Tuesday morning I spent getting all worked up. Usually when I do so, I am overreacting, and I inwardly know that, so that when the situation is not as dreadful as expected I am relieved and call myself silly. Tuesday, thought, I was extra worked up because I knew there was no possibility that the afternoon’s activities would not be unbearable.
Attending or working at universities always entails a certain amount of dealing with the administrative bureaucracy which is not enjoyable. You don’t get paid on time, or as a student, your financial aid disappears, you have to make calls, stand in line, explain yourself repeatedly, and ask questions you should not have to ask. At one of the schools where I teach, the administrative matters are doubly intolerable. You have to wait, no one knows anything they are supposed to know because duties are scattered across different people and different departments and none of those people communicate properly, and you have to wait! Apparently at this school, everyone takes their lunch around 2pm, even though they leave work between 4-5pm. Everyone. So, I waited 20 minutes for one Admin Asst to return to tell me the copy code and give me a key because the other two had no idea. They talked about it for a few minutes but neither could figure it out. Then I had to ask for keys. She made me fill out a form and take it down to the key lady in the basement, who was thankfully pleasant, and told me to exchange it for a new key. The key lady, who has been working there for 25 years, asked why I was there. I said, they told me I had to turn in my old key for a new one. Are they crazy? Maybe, she replied, and told me I didn’t even need to bring down the form.
The Admin Asst also had no idea about how to use the writing lab. She is the Asst for all the Writing Instructors to visit but she doesn’t know. No one fucking knows anything. The previous week I’d received an email saying that part-timers can only access payroll forms on this web site that is separate from the school’s main site, but no specific web address is given, only a key word. So I write the person back and she tells me all I should do is type this key word in the web browser and the site would pop, which is obviously ludicrous because all sites end in a .com or .edu or .org or something like that. So I write her back again and she tells me to call IT. Then I realize that the site is probably only accessible from the school’s own computers. Yep. I was seething about this one. How fucking stupid! How can this person not know. It was really hard not to write her a snotty email, but I knew doing so would not really be productive, so I played it passive aggressively, which I prefer not to do, but seemed to be most appropriate in this case (I said that I was sorry that I had bothered her but it was just that her email didn’t say you can only access this site from the school’s computers, but I wasn‘t really sorry, I had every right, but she needed to know that she should‘ve included that information.) She actually wrote me back to tell me that she didn’t know that. Well, shit, people, find someone who knows what is up to communicate with part-timers who don’t even receive a handbook, only a few typed sheets about photocopying, phones, mailboxes and pay dates.
On top of that, I had to buy a parking permit, and that office was also closed. Of course the woman working there was one of those overly chatty types. And of course the woman in front of me had lost her plastic permit and took all damn day to explain it. And of course I find out that, in 2006, this office has no credit card machine, and if I want to use my card I have to go to the other building and pay first at the cashier’s office! Or go find cash, which I don’t have. I have 30 minutes to get to the north side for a meeting, but the office closes in 30 minutes also and if I don’t get the parking permit, I won’t have anywhere to park during my 5-hour, once a week, basic writing class tomorrow. So I run to the other building, and of course a student stops me, the running person, who is obviously in a hurry, to ask me where a damn classroom is. Read the wall signs! I say. I finally find the cashier’s office and there is a DMV-style line snaking out of its doors. All loudly chatting undergrads!!!! I have to get this permit. So I suck it up and pay the fee to use the ATM, draining my account of funds I really do not have at the moment. I race back to the other office, and the crazy who lost her permit, which just hangs from the rearview mirror, is STILL in there talking about her fucking missing permit. Thankfully, the newly hired full timer in the English department who appears annoyingly put together stands behind me in line, so I begin chatting her ear off. She was friendly, also helpful, as so many faculty at this school, at least those I’ve encountered in the copy room, just ooze a dontfuckingtalktome vibe. The environment breeds it though. Like the woman who stood in front of me while I was sitting in the first office waiting for the Asst to come back so I could get my copy code so I could copy my syllabus and all the necessary accompanying handouts. Like she was going to get service first after coming in after me. But I played friendly with her too; a good move sometimes, and when I hopped up when the Asst arrived back from lunch, she rightly let me get my necessities first. She is lucky I did not cuss her ass out like I did the fat, greasy, 70s glasses wearing, needlessly condescendingly security guy at yet another office I had to visit.
I finally get my parking permit, and the woman keeps talking so much that she can not make change. $40-$25=$15! I am no math whiz, and in fact, have become flustered while giving back change at Shriner Bingo, but it took this woman about 3 minutes to figure it out, and she didn’t see the ten dollar bill and had only a few ones, and I had to tell her about the $10, and then finally, sweating and starting to smell, I can leave and race out to my car, to try and make a 25 minute drive in 20 minutes, only to be stuck behind 8 school buses full of asshole high school students waving their torsos out of bus windows and standing out in the street. I made it to my meeting 10 minutes late, but thankfully the woman in charge, who has clout, did not seem perplexed, because at least I’d made in time to listen to her love to listen to herself talk.
The next day, I taught my very long class, and learned that the textbook had been updated, so I showed up a different addition than the students. Yes, apparently it is too much trouble to tell an instructor who has told you that she has not taught at the school for a semester to stop by for a new copy of the book.
Thankfully, the students deal with the same inept bureaucrats and Admin Assts that I do, and we had enough other things to cover, so they understood.
Whew.
Attending or working at universities always entails a certain amount of dealing with the administrative bureaucracy which is not enjoyable. You don’t get paid on time, or as a student, your financial aid disappears, you have to make calls, stand in line, explain yourself repeatedly, and ask questions you should not have to ask. At one of the schools where I teach, the administrative matters are doubly intolerable. You have to wait, no one knows anything they are supposed to know because duties are scattered across different people and different departments and none of those people communicate properly, and you have to wait! Apparently at this school, everyone takes their lunch around 2pm, even though they leave work between 4-5pm. Everyone. So, I waited 20 minutes for one Admin Asst to return to tell me the copy code and give me a key because the other two had no idea. They talked about it for a few minutes but neither could figure it out. Then I had to ask for keys. She made me fill out a form and take it down to the key lady in the basement, who was thankfully pleasant, and told me to exchange it for a new key. The key lady, who has been working there for 25 years, asked why I was there. I said, they told me I had to turn in my old key for a new one. Are they crazy? Maybe, she replied, and told me I didn’t even need to bring down the form.
The Admin Asst also had no idea about how to use the writing lab. She is the Asst for all the Writing Instructors to visit but she doesn’t know. No one fucking knows anything. The previous week I’d received an email saying that part-timers can only access payroll forms on this web site that is separate from the school’s main site, but no specific web address is given, only a key word. So I write the person back and she tells me all I should do is type this key word in the web browser and the site would pop, which is obviously ludicrous because all sites end in a .com or .edu or .org or something like that. So I write her back again and she tells me to call IT. Then I realize that the site is probably only accessible from the school’s own computers. Yep. I was seething about this one. How fucking stupid! How can this person not know. It was really hard not to write her a snotty email, but I knew doing so would not really be productive, so I played it passive aggressively, which I prefer not to do, but seemed to be most appropriate in this case (I said that I was sorry that I had bothered her but it was just that her email didn’t say you can only access this site from the school’s computers, but I wasn‘t really sorry, I had every right, but she needed to know that she should‘ve included that information.) She actually wrote me back to tell me that she didn’t know that. Well, shit, people, find someone who knows what is up to communicate with part-timers who don’t even receive a handbook, only a few typed sheets about photocopying, phones, mailboxes and pay dates.
On top of that, I had to buy a parking permit, and that office was also closed. Of course the woman working there was one of those overly chatty types. And of course the woman in front of me had lost her plastic permit and took all damn day to explain it. And of course I find out that, in 2006, this office has no credit card machine, and if I want to use my card I have to go to the other building and pay first at the cashier’s office! Or go find cash, which I don’t have. I have 30 minutes to get to the north side for a meeting, but the office closes in 30 minutes also and if I don’t get the parking permit, I won’t have anywhere to park during my 5-hour, once a week, basic writing class tomorrow. So I run to the other building, and of course a student stops me, the running person, who is obviously in a hurry, to ask me where a damn classroom is. Read the wall signs! I say. I finally find the cashier’s office and there is a DMV-style line snaking out of its doors. All loudly chatting undergrads!!!! I have to get this permit. So I suck it up and pay the fee to use the ATM, draining my account of funds I really do not have at the moment. I race back to the other office, and the crazy who lost her permit, which just hangs from the rearview mirror, is STILL in there talking about her fucking missing permit. Thankfully, the newly hired full timer in the English department who appears annoyingly put together stands behind me in line, so I begin chatting her ear off. She was friendly, also helpful, as so many faculty at this school, at least those I’ve encountered in the copy room, just ooze a dontfuckingtalktome vibe. The environment breeds it though. Like the woman who stood in front of me while I was sitting in the first office waiting for the Asst to come back so I could get my copy code so I could copy my syllabus and all the necessary accompanying handouts. Like she was going to get service first after coming in after me. But I played friendly with her too; a good move sometimes, and when I hopped up when the Asst arrived back from lunch, she rightly let me get my necessities first. She is lucky I did not cuss her ass out like I did the fat, greasy, 70s glasses wearing, needlessly condescendingly security guy at yet another office I had to visit.
I finally get my parking permit, and the woman keeps talking so much that she can not make change. $40-$25=$15! I am no math whiz, and in fact, have become flustered while giving back change at Shriner Bingo, but it took this woman about 3 minutes to figure it out, and she didn’t see the ten dollar bill and had only a few ones, and I had to tell her about the $10, and then finally, sweating and starting to smell, I can leave and race out to my car, to try and make a 25 minute drive in 20 minutes, only to be stuck behind 8 school buses full of asshole high school students waving their torsos out of bus windows and standing out in the street. I made it to my meeting 10 minutes late, but thankfully the woman in charge, who has clout, did not seem perplexed, because at least I’d made in time to listen to her love to listen to herself talk.
The next day, I taught my very long class, and learned that the textbook had been updated, so I showed up a different addition than the students. Yes, apparently it is too much trouble to tell an instructor who has told you that she has not taught at the school for a semester to stop by for a new copy of the book.
Thankfully, the students deal with the same inept bureaucrats and Admin Assts that I do, and we had enough other things to cover, so they understood.
Whew.
posted by Jen Threat at
8:52 PM
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