I registered for the Fall Semester today.

Usually the excitement of picking new classes to take in the coming months is
outweighed by the annoyance I feel at the red tape one has to go through in
order to achieve this task. I remember registering for my second semester of
college. I talked to my advisor, stood in line at the registrars office
where they told me, in a very haughty tone, that I needed his signature. I
walked across campus to go back to him, got him to sign it, waited in line,
and was told that I needed to go the business office first. Stood in line
there… etc… It was a memorable, but not pleasant, experience.

The people in those offices are not very nice. Let’s leave it at that.

Today I figured it would be a breeze. I’ve gone through the procedure so
many times that I must have it down pat. Except that I tend to forget
exactly how to go about it. Fortunately, for the first time, they’ve posted
instructions in plain sight on how to register. Double checking the list
taped to the wall to make sure I needed to go to the business office first, I
waited behind a couple of people. When my turn came, I was told to proceed
to the Financial Aid office to get a memo. “Financial Aid. Memo,” I
repeated to myself, making my way down the hall.

The Financial Aid office is actually kind of nice. The Registrars and
Business Offices are separated from the hall by a counter and glass with
holes to talk and push papers through. That makes it a little hard to
communicate with the people on the other side, but I suppose it keeps them
from getting strangled by irate students. I don’t blame them. The students,
that is. But the Financial Aid office is a real office where one opens a
real door, waits on real couches, and talks to someone behind a real desk.
Every time I’ve been in there, the employees have been helpful and patient
as they tried to explain the intricacies of getting money. Or not paying as
much.

This time was no exception. The lady was quite courteous (at least as
opposed to the attitude usually emanating from the talk holes under the sign
marked “Business Office”). “Memo,” I said with my best puzzled expression
that says, please don’t ask my any questions because I really don’t
understand the significance of the word I’ve just spoken. There was no need
for it, however. The lady immediately took the papers in my hand and typed
purposefully into the computer on her real desk.

I looked around me. A guy from my World Religions class was filing folders
nearby. A couple I know was standing behind me. I sensed an audience. “You
know,” I began, “it sure is nice to come into this office and be greeted by
such courteous service. Every time I’ve been in here it has been a pleasant
experience.” “Oh,” answered the woman behind the real desk, grinning warmly,
“I wish you’d tell that to people down the hall.” “I should do that,” I
said, “I’ll go into Mike Magnoli’s office and tell him what a wonderful job
the people in the Financial Aid office do. Because every time I come in
here, it makes my day that much more pleasant.” The couple behind me began
to giggle. The lady was starting to laugh. “I’m serious,” I added not at
all seriously, “Everyone in here is cheerful, helpful, and polite. It makes
me happy just standing in this room.” The woman stopped laughing to get out,
“You need to fill out the Alabama Student Grant forms. I’ll give them to
you, and you can just bring them back sometime.” “Oh, I could fill them out
right now,” I offered. “That’s okay, just bring them to me,” she insisted.
“Well, if you want me to leave…” I began to pout. “You can do it here!”
she grinned. “All right. This way I can stay within this aura of happiness
even longer,” I sat down on one of the real couches and began scribbling in
the information it demanded.

When I was done, I brought the papers back to the real desk. The lady took
them from my hands once again and skimmed over them, “Good, very good.”
“Wow,” I exclaimed softly, “Not only this feeling of happiness but I get
affirmation for doing a good job as well. This is too much.” I walked to
the door, turned and said, “Thank you very much for making my day more
pleasant.” She grinned again and answered, “Come back sometime!”

I headed straight for the president Dr. Magnoli’s office. Magnoli has an
“open door” policy so that any student can come in, but hardly anyone ever
does. Most of the students don’t even know what he looks like. But the door
to the office of the presidency was open, so I walked in. I could see the
“Big Man on Campus” in the inner office talking to someone on a couch. I
wouldn’t ask to talk to him since he was busy. Instead I directed my
attention to the secretary sitting behind a huge desk in front of me. She
was directing her whole attention on me walking in with my greasy hair,
t-shirt, denim shirt, jeans, and untied high tops.

“I just came over from the Financial Aid Office,” I started, my brow wrinkled
seriously, “and I just wanted to say that every time I’ve been in there, they
have been very courteous and helpful and have made my day more pleasant.”
Her face was a torn combination of shock and elation. “Well, ah,” she
seemed unsure of what to say as she grabbed for a pen and scrap of paper,
“Thank you! We don’t get many positive comments. Usually people just
complain, it’s the other way around. I’ll be sure to let Dr. Magnoli know.
What’s your name?” I’m not sure why she needed my name, but I gave it to
her anyway, spelling my last name.

Finally I made it to the business office where the lady behind the glass said
through the hole, “You have a credit of 536 dollars. Would you like a check
request for it?” I have no idea where that extra half a grand came from, but
thinking on my feet, I answered, “Sure!”

Maybe it does pay to be nice.