Like I said, I am a great fan of signs. I made this sign for Marie because she needed something appropriately British and pink to pick her up post-surgery. I found this sign to be of great comfort to me moving towards a new fall semester. I post signs when I have to take lunch at my desk, so that people know I’m unavailable. I post a sign when I run to the laundry so people know where I am. Signs are meant to be read, and more importantly heeded.
Now, would someone please explain to me how this one ended up in Lt. South’s office? And is anyone else wondering what on earth goes on in this office over the weekends?
More importantly, can anyone explain where the stuffed raccoon came from?
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.
We are rather busy and terribly grumpy. We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise. Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.
“Regrets are as personal as fingerprints.”
– Margaret Culkin Banning
Occasionally one of my jobs at the front desk is to help with fingerprinting customers. Usually Officer Lampost does this but if he’s running security somewhere on campus, sick, or on vacation, I’m your girl. Fingerprinting is one of those standard services a police department offers, we do them digitally, but I’m convinced that the customers we get are no where close to standard issue.
You get the averages weirdos, the people with really sweaty hands, the older men who lean against you and sniff your hair, and such. But then, you get the even more bizarre types.
Like the girl who came in, said she needed her fingerprints taken, paid, and then sat down and opened up a book.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me so I can fingerprint you.”
“Oh, can’t you just go get them?” she asked in surprise.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Can’t you just go print them off for me?”
“Have you had your fingerprints taken here before?”
“No. Why, don’t you have them ready?”
“Um…we have to prepare them – ”
“Well, do you need me for that?” she asked, with perfect sincerity.
Then there was the gentleman, about my own age, who needed fingerprints done for a job application. I’d typed all his information into the program and then said that I needed his right hand to start the process. His lips compressed but he allowed me to direct his hands and then fingers one at a time to the scanner. When I was done he shook himself like I was a rodent and turned a religious, baleful eye on me.
Dear, dear. You're assuming WAY too much.
“Do you think what happened just now was appropriate?”
Pen poised above the line for my signature on the form, I froze. “I’m sorry?”
“You hitting on me like that? In a place of business?”
“Sir, I’m afraid – ”
“Really, it’s disgusting. I’m married.”
“So am I, sir. And I promise that under no circumstances would I ever hit on you,” I said, meaning it with all my heart.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath before snatching his prints and stalking out.
“No supervisor becomes the quarterback in this situation.”
– Richard Hirsch
About this time last year, we organized a meeting in which to hold student supervisor’s feet to the fire about their negligent hiring practices. The Great Uprising of the Secretaries had some effect since the University complimented our department on having no hiring errors since then. HA!
However, seeing as it’s been a whole year, and what with some people being raised to the position of student without being trained how to do the job, the fact that some supervisors don’t like to read forms, and that the same supervisors have developed the habit of letting the University auto-terminate their students instead of doing the work themselves (actually, telling us to do the work) and not telling us students have quit…we must again go over the same information we did last year. And none of the information has changed.
I am imagining throwing this phone at you.
I long to be able to shake a stack of paperwork, uniforms, and gear in their faces and say, “We do all of this. We get them hired, outfitted, in compliance with state and federal laws, and keep them that way. We keep track of the last time you, their supervisor, with whom they have contact every day, gave them a raise. We get them access to all secured areas, programs, and even sometimes personally hand them pepper spray (at great personal risk). We do this, for 150 of them a year. Literally all we ask of you is to have this form filled out so we know what timetable to do all this on…please explain to me, WHY IS THAT SO HARD?”
“If idiots could fly, this place would be an airport.”
– Sign on Lauper’s desk
I am constantly amazed at some of the conversations that we, as a police department, get to be a part of. Read on for a sampling of THIS week’s pearls of wisdom:
“My child’s backpack went missing at your university over the weekend. I’ve checked the Lost and Found, all the custodial departments, and with his camp counselors. What do you think happened to it?”
“Honestly, ma’am, I think it very likely it was stolen.”
“(Gasp!) Would someone do that?!” *
“I just thought that if I didn’t pay these tickets they would just go away.”
“Sorry, sir, that’s not correct. If you don’t pay tickets they go to collections after a certain number of months. That information is found both on our website and printed on the ticket you recieved.”
“Well, I still wasn’t going to pay them. It was the principle of the thing.” **
“I’ve been driving around for an hour looking for your pink parking lots.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The pink parking lots! They’re pink on your map, but I haven’t found any parking lots painted pink.”
“Ma’am, we only depict them in pink on the maps to distinguish visitor parking lots from all the other lots on campus, they are really just normal parking lots.”
“What do you mean? This is false information!” ***
“So, on Craigslist we found a listing for a scooter that we’re interested in, but I wanted a police opinion first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s listed for $50, the guy says he doesn’t have paperwork for it, and doesn’t even have a key for it. Does that sound normal to you?”
“…?” ****
* Yes, ma’am, they would. Which is why we have police departments.
** Congratulations. Your principles, which apparently do not include being a law abiding citizen, have just ruined your credit score.
*** I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you.
**** Let me guess, the owner is Mr. Jean Boogaloo from Nigeria.
“…where there are bosses there are crazy bosses. It’s nothing new.”
Judd Rose
I’ve already mentioned Lt. Figaro’s ability to talk the brains out of new employees. I failed to explain a couple of his other quirks that makes him beyond compare the most odd person we work with.
First of all, he is never around. Seriously. We go whole days without seeing him. Weeks sometimes.
Second, he has the amazing ability to bend the space-time continuum. If, on the off chance he is located in his office, you must never take your eyes off of him. Because the moment he wanders out, he’s lost. If he but turns a corner, goes into someone’s office, or shuts a door behind him…he is GONE. You can run after him, you can search everyone’s cubicle, you can call after him, but it will all be in vain. He has stepped into another dimension and will not reappear for several hours.
Third, he will (either on accident or on purpose, we aren’t sure which) invariably forget his schedule. Even if he’s the one who arranged it. It doesn’t matter if he called a meeting himself, there is a very good chance he will manage to forget it or fail to show up to it for at least a half hour.
All of this occasionally congeals into a wonderfully absurd/frightening cocktail, as it did this morning.
At nine o’clock on the dot, a smart young man showed up at my front desk and said politely that he needed to speak with Lt. Figaro and had an appointment with him. I trotted off to his office only to discover that he was, predictably, absent. So I tried Susie who said she’d seen him heading towards the back office mere second earlier, but a brisk walk around the whole department proved he wasn’t to be found.
At this point I head back to the front desk to apologize and ask if there is anything I can help this dapper young man with. He explained that he’s been hired by one of the Sergeants but was instructed to pick up something from Figaro (which makes no sense, as this new hire will be working in a facility a couple miles off campus and will never come into our office again, but Figaro insists on giving out their identity cards). I try but can’t locate this card. Hennessy and Wise asked what I was doing and when I explained they rolled their eyes.
“I told him about this twice yesterday and sent him an email,” she sighed. “Better just wait and see if he shows up.”
At 9:15, I go back to Hennessy’s desk and ask her to just get Figaro on the phone and she obliges while Wise hovers to catch the denouement. After a couple of rings he picks up and though we can’t hear the other half of the conversation, we watch Hennessy’s face go through a series of convulsions.
“Your nine o’clock has been waiting for you.”
[Eyes widen]
“Oh.”
[Grimace]
“Alright, we’ll let him know.”
[Hurriedly hangs up phone and snatches hand away from the receiver]
“Oh my gosh…he’s in the bathroom!”
My brain needs bleach!
What he was doing in there for nearly 20 minutes is a mystery we’d rather not ponder, but that he answered his phone there…gah! We all had to dance around making faces and saying “Yuck!” for a while to clear the image.
“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop the story.”
– Orson Welles
Nothing.
Two weeks of nail biting, confusion, misdirection, and finally to be sat down, asked my side of the story (which apparently filled some gaping holes left by other people’s), and told, “Well, we’d never stand in the way of your trying to better yourself. Sorry it didn’t happen, but we’re glad to still have you.”
And then, back to my desk to hire two new students, sort mail, and ponder.
Small Dog has perfect 20/20 hindsight.
Apparently, from what I can deduce, the Dean is Not Happy with Dr. F about this whole thing. And, frankly neither am I. Looking back, I think that putting me in the position of informing people or asking for permission seems ***backwards. He should have had HR make the request and process the whole event, not the girl he was trying to get to transfer out of her department. With 20/20 hindsight I can see that he put me in a professionally sticky spot which I don’t appreciate and wonder why he did it.
All I can think is that this transfer was a way to get around the Dean, who had previously refused to fill his gap. The Dean confirmed Kiki’s theory that if he could get a new secretary he’d have about three or four other offices he’d put her first before IS. I’m sorry if Dr. F is going to be inconvenienced or disgraced…but I don’t think he worked to hard to keep me from being inconvenienced or disgraced, indeed I rather wonder if he was willing to throw me under the bus rather than have any backlash come to him.
Which is too bad. I really enjoyed working for him as a student, I love the office and the people who work there, I adore Dr. S and Kiki and would have loved to be their co-workers. But on the other hand, I am absolutely positive that Susie would stand up for me and back me up, and I’m equally positive that the Dean would not if it meant he’d look bad in any way. So I think I must conclude that I’m in the office that’s best for me in the long run.
So. Something has happened: Not a lot. But I think it’s given me a greater appreciation for where I work now, and more importantly the people I work with. All’s well that ends well.
Small Dog Syndrome 