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Maybe they'd have to hold each other when it rose, all organe and full and close. Maybe that's where our romantic notions about the moon first came from. Two people holding each other to keep their hearts from breaking, because everybody they knew was dying in the cold rocks and dust piles a quarter million miles away...
The Brothers K
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tirsdag, oktober 05, 2004
This weekend was full of births and deaths, new lives beginning and old lives ending. Sadly, one death was premature, but one new birth was a joyous occassion.
What follows a pretentious beginning like that can only be disappointment :) But listen to the story! It is worthy of being told.
On Sunday afternoon, I welcomed a new member into my family: Mr. NEC MultiSync 17" LCD. He is beautiful, glorious, and brings me oh so much happiness! I adopted him from a good friend, for whom it had outgrown its utility. But now, this lovely being is all mine! We broke it in by watching "Hero" on it :) Yay for new toys!!
And now, the sad part of the tale. The day began innocently enough; of course, I slept too late like always. I made it down to lunch late, because I was helping three residents during my lunch hour, so I ended up sitting at a table by my lonesome along with today's daily. Headlines weren't particularly interesting, so I flipped to the editorials section to see what the Daily thought was important to pontificate about today. This, apparently, was worthy of an opinion but not a full explanation. "Returning students should get back their rightful P.O. Boxes" it said. I was a little bemused by this title, and my curiosity was piqued. See, I haven't received any mail for me since staff training began. I have, however, received mail for another student. I didn't really think anything of it, b/c, of course, how often do I really get mail anyways? But this article got the wheels turning. Later that afternoon, I visited the Post Office, and waited in their god-awful long line to speak with a "mail associate" (the correct term for the people at the counter there). I said, "I read an article in the Daily about reassigned post office boxes. How do I find out whether I've been reassigned? I've been getting mail for someone else." The lady disappears with my name and box number, and returns bearing a stack of mail. She hands me the stack, and says "Yes, your box has been reassigned." I gape at her, in shock. What?! Why?! How?! Collecting myself, I ask, "Well, how do I get it back?" She says, "The Post Office does not assign post office boxes. You have to go talk to the registrar's office, in the basement of Old Union." Inner Becky is screaming at this point, "What the hell? Why does the Post Office not assign Post Office boxes?? And WHY DID THEY REASSIGN IT?!!" Sighing, with a frustrated, angry, and resolutely set face, I traipse out of the Post Office, and across to Old Union. There's an angry mob filling the dimly lit, narrow hallway of the basement that leads to an itty bitty half-door labeled "PO Box Renewal." I think bitterly, "That's a misnomer. It should be called PO Box Reassignment." After a wait, it's my turn. First of all, I can't understand a word the guy is saying to me b/c of his heavy hispanic accent. So, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt that he really can't do anything about it. I ask him some of my questions, like, "Why was I not notified of the change?" As justification, he points to a yellow sign on the door (the only one I've seen all over campus), that says "Due to a computer mistake, some PO Box locks were changed. Please contact the POBox Renewal office in Old Union if you cannot get into your POBox." Obviously, however, my lock has not changed. I was not notified. He just shrugs. He tells me to wait while he gives me a new po box number. I say, "Why can't you reassign the person who took my box?" He mumbled something incomprehensible about the computer glitch.
My brain now thinks, "AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!", a pure, unadultered scream of hideous rage, frustration, and unrelentful passion.
And that's it. That's the end, the demise, the sad farewell I receive for my PO Box. My trusty, well placed, secure, sometime stuffed, sometime lonely, PO Box. The only thing here that is as constant as I am; that has followed me from dorm to dorm, friend to friend, social circle to new experience, year to year, major to major. And now I had to say goodbye to it. The ideally placed PO Box, center of the top row of the very first rack of boxes. All I had to do was pull up, walk in, walk out. No turning corners or anything. My heart mourns for my tragic loss.
I am pissed off. I want my goddamned post office box back. I want them to tell me when they reassign me randomly. I want them to punish themselves after I'm done punishing them. I want to see them suffer the way I've suffered.
So, I meekly accepted my reassignment and walked out. What was I supposed to do? Now it's my turn to write to the Daily. Watch as I begin a revolution, a coup d'etat, a tour d'force. Watch, wait, and see how I will conquer all adversaries!! Off, off I go into the bright (POBoxless) future!
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