Our Dumb Blog

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.

I feel a lot better than I did about an hour ago. It may have to do with
having eaten supper. Or perhaps because I laughed during meal time. Maybe
it’s because my sister sprained, and possibly, broke her ankle today, and I’m
not in as much pain as she is.

Pain. It’s not that bad, really. I’m upstairs in the new room we recently
built. Our new found Australian friends left today, so the room, and
therefore the computer in it, is now free. This is good because my brother
is on the computer downstairs. I’ve got the incandescent lamp in the corner
turned on to illuminate the room in a soft glow. I turned the computer
monitor’s contrast knob all the way down so that it wouldn’t be glaring into
my eyes. All because I have a headache.

The reason for my discomfort no doubt lies in my erratic sleeping habits. I
took a nap yesterday afternoon and consequently didn’t realize just how late
it was last night when I quitted the Internet and hit my Greek homework. It
was 2 or 2:30 a.m. by the time I finally gave up and went to bed. I needed
to get up early the next morning because my picture was being taken at school
today along with all the other award recipients at the religion department
and honor society ceremony, where I got the Greek award. Dr. Berry, my Greek
instructor, told me to show up at the chapel on Monday morning to get
photographed. I asked if I should wear anything special.

The last time I got my photo taken at school was after I received the
Elementary (first year) Greek award two years ago. Dr. Berry had accosted me
in the hall that morning and requested my presence in the photograph. He
suggested I wear something nice. “Look,” I’d told him, “I have classes from
now till then, and I live half an hour away. There’s no way I can change
clothes.” So that photo portrayed several young men in coats and ties and me
standing there in my UM t-shirt.

This time I decided to ask beforehand what I should wear. “Wear whatever
would make you look as you would like to appear in the paper and the Alabama
Baptist” something or other, he answered. “Oh,” I said, “So I could dye my
hair pink and wear chains and ripped clothes and…” “Wear a dress!” he cut
me off.

So this morning saw me getting up early to don a denim dress. As I drove to
school, I realized that I was going to arrive there much earlier than I
needed to. I suddenly remembered that my alarm had been set, not for the
usual time I get up on Fridays, but the much too early time I had to rise
this Saturday in order to attend a conference with Mom. I got to school a
full 45 minutes before I actually needed to be there. Not having anything
else to do, and not feeling like doing much of anything, I parked near the
chapel, where we were supposed to get our pictures taken, leaned my head
back, and fell asleep in my car.

At 8:55, no one else was showing up for photographs. Another epiphany hit
me. Perhaps Dr. Berry had said 9:55 and not 8:55. That would certainly seem
the case. Sighing, I slugged my book bag over my shoulder and entered the
Fine Arts Building. Inside there was a note taped to the door to my
classroom reading, “Dr. Berry’s 9:00 Greek class will not meet today. Have
the assigned text translated for Wednesday.” Double sigh. Not only had I
gotten up much earlier than I thought I had to, my first class was even
canceled. I trudged to the snack shop, purchased a machine chugged
cappuccino, and sat down at an empty table to work on my Greek.

Cris Hyatt came in, spotted me, and sat down. She and I are running for
president and vice-president of the Senior Class respectively. We ran last
year together as well. She won, and I lost. This year, my competitor
decided not to seek re-election, leaving a void for me to fill. And it
appears I will fill it. “No one has signed up to run against us,” Cris told
me, “and the deadline is over.” “So now we can campaign needlessly?” I
asked. “Hey!” I added, “Let’s make signs that say, ‘VOTE… like it
matters.'”

A couple of other people joined us, but I had to leave them in order to get
to the chapel to try to get my picture taken again. There didn’t seem to be
anyone over there, but as I approached, one of the guys I know was standing
nearby with a tie on. Sure sign of someone hopefully photogenic, I thought.
We were approached by a couple of other well dressed people looking out of
place. Then one of the religion professors showed up, soon followed by
someone carrying a camera. I got to class late.

After Public Administration, I told my friend Paul that I wouldn’t be able to
meet him after class on Tuesday like I’d said I would because I had to go
scorpion shopping. He nodded. About 30 seconds later he asked, “Scorpion
shopping?”

(Update. My head is better and the downstairs computer with the only working
modem is finally free.)

Oh yeah. Today is April Fools Day.

I’d forgotten. However, I did end up playing a joke on someone, almost
inadvertently.

My sister was riding her horse today when Katie started bucking and threw her
off. She’s had many falls, but this one was severe. She sprained her ankle
fairly badly and maybe even broke it. My sister will have to go in to get it
X-rayed tomorrow morning.

And, no, I didn’t do anything to make the horse buck. Sickos.

My sister’s friend Denise called up today to talk to her. I knew it was
Denise because my sister basically only gets calls from two people, her
boyfriend Nathan and Denise. Her boyfriend was with her, so I figured it had
to be the other when my brother answered the phone and said, “No, she isn’t
here… She fell off of Katie and sprained her ankle… No, I’m not making it
up!… They’re at the doctor right now!” I gestured toward my brother.

“Let her get it from someone else,” I suggested. My bro handed the phone to
me. Denise was still railing into the phone, “…You know that’s not true.
I don’t care if it IS April Fools. You know where liars go and…” “Hey,”
I spoke. She finished her diatribe and shut up inquisitively. “All I know
is that Mom woke me up from my nap saying that my sister had fallen off of
Katie and had a sprained ankle, and they were going to the chiropractor to
get it checked. Okay?” When I had her convinced, I added, “Here, talk to
someone else,” and handed the phone to my friend Andrew who was standing
right there. “Make something up,” I instructed him.

“Hello?” asked Andrew into the phone. “Hello? Who is this?” After playing
with her a bit like that, he finally said, “Steph and Nathan went to a movie.
They’ll be back later. Bye.” Then he hung up.

A few minutes later the phone rang again. It was Nathan asking me to call
Denise to let her know where they were. I laughed, agreed, and looked up the
number where she works. “Rich’s Car Wash,” she answered the phone. “Is this
that topless carwash?” I asked. That’s how she knows it’s me. “Yeah,” she
giggled, “This is it.” I gave her Nathan’s message, reaffirming her belief
in the truth of my sister’s injury. Then I shattered everything by
including, “and happy April First,” before hanging up.

I took Stalin to school again today.

As she sat down, I softly warned the girl who sits next to me in Modern
Political Theory, “Ellen, don’t scream. I have my mouse with me.” She
laughed. Later on she asked me to come over and show off my pet to this kid
she had with her in the snack shop. Stalin is a pretty popular article.

I showed my new Zippo off to everyone I talked to. That would invariably
spark a, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, why do you have a lighter?”

“Because I asked for one.”

“But, why do you want one?” Then I’d have to go into the whole thing about
how useful lighters are at lighting up dark rooms and setting things on fire.
The smokers would extend their hands and say, “Let me see.” Then they’d
show me different tricks to do with a Zippo. I’ve been practicing some of
them. I can snap my fingers and light it now. I showed off my new found
skill to my family when I got home. My sister rolled her eyes and commented
on how stupid that was.

Jonah (learning new things every day and never realizing college could be
this much fun)

Well, I showed the letter from the Pew Younger Scholars thingy to Dr.
Schaefer today. He got mad. It was funny. Anyway, when I got home, Ben
gave me a message to call mom on the cell phone. She said that the Pew
Younger people had called saying that their list had Mobile College listed as
an eligible college but not the Unversity of Mobile. Schaefer had evidently
called them to let them know that Mobile College is now UM. So I was still
eligible, but they needed my two letters of recommendation.

I called Schaefer on the phone this afternoon. “I just got off the phone
talking about you AGAIN,” he said. While he was telling them that he had
already mailed the letters of recommendation, he heard someone in the
background on the other end of the line saying, “Oh! here they are.”

So that’s all taken care of. I’m not putting any eggs in that basket. We’ll
see what happens.

Don’t you just love happy endings?

Ugh.