09.03.2002 - 1:52 p.m.

I updated already today, I know, but some things just need to be said so I don't scream them later.

I have an office in the Writing Center. It�s in a side wing of the library. Also in this wing are some educational studies offices, a computer/media lab, and two overflow classrooms usually used for humanities classes. My door has a little window in it, meaning that even when I shut it, people can see me in here. My door also seems to have a sign on it that says, �information desk.� I have looked for this sign, in order to tear it into little tiny pieces, but it is apparently an enchanted sign; advertising to the world in bright neon letters, but invisible to me.

I normally wouldn�t mind answering questions. I like helping people, I really do�I just wish they�d limit themselves to semi-intelligent questions. If I only had a tape recorder, I would set it up to say the following things, over and over and over again:

No, I do not know which room your class is in. They haven't quite perfected the process for the mental information dump that will magically give all staff members absolute and accurate knowledge of the entire schedule.

114? I�d imagine it�s behind the door between 113 and 115, but you�re right, that could just be me who would think that.

No, I do not know why nobody is here when your class should have started three minutes ago. I imagine they are somewhere else. Go look for them.

The Writing Center opens on Monday. I can understand how you�d be confused, as the letters on the bulletin board are only two inches tall, but I swear it�s true.

We are not open this week. I can�t look at your paper now. What the hell are you doing with a paper the second day of class, anyway?

No, that particular professor keeps forgetting to check in with me when she leaves her office. Her office is right over there. If she is not in it, then I don't know where she is.

No, I do not know what your psych professor looks like. I was never a psych major. The only psych prof I ever had is several years gone.

No, you may not borrow my computer to check your schedule. There is a lab two doors down. I have work to do here; nobody has work to do in the lab.

This is the Library. Baltimore Hall. Not Anne Arundel. Not Montgomery. Not even Kent. This is the Library. This means that unless your schedule has a little "LI" next to your room number, you are in the wrong building.

It is not my fault that you are in the wrong building. Nor is it my fault that this particular building is not labeled to your satisfaction. Most of us take it as fairly self-explanatory when you walk in and it is full of books.

Sigh. I would record a nice, big sigh.

I�d set a tapeplayer up on the corner of the desk, and then whenever someone knocked on my (closed!) door to bug me, I would simply point at the taperecorder until the appropriate answer came up. Especially for the non-freshmen. They really should know better.

Sometimes I regret that I am not mean enough to sharpen my wit on the people who really ought to hear it.

-stonebridge

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