Christine Conquers The Lee And Mitchell Buildings, Part II � � � Monday, Mar. 24, 2003 * 23:17

It was too late for French class. But, my friend, French class was not the issue, not by a mile. The thing now was vindiction, validation, revenge.

I stopped for a smoke on the steps of the Administration Building, just watching the people come and go. What a bunch of ugly fucks, I thought to myself. Whilst I was amusing myself in such reveries, waaaay up on the top step, a small SUV-looking automobile pulled up uncertainly below, packed with Indian children and a frazzled mother. The passenger in the front seat waved up at me and I waved back, thrilled to have made a new friend so hastily. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something. I couldn't make it out, so I shook my head and he tried again, saying "Where's the Admissions Office?" I smiled politely and pointed next door at the Mitchell Building. He then proceeded to flip me off and the woman honked the horn abruptly. I sat there for a moment motionless, thought about it, and raised both mother fuckers in a tribute to Eminem while sticking my tongue out at the whole car full of them. It turned around in a hurry and went the other way. Apparently pointing to the building on one's right is some insult to whatever culture from whence they came.

Anyway, after this interlude, I walked, all alone in space in time, to the Mitchell building, through sloughs of mud, and went into the office where one accomplishes the things I needed accomplished. There was no waiting area, so I tiptoed around a bit giving suggestive looks to several females who were all, curiously, drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. Must be some kind of fad I'm not in on. I must have stood awkwardly in no particular place in the multi-faceted office for 2 good minutes before one of the ladies finally looked up and asked pleasantly how she could help me, inviting me to a seat. I noticed that she was the assistant something. I told her about my AP scores, or rather lack-thereof, and when I told her my name she immediately went into anaphylactic shock for 10 seconds before clapping her hands and exclaiming that she was so glad to meet me, having had the pleasure of searching in vain for my scores for the past month and wondering if she would ever find them. So, I settled in while she proceeded to "do a little digging," as she called it, and wondered how my presence would help her excavations, and groaned inwardly at the idea that this good woman had been looking for my AP scores for a month. I sat demurely chewing a piece of Dentyne Ice, nothing's cooler, while she tapped keys on her keyboard, asked for my social security number about 8 times (my god, it's like the easiest social security number of anyone's in the fucking world), and finally she said, "Hey, let's call John!" I was puzzled as to how she knew my roommate for a second but then I remembered that there are many Johns in the world. Her John was a John who worked at the EPT, or someplace like that. Probably not EPT, because that's a pregnancy test. She got him on the phone and chatted a minute flirtatiously. I spent this time remarking on all the fruit she had on her desk, and vegetables. She had celery, bananas, kiwi, cucumbers, carrots, strawberries, and several other sorts sitting in a plethora of Gladware containers. I really wanted a piece of cucumber, but instead of asking I just leaned in and eyed it wantonly. I heard her saying sad things about something where I would have to pay for it again, oh no, but she already ordered it, oh dear, etc. I didn't care, I just really wanted that delightful Gladware container in my hands, to hold near my bosom, to rock slowly in my arms, to smell and eat the wonderful things within. Yes, I was hungry. At this moment, she put John from EPT on hold and with a morose look about her face told me that in EPT land, they claimed I never payed for AP scores to be sent. I brought up again to her that if that were true, how would it be possible for an empty score report to appear on my transcript? She looked tearful and told me she didn't know, but offered to let me talk to John. I licked my lips, ready to across the desk into her lap and dive into the Gladware face-first, and said "Sure, I'll talk to John!" She picked up the phone and started exclaiming, then slammed it back down. "We lost John!" I almost started crying then. I had really started to become fond of the fellow. Then, she did something wonderful. She held out the Sacred Tupperware Wannabe, in all it's non-microwaveable glory, and offered its contents to me. Our eyes met, and in that instant we became soulmates. I will hold her dear to me forever, I remember thinking incoherently. I helped myself to several absolutely delicious pieces of cucumber and cucumber-juice-soaked pieces of celery. I was ready to face the world now!

Next, she called back to John and got someone else instead. I said to her that I didn't care who it was, I would just pay them their bloody fourteen dollars and have it done with right then and there. So, I got on the line, gave them my Visa card number, sealed the deal, and we hung up. Now, Jennifer and I sat down to a little talk. She was kind enough to ask how I was, so I told her exactly how I was feeling. I told her about Peggy, the "exprut", and the whole charade (I pronounced it 'shuh-rod' as if I were British and giggled to myself), and a dark look passed over her face. She implored me to wait a moment while she began to hail with great unrest a tall gentleman standing over on the other side of the room, calling out his name. She said, "Someone has to hear this story!" I rolled my eyes and laughed at the idea that these people were more helpful with financial aid than the people in that very office. When the man came over, she crossed her arms, and while looking at him she pointed at me and told me to tell him in my own words what had happened. I couldn't help but laugh as this all seemed a little hilarious to me. I felt like was on candid camera. I told the nice man what I had told her and throughout the story he began to appear increasingly amused. When I finished, he held up one finger to me, motioned to Jennifer to follow him with the other, and looked altogether like a seasoned traffic cop. They wandered off into a dark office, I heard a telephone conversation including the words "she was treated very poorly, this is not right," I saw Jennifer pumping her hand in the air as the two of them returned with a bit of paper. The young gentleman gave me two cards and instructed me to return to the Financial Aid Office. On one card was his name. On the other card was the name David Jenkins. He informed me that this man was very very big. But not too big to talk to me. I began to feel ridiculous, but thankful. He told me that I should go to that office, tell them that I had been "officially sent", and to flash his card if they said no. He proclaimed that Honorable Mr. Jenkins would see me immediately upon my foray into F.A., "Or else!"

I thanked them profusely, shook their hands, plastered a big grin on my face like I was a bookie who just caught a big deal, and backed out of the office smiling like a fool and waving to them with both hands, and on my way out I yelled "I'm going to have another adventure over thar, I bet!" Everyone laughed. It's good to be popular.

What happened next was positively uproarious, laughable, and utterly satisfying. I went back to That Office. I saw Peggy over there, lips pursed as if she were at that moment pinching off a great big one, and I just had to laugh. Have you ever seen Meet the Parents, with Ben Stiller? Remember the way he and Robert de Niro exchange the little gesture of pointing to ones own eyes with two fingers, then at the other person's face with one? I did this to Peggy, just to say "I'm watching you!" I think she almost shit a brick.

I walked to the other girl and pulled my precious cards out of my right butt pocket. I put both elbows on the counter and stated slowly, in plain English, that I was there to see Mr. Jenkins, that I had been "officially sent", and that if I was not seen there would be repurcussions. She gave me a snide look, dropped her Diamondback and walked roughly twenty paces to the back of the office where the perpetual miller-arounders with Diet Pepsis were continuing to mill around. I picked up the bitch's Diamondback and had a quick read of the top stories. Management team of Cornerstone, purchasers of Santa F� Caf�, secure 75-25 Alcohol to Food Ratio! Holy shit, I better run over there right now and high-five the sons of bitches? No. WHO THE FUCK CARES? Is it just me or has the Diamondback run this as their top story for fucking fifty million days in a row? Anyway, I read that story about twenty times, when I realized that Miss Bitch was still sitting in the same place on her ass biting her nails. What the fuck? Ten minutes had gone by and she hadn't moved a goddamn muscle. Participating in a sit-in perhaps? I watched her intently. She moved not. Five more minutes. If this was her idea of "getting Mr. Jenkins", well, that was not going to fucking fly. Another lady was pacing back and forth and I excused myself and asked whether Mr. Jenkins would see me now. "Is he expecting you?" "Oh, yes, you better believe he is." She went off in a different direction from Miss Bitch, came back and told me he was on the telephone. Fine. I told her I was sitting down on the chair. She shrugged and walked back into her pacing pattern. Just like a good little automaton. I was really starting to get curious about what that gripey little bitch was even doing sitting back there on her dumb ass. She sure as hell wasn't getting Mr. Jenkins. A couple of minutes passed and I went back to fixing my eye on her. She was still sitting there. Then, I saw her crook her finger and call over a gaggle of the meanderers, point to me, and all of them looked at me snickering. Well, I'd had it. I was at the point of jumping across the counter and going in swinging. No shit. I was HOPPING MAD. I enjoy describing my frustrations in the manner of an 80 year old southern tobacco farmer, if you hadn't noticed. I banged on the counter again and got The Automaton's attention. With great difficulty she wandered out of her little circle and came over looking confused. I shook my fist at her and demanded authoritatively that I speak to Mr. Jenkins immediately. It was approaching 4pm. I waved my little cards around while looking at her with my mouth open and insanity in my eyes, in a way unbecoming to logic or motor skills, embittered and on the verge of smacking my own forehead with the clipboard on the counter repeatedly. I think she picked up on my mood. She started jibber-jabbering to a couple other ladies. I stepped back from the desk in a way so as not to be seen by them directly while I screwed up my face and turned several shades of red in rapid succession. Suddenly, I heard one of them say, "Hey, where that girl go? She gone!" I then gave in to complete mania. This was beyond me. I inched to my left, gave them a little wave, pointed to my own chest, and said in a loud voice, "I'm . right . HERE ." They proceeded to crack up in the way that black women who work in offices often will. It cheered me up, really. I mean, I must have looked like a mental patient or a clown or Jar Jar or something along those lines. I found out later when I looked in a mirror that I was quite a sight. Hair everywhere, eyes bloodshot, mascara on my left nostril, you know, a general state of disarray. A largish woman with orange hair was laughing so hard that she had tears in her eyes and her boobs were bouncing all over the place despite her attempts to hold them in place. She told me to go meet her at the outside door and she would let me into the rear of the office. I strode around to that door and she was waiting. She saw me coming, pulled the door closed a little, and said "Where you at? Huh?" Yes. It was really quite comic. Her humor was appreciated. I obliged her a laugh and walked in. There was Bitch. When she saw me, she moved away so fast that I think I saw skid marks on the carpet. Maybe that was another problem of hers.

- - - - - -

I near the end of my tale. I feel unable to describe in minute detail the events that occurred in Mr. Jenkins' corner office. I came, I laid the smack down, I won. I got the hold taken off my account. I embarrassed him in the name of the Financial Aid Office, I named names - Peggy, namely - and he reacted with anger at those names, he gathered evidence and promised to take action, I laid out a complete list of ways in which this entire system could be improved immensely, he listened in earnest, I shook my fist in malice several times, he put his head in his hands, we exchanged words, and then it happened. He issued me a formal apology. He, the Bursar, he who controls all. In eloquent and self-deprecating language, I had been apologized to. I was smirking like a madman. My work was done. I stood up, I thanked him for his time and for his willingness to perform the simple duty (or doody, if you will) of removing the hold for so I could register for summer classes, which was all, I emphatically enunciated, I had ever wanted to do in the world, and I shook his hand and got the fuck out. I walked out of that building so fast you wouldn't believe it. I haven't been near it since, and I don't think I will ever go back. I'll send someone else to make that idiotic next payment, I will find a way. Something happens to a person in that building that I can't quite explain. It has something to do with the stale air that smells like roasted fart, which seemed to be wafting from the Exprut. It has something else to do with Peggy, with the hundreds of offices in which one can clearly observe that absolutely no work is being done, with the way the windows open out onto dismal views of a muddy lawn that is unkempt and covered in clots of crab grass, and the underlying sense of unrest that, in the end, giving money to the people in that building ensures that that building will always be the same, always the way it is, always The Lee Building in all its slovenly, wasteful grandeur.

But, in my own way, I am its antithesis. For, you see, I beat the system. I am victorious. This is for you, Higher Education!

w0rd.