Christine Conquers The Lee And Mitchell Buildings, Part I � � � Thursday, Mar. 20, 2003 * 23:13

Figure out for yourself why I haven't updated. Diaryland is a schmuck.

I would very much like to inform everyone that I am going to go down in history as The Girl Who Defeated Financial Aid At College Park. While you may not understand this if you don't go to school here in sunny Maryland, you will no doubt be empowered by my words, revitalized by my actions, and vindicated in your failed attempts to understand the Bursar or Financial Aid at your own school.

All I ever wanted to do was pay my bill and register for summer classes. But apparently this was a paradox to most in the Lee building, location of the F.A. office. After having signed the master promissory note for my loan, I asked Peggy, one of the attendants, to advise me of the person with whom I must speak about having the hold lifted from my account so that I could register. Peggy had been, to this point, cordial albeit a little constipated, but upon hearing my request she shrank back, sucked her face inward, narrowed her eyes, and stuck out her chest at me. She told me there was no one in the office to help me, and that I should return several days later to talk to a "manager". I asked, wasn't there anyone who could help? She directed me to the Bursar's office.

I walked there, a little malnourished and tired, and arrived at the window and found myself face to bullet-proof glass to face with the most puzzling woman I have ever seen. As soon as she said "Can I hep yoo," I began to wonder if she was retarded or just had a speech impediment. I wasn't being mean or judgemental, just curious. I asked her who could help me with my request, which was that I would pay 1,000 dollars that very moment to the illustrious school, and the illustrious school would accept that they would get the remaining 725 the next week, if only they would remove the hold from my account so that I could register for my courses. The portly woman behind the glass went into a state of shock and mild convulsions. I saw her hand shaking. She looked quizzically at my bill for approximately 45 seconds and pointed out that I owed much more than that. I noted that I had a loan that had not gone through yet, and she wiped her brow in confusion. She began to murmur that financial aid should have helped me, and I wholeheartedly agreed. She looked as if she needed a doctor. I volunteered to go back to the computer terminal in F.A. and print out the amount of the loan I was receiving, and she hurriedly pushed my documents back through the slot to me and urged me to return when I had done so.

Now, back in the F.A. office, I eyed Peggy warily as I snuck up to the computer. I felt somehow criminal for coming back there so soon. As I navigated the desktop of one Compaq Presario likely constructed in 1994 and last serviced sometime in 1995, running windows 3.1, I idly wondered whether this whole task would take all day. Presently it was 1:31.

Back at the Bursar, I smilingly presented my loan thingy to the disabled woman and she showed me something I have never seen before. I was at this point certain that she had a developmental disability, but she must have typed 200 wpm. Jesus. She couldn't write, though, and kept uttering the phrase "I'm not a exprut" which I took to mean she didn't know what she was doing, but I gave her a thousand dollars anyway. That was they greatest anguish of my life. I shouldn't have to give that much money to someone who isn't an exprut.

Now, I was mad. I had not done what I had come to do. I thought, "I'm going to kill Peggy," but first I went to the bathroom. My frustration was evident. I left the Lee Building a little present in the stall on the left.

Next, I called my mother. I was scheming, and I needed to try my idea out on someone before I did it. My mother failed to understand any of this and instead wanted to talk about my 'cousin' Emory and how he had run off to Michigan to have sex with some girl on the internet and subsequently gotten himself into "A lot of trouble!!" as she called it, but I ended the conversation and walked resolutely into that dreaded room. I went up to Peggy when it was my turn, and told her,

"I'd like to talk to Mr. Berry. I need help with something important." I think she nearly climbed over the counter and slapped me in the face. Instead of that, though, she drew a very haggard breath and told me,

"There's no one here. I'm the only one. No managers until 3:30 or 4, don't come back until then. We CANNOT help you."

Now, this was amazing to me, and quite hilarious, since with a quick glance behind her I saw at least 8 or 9 people milling around aimlessly drinking Diet Pepsi. Well, I thought, that's the last straw. I said in a very loud voice, "Is that so?" I walked to the other girl manning the counter and asked her the same question. She knew of no Mr. Berry, even though he was certainly her boss, and she disdained to speak to me, without even bothering to ask what I wanted. I later learned that she was quite A Bitch. I had all the ammunition that I needed, now.

I walked slowly to the Mitchell Building to take care of some other business. This would consist of demanding that someone retrieve my AP scores from the dregs of whatever pos data systems they kept. I knew this was going to be another epic struggle. It was 2:10. 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.

To be continued.