisfying to tilt a computer screen at him to display his own confession, broadcast for all creation to see, and watch him turn 12 shades of red.
Truth is, dear World At Large, if you really are so silly as to tell everyone what you’ve done and where you are, do expect someone to show up and hold you accountable. Because someone probably will. And if you are really so narcissistic that you have to share every detail of your life, even your petty criminality with us, you have much larger issues to deal with.
“Of course there’s a lot of knowledge in universities: the freshman bring a little in, the seniors don’t take much away, so knowledge sort of accumulates.”
– Abbott Lawrence Lowell
It's alright, dears. This feeling of being overwhelmed is entirely normal. And here's a tip, it doesn't really ever go away.
I swear, every year the Freshmen get younger! It’s orientation time/first week of school so herds of these infants are roaming across campus with dazed and confused looks on their faces, prodded along by overbearing parents.
These parents are walking their “children” (who are usually 18 and above) to classes, arguing that their little darlings should be able to park in the Provost’s parking space because it’s closer and widdle babykins can’t possibly be expected to walk all the way from the dorms to class, and if they are out of state, calling us in a state of panic because they their kids didn’t answer the phone when they called, and can we send out a search party now?!
We at the University Police department, hate such parents. We hate even more explaining to them, that if their child has been robbed, accosted, or got a splinter, we actually have to work with the child (who again, is over 18) and not the parents themselves, as said child is a legal adult. Ooh, they hate that.
All I’m saying is, my parents dropped me in middle America somewhere and bunked off to Belgium. I got myself to school, into a dorm, registered for classes, text books and supplies , and off to classes in two days, requiring only a ride from Fairy from the airport to campus.
“Sweet is revenge – especially to women.”
– Lord Byron
Good morning, minions. Where can I get the best real-looking plastic snakes money can buy?
Oh, I'm sorry. I thought work ended at 5.
Last week, after doing the laundry run, I returned the key to Lt. Colossus as per usual. Then J. and I headed up to the City for the evening. I’d left my phone at home because it needed to charge, and when we came back I had about half a dozen messages on it that proceeded thus:
“C. this is —- from work, Lt. Colossus asked me to call you and find out where you left the key to the van. Could you call me back? Thanks.”
“C. this is —- again, we really need that key.”
“This is Officer —-, I’m not happy. You know that you’re supposed to turn that key into Colossus when you’re done, it’s not your car. We need to use it.”
“C., Colossus. Where the hell is that key? You know better than to keep it, damn it! We need it!”
“C.! Where is it?!”
“C. Hi…sorry…this is Colossus…I found the key…see you tomorrow.”
The blasted man, after having told all the officers on duty who needed the van that I had absconded with their blessed key, had accidentally taken it home with him in his pants pocket. Jupiter Ammon, what is it with men and pants in this office?!
But to add insult to injury, this morning he found Lt. Citrus pressing a uniform in the supply room and cracked, “Shouldn’t you have to wear a skirt to do that?”
Wise heard him and let him have it with both barrels.
“But you girls weren’t supposed to hear that,” he protested.
“It’s sexist whether we hear it or not,” I retorted.
“You just have not sense of humor,” he tried to tease.
See, my my bite far, far worse than my bark.
Foolish, foolish man. I’ve officially lost patience with your mild but all-pervading sexism and your tendency to blame things on me. And unlike most women you seem to know, I am not of the ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away persuasion. Also I know three very important things about you. 1 – that you scream like a girl, 2 – that you are terrified of snakes, 3 – your locker combination.
There are many ways to cure sexism and undesirable behavior. I choose psychological warfare.
As if we were not already desperately busy, especially with Fall semester looming, this is also when the University hosts a conference open to the public. For a mere $44 dollars, you can come spend week going to classes about academic topics, theology, personal development, and probably basket weaving for all I know. This wouldn’t be so bad if it were not for the people.
And we're not leaving without our commemorative mugs!
It is impossible to convey how boorish these invaders are. You’d think they owned the place! Office supplies go missing, we have to lock classrooms so that they can’t get in, they knock people down rushing to classes, they yell at everyone…genuine menaces to society. However, it’s their propensity to complain about everything, usually consequences they’ve brought on themselves by their rude behavior, that really bleaches us of all sympathy. Some favorite complaints:
I couldn’t find a parking space so I had to park in the road against oncoming traffic.
No. You didn’t. That’s like saying, “There were no cigarettes so I had to smoke crack.” Not at all. The circumstances are probably aggravating and cause withdrawals and make you irritable (not unlike frustration with parking), but the solution you propose is still illegal.
We paid good money to come to this conference, get out of our way!
We pay much, much more money to go to school here for four years. Full time. And do you think any of us get our way?
We paid good money to come here [again, please note $44], so we should be able to park wherever we want.
Hm…not really. This is, in fact, a fully functioning university 365 days a year. Which means that we have anywhere between 20,000 and 60,000 people here on a daily basis who are actually working and taking classes who need to park. To put it simply, we trump you. You are visitors, we are permanent.
We can’t find anything on this campus of yours. Don’t you label anything?And where are we supposed to park?
Yes. You will find them on those handy maps you were given on your first day. And you can park in any one of the half-of-the-entire-campus-lots we took away from those mentioned in the complaint above this one and gave them to you to use. For a week. For free. Ingrates.
The bishop encouraged us to come so, since the bishop sent us, you should give us food for free, because of the bishop.
This is not the parish potluck!
We drove a long way to come here, why can’t we leave our car in a handicapped stall?
I don’t care if the Vatican called you personally and declared all your sins would be forgiven if you invaded campus. I don’t care if we get an email from Mecca declaring this the site of this year’s pilgrimage. I don’t care if St. Thomas a Becket re-capitates himself and orders Chaucer resurrected to write another masterpiece about our humble university town. You do not, under any circumstances, get to get away with such unpardonable behavior!
(Cutting in front of whole lines of people, including one in a wheelchair, to buy things at the campus store and then snapping at the people who ask you to move to the back of the queue, “We’re with the conference!”)
Who raised you?!
“All abstract sciences are nothing but the study of relations between signs.”
– Denis Diderot
One of my annual duties is to process raises for all of the student employees, all 150-200 of them. Each of these raises must be individually entered, then individual added to two separate databases (before I hand them off to Susie who enters them into another worksheet). As you may imagine, this takes quite a bit of time. I usually clear my entire schedule to work solely on this project so that I can get it done in a couple of days.
These couple of days are brain melting. I stare at the computer screen without breaks from the moment I get into work until the moment I leave. By the time I limp out to my car, my eyes are crossing and uncrossing beyond my control. I swear I’ve developed carpal syndrome in my right index finger.
Note: NOT Dave Matthews.
Funny things happen to my head, such as yesterday when I had to do a double take because Pandora (which often doesn’t make sense anyway), playing in my peripherals suddenly flashed a picture of King Leonidas from 300…no…wait. It wasn’t a naked, roaring barbarian, it was Dave Matthews. I rubbed my eyes and prayed for 5pm. But it pays off to do it all at once because within three days I can usually get back to my normal schedule only slightly worse for wear.
The only way I am able to get it all done in a timely matter is by carefully cultivating the idea that anyone who disturbs me during this process will be marched out into the parking lot, lined up, and summarily shot. This year, to facilitate the speedy processing of raises, I put up the following sign:
And, much to my royal irritation, everyone has been ignoring it. Cretins.
Now, while some people come into our office and say things that are just plain silly, other people say things that are, literally, unbelievable. From this week (and it’s only Wednesday morning):
“I have a doctor’s note. Uh…from…um…a doctor!” *
“I’ve, uh, locked myself out of my car. Don’t have my keys. Could you guys open it for me?”
“Can you prove ownership of the car?”
“Um, no. Can’t you just shoot the trunk lock open for me?” **
“You don’t understand, you are going to do what I tell you. Don’t you know who I am?” ***
* I am a rhinoceros. One of us is lying.
** I’ll bet lunch someone finds a body. Any takers?
*** No. I don’t. And since it’s my job to be painstakingly aware of all requisite movers and shakers, that ought to tell you something.
Small Dog Syndrome 