A Cave of One's Own...part 1

aka The Carrel
aka backstory ... from a while ago

Once upon a time, there was a grad student who wanted a place to keep some books (like 50).  She didn't want to carry them all home since every surface at home was already covered in books ... and these were more like "reference" books than anything else.

She had a list of 180 items to read ... or more, 180 is the bottom number.

So, she loaded up a ton of books into her "open carrel" and took two weeks off to get ready for the start of the new semester.

When she returned to her little carrel, number 331 - like a cell number, there were no books there.  There was a little piece of paper taped to the carrel with a hand written note.

It said something like, I have your books... you need to renew your carrel or they will be reshelved.

To me, it read like a ransom note, but not the kind that asks for something that you could actually give -- it is asking for your first born son, but you are no longer in child bearing years -- so, yup, you guessed it, I was not getting my books back.

Anyone in their right mind would have sent me an email -- or even snail mail -- before the would spend the time checking those books back in. 

Let's see, for her, it was really no big deal -- she would send someone else to collect them, she would give them to someone else to check them in and several someone elses would have to reshelf said books.

However, I am quite sure that in the time it took her to do all of the ordering around she did, not to mention to hand write the threatening note -- she could have written me an email. 

Just sayin'.

Imagine the horror I experienced when I saw that note... hopefully, I bounded down the three flights to the desk where the notewriter was supposed to be.

She was not there, no one there could help ... no one there had any idea what I should do, just that the person I needed to talk to wouldn't be there until Tuesday (it was the weekend and a long weekend to boot ...)

I don't go to campus on Tuesdays, so when I went in on Wednesday, I hoped to resolve it.

Nope, said person again not there and everyone else, clueless... no suggestion that I leave a note that I try to get in touch with someone ... just come back.  This time, though, they gave me the card of a person ... not the hand written note person ... her boss.

The next day, when I go back, I am a known quantity, crazy grad student who wants her books ... we know that we've reshelved them, but we don't want to tell her ...

The person I was supposed to ask for turns out was not the person who had sealed my fate.  I don't know her name, on the fated day she was wearing a blue shirt, and now that is what I call her, blue shirt.

May blue shirt never be in a class that I ga/teach/get near to because I will not be able to find it in my power to be fair, impartial, professional ... I will be just like her:  a ruthless, ridiculous, reshelving rube... 

Apparently she has no idea what an open carrel might be used for by a graduate student ... ugh.