I believe the children are our future...I don't want to go to there

On any given day, I receive a lot of dumb phone calls. Today I received a down-right frightening phone call. It was the 1,987th thing that has happened since I started working at the school that I makes me fear the future.

We sent out letters last week to all the students receiving an F at midterm. Out of about 1500 students, there are 500 students. There could be 1,500 actual Fs. Included with this letter are all of the resources that students should have been using all semester, but have not.

A father called in today to ask if he could speak to someone about the letter that came to his house about his son's failing grade. His wife opened it, even though it was addressed to his son. This man somehow made that sound like it was the school's fault. I had to explain to him three times that we sent the letter to the most recent address his son left with the school, and to his name. In some cases, students leave their parents addresses even though they live in the dorms or in apartments because that is a more permanent address. This student, however, still lived at home. Sooooo what is the issue?

The issue did not seem to be that the student is failing. His father asked why he was failing and I told him I don't know and until someone checks his FERPA, I couldn't tell him if I did know. No, the big question that this man had for me was, "How do I show him the letter without him know my wife open it?" That was not poor grammar on my part; that's how he asked, in a thick accent.

Why are you asking me, a single 27-year-old, how to run your household? I almost said "Just put it in another envelope" but that wasn't really the issue, and I'm not getting involved. I could tell you that it seems like you married an overbearing, intruding, distrusting woman back in the '80s, but that is not really helpful. I could tell you to stop paying for your son to go to school if he's wasting your money and everyone's time.

The thing that puts fear in me is the lack of fear for this kid. His father is concerned that he will be mad about the letter being opened. Understood, we used to get pissed if my mom opened mail, particularly admissions letters and report cards. Admissions letters should be opened by the children because it is their life and their dream. Usually, our report cards were given to us to bring home. Why? Because we could be trusted. And if our parents found out we were hiding anything, they would kill us.

This kid should be afraid that his mom is going to kill him and his dad is going to call him an idiot, and threaten to send him to the army. Instead his dad is afraid of him. Who is afraid of their kids? They were afraid of Macaulay Culkin in "The Good Son." His mom dropped him off a cliff.

No wonder kids today do whatever they want, go wherever they want, and talk to everyone however they want. They're not afraid of anyone. A lot of our students seem to be a little afraid of me. Why? Because I don't make idle threats, or buy into their excuses, or let them blame other people when they are the one with the problem.

All these parents need to say is "I brought you in this world, and I'll take you out!"

Facilitate!

We have a student worker who can't be trusted to do even the simplest tasks in my office. Today I had a brainstorm and thought of something that needed to be done, would get her out of our hair for a while, and would give her something to do. This task was shredding old files, that are unnecessary and take up space we could use for other things. I'm kind of on a cleaning streak at work, in light of being twice restructured, and hopefully expanding my job scope and responsibilities.

On top of it getting things done, keeping her occupied, and taking a long time so I don't have to be bothered giving her something else to do, she wanted to do it. She was excited to use the shredder. I'll admit, it is kind of fun. I sent her off on her merry little way. She was happy. I was happy. My boss was happy. And brownie points for me for thinking of something so simple but that needs to be done.

About 20 minutes later, the student came back because there was a problem. The bin for the paper at the bottom of the shredder was full. In the past, facilities would come and empty the bins, because they make a ridiculous amount of mess, and dust, and we can't just throw them in with the regular recycling or trash. I knew before calling facilities that they were going to say this isn't their job.

I disagree. Facilities wears jeans and old raggedy clothing. Why? Because as the cleaning lady in my freshman dorm said, "You are here to clean, not for the social aspects of life!" I don't really ask much of them, but we wear different clothes to work for a reason. I have to follow a dress code because I work in an office. I must look neat, professional, and presentable. There are days when I get a little lax and wear sneakers. Sometimes on Wednesdays I wear jeans, just for scuz. Today, however, I was dressed particularly nice. And in my nice clothes, there are often times where I have to run up and down the stairs, climb under desks to move computers, rearrange furniture, sharpen pencils, and several times completely clean and overhaul an office or room.

Today, in my charcoal slacks and black button down, I emptied the bin into a plastic bag, so as to minimize the dust, even though it still caused the student worker to cough. This is probably not proper, but then, I'm not facilities.

What is my point? If I am supposed to dress pretty but do facilities-type jobs, then why do the people who don't do facilities type jobs get to dress like slobs and not speak English? I would love to do that. Someone could come in looking for a tutor and I could just say "No comprendo, bitches and then lift my paint-stained jean leg up and put my sneakers on the desk." Either they start dressing real pretty like me, or start doing the things that might actually make them messy. Otherwise, it's jeans and a ripped tee for me from now on.

Location, location, location

Due to the recent recession, I have been reluctantly restructured at work. Education was supposed to be solid, and for-profit was supposed to be secure for a while too, because we had a multi-billion dollar organization backing us up. Then, some people in another state made up a random number that 35 other people were supposed to hit, so...student services got cut and people who make nothing either got canned or asked to do twice as much for no more money. No, really, it's cute. Fortunately, I was one of the "lucky" ones who got to take with them part of the job that is a waste of my talent, and pick up the pieces of a job that had just been recently refilled because the last person just couldn't stand the job anymore. We lucky few.

Along with people telling me to smile all the time (I will do my job, but I will smile only when I'm leaving for the night), I also get a brand new fancy location as head cubicle monkey in the cubicle zoo. The three most noticable features of this new location are within 10 feet of me: the copier, the bathroom, and the mailboxes.

Now, the question is, which do I hate being near the most? There are pros and cons to each I suppose.

Copier: Pro- I can make copies without having to travel far. Con- I am the closest person when it's broken.

Bathroom: Pro- Again, proximity- no lengthy walk to the bathroom and I have a tiny bladder. Con- I am ten feet away from where a lot of disgusting people poop. If it were a public bathroom I would be 5 stalls down.

Mailboxes: Pro- You guessed it. How close! Considering I have to put the mail in the mailboxes, it's good I can do it while near my desk. Con- I don't get to get away from my desk even to do the mail.

Copier: Pro- this is kind of where we tap out at Pros. I don't really make copies very often-we have a copy center for bulk orders, which is all I do. The kids are not the smartest-we need lots of tutor request forms. Oh and they don't show up, so we need a lot of timesheets, with carbon copies to keep track of how much effort is wasted. Con- I'm near something I don't really need that much and yet I'm responsible for it.

Bathroom: Pro- I DO use the bathroom. It's not virtually useless like the copier. Con- a lot of people use that bathroom because the nearest one is used by students as well. And they're crawling with disease. Although they do write immature things on the walls that still amuse me. If that happened in our bathroom, everyone would know it was me. Con.

Mailboxes: Pro- It's um, well, there's...and you can't leave out... Con- the only mail I get, gets taken out of an envelope, and forwarded to the chairs. It could have been sorted before mailing. I don't get mail :( Saaaad.

Copier: No wait! I forgot a Pro! The copier is a fax machine as well! Con-I don't use that fax machine, I use the one in the back that people don't mess up.

Bathroom: Pro- I overhear people talking on the phone in "private." It's good for gossip and my favorite hobby...judging. Con- if I can hear phone conversations, think of the symphony I have to hear. Mostly butt-trumpet.

Mailboxes: Con- I have to deal with mail. I did that as an intern. When I was 21. Lame. They used to call me "intern" then. People don't know my name now either, and I've been there for 2 years. In 3 offices. And "What's your name again?" followed by "Great, anyways..." is not as cool as being called "intern." Con.

Copier: Con- even though I don't use it as a fax machine, I still have to remind people that they have to dial 9 to fax something. And then while they continue to have trouble, I hear them talking to themselves about how on the other machine that she uses, she doesn't have to dial 9. I didn't invent having to dial 9. I don't care what the other machine does. I don't care what this machine does. And I didn't call you senile, which you are and you're getting defensive. Oh, and talking to yourself. And by the way, you're welcome.

Bathroom: Con- Other people may not be as paranoid as me, but I don't like the fact that facilities probably thinks there's something wrong with me or that I make poo the size of an anaconda. For 2 years, I have always been near the bathrooms, and as the admin, I have to be the one to tell someone when something that looks like an arm is stuck in the toilet or when it looks like a pool when you take the cover off after the winter, and the cover leaked, and there's a dead squirrel in it. The pool, not the toilet. People don't know who I am. I am probably known as the guy who always breaks the toilets.

Mailboxes: Con- People congregate around the mailboxes. Boring people. And they talk to each other. I'm not in on the conversation, nor would I want to be. So...shut up and go away.

Copier: Con- People do not know how to use a copy machine. What happened to this? I don't know. What do I press to make it go back? I dunno? Clear? How do I do this? It's not working! You have to put it in the top right! It's jammed! Oh no! I didn't tell you to put it in the paper tray. And it's probably a stupid script you wrote. Pro- I know a LOT about copiers now, from when it has given me trouble. I can get a paper jam out of any part. I can figure out what the problem is 90 percent of the time. No one knows this about me. Who's the pro?

Bathroom: Pro- I get to give judgmental looks to people as they walk into the bathroom, for doing something that we all, by necessity, must do. On the way out, I get to look at them as if to say "That was too long to be number 1." Con- if I do use that bathroom, and someone is waiting for me at my desk, I essentially burst onto the scene and the awkwardness is reversed.

Mailboxes: Con- Do you know where my teacher's mailbox is? What's his or her name? I dunno. What does he or she teach? I dunno. Is it he or she? I dunno. Really?

Copier: Pro- Since I don't know anything about fixing the copier (wink!), the mailroom has to fix it. Their number is on the wall behind the copier. Con-who do you think has to make that call?

Bathroom: Pro- There is also the game I pretend to play with certain people, that I am tallying and keeping track of everyone's bathroom transactions.

Mailboxes: Con- There are very close mailboxes to my desk. As in my elbow could hit them. So people feel the need to strike up a conversation while they write on interoffice envelopes. Um, hi, I don't care. At least with the copier, when I ignore people, they might think I can't hear over the noise.

Copier: Pro- I have a dream of being overly helpful when the copier is giving people trouble. In this dream, I also pretend I'm in a wheelchair. As I try to back out of my cubicle, and say "Just a minute" and crash into the back wall, and then say "I'm coming!" and knock over my lamp, and reassure them "Be right there!" and run over a tack, they will feel stupid. I mean- isn't making someone stop what they're doing because you don't know how to use a machine that he does, even though you have been working since he was a small child, just as bad as making someone in a wheelchair rush to help, with something so stupid? The answer is...no, but I want to make people feel awkward and wheelchairs of good for that.

The clear winner at losing here is: Mailboxes. Sure, the toilet runs, and there's a frequent smell, and the other day, either a staff or faculty member didn't flush after leaving a nutty, gray-brown dook, and sure the copier is loud, and always breaking down, and the paper needs to be filled, and no one knows how to use it. But the mailboxes force me to talk to people. And help. And pretend to care.

The lesson is, that the people around me are worse than noise and poop.

Beard-off III: The shave-off

“Did you lose the beard off?”

I have heard that from about 10 people since the end of the contest.

“Why does everyone assume I LOST?”

Most have said, “Because you don’t have a beard.” For some, I think that really is why they think I lost. For others, I think they underestimate me. They think I didn’t have it in me to win. I had it in me, and more to spare.

The beard-off started friendly enough. The contestants had, after all, gone in unknowingly. The beards existed before the competition. It was never about the beards. There was money at stake too, but it was never really about the money. The winner may not even try to claim the money. Well, maybe the winner will try to claim the monetary value of the cash prize in food and beer payments.

It was about winning. The beards looked good. Both contestants were constantly complimented on them. Before the end, there were two beard camps; maybe four. Some liked my beard better. Some crazies liked Chris’s better. Some thought I would win. Some foolishly thought Chris would. Some probably lied to our beard-faces about what they thought. Preference for one contestant’s beard had no bearing on who would prevail.

Six weeks past and both contestants had official beards. They were crossing the threshold from clean cut toward Joaquin Phoenix’s current facial growth, and in desperate need of trimming. No trimming allowed.

At the beginning, I think most people had faith in me over Chris, knowing, correctly how stubborn I am. I made it quite public to everyone that even though I grow a beard for a couple weeks from time to time, I hated the current reddish mess on my formerly youthful face. To my former supporters, this seemed like a sign of weakness in their champion. They forgot that I’m stubborn, but I’m also underhanded.

Chris knew it was coming to an end. I wanted out. He wanted out. At one point, he offered a truce- we would both just shave over the weekend and tell everyone we gave up. My public display of weakening brought his out privately, away from the arena of work.

“Well,” I told him. “I’m going to a party tonight and I kind of want to show off the beard. You can shave if you want to.” He was too smart for this (it wasn’t a very good attempt on my part). “Don’t try to win through trickery.”

On the way to the party, a drunken woman in a liquor store asked how old my friend Courtney is. She told her, “28.” I was standing behind Courtney in line and from behind me, I heard the woman ask me, “Is that your daughter?” Even though she was an old drunk hag, I turned around in full sass mode and said, “Do I LOOK like I could have a 28 year old daughter?!”

That made my estimated age in that woman’s glassy eye probably about 50. Nice. Yes, she was drunk and crazy. The point is: I was sick of the beard making me look any older.

The next day I sent Chris a text with a picture of my face without a beard. A short while later, he did the same from his phone to mine. It was over.

It wasn’t until we saw each other the next day that the winner became the loser. The picture I sent was from 2 weeks before the beard off began. No, I don’t sit around taking pictures of myself on my phone. I had sent a picture to my friend when I dyed my hair darker so she could see it.

One more picture marked the official end of the beard off: Chris with his clean-shaven face and me with my beard at the height of its craziness.

A few people have called what I did cheating. The picture was sent without any text. I knew exactly what it implied, and allowed my opponent to jump to a conclusion. His trust (ahem, weakness) led to my victory.

“You cheated.”
“I used trickery. I would have outlasted you. I just wanted to end it quicker. Did you really think you were ever gonna win?”

I shaved later that day.

Unable to deal with our naked faces, we both started growing beards again immediately.

Beard-off continues...

The beard off was established at work a couple weeks back, between a coworker and I. Our beards are now noticeable enough that people are asking “What’s with the beard?” Or, “I like the beard!”, or “The beard is not bad. You don’t look like a bum is what I’m trying to say.” This is the longest either of us has ever allowed our facial hair to be.

Rules of the beard off
1. The first person to shave loses.
2. The bet on the first week is $20.
3. At the end of each week, the bet increases by $5.
4. Beards may be maintained and shaped, but not shortened (razors are allowed, beard trimmers are not).
5. Mustaches may be trimmed, if they are growing past the top lip (for clean appearance. Also, I am concerned about the hair going in my mouth. And getting food in it).
6. Beards can be “Just for Men”-ed. I recently dyed my hair from dirty blonde to brown. With the random redness of my beard, I asked that this rule be added in case looking extra weird might lead to my demise.

Now that more than the original handful of people is in the know, people at first seem quickly intrigued and just as quickly disinterested. “Who is winning?” they will ask. The thing is, no one wins until someone loses. The bet is on who will keep the beard, even if it reaches Gaff status (named for a coworker with a great, bushy, phenomenal beard). Gaff can rock a beard much better than either of us can.

Until the loss, there is nobody in the lead, and no way to determine who is doing better. That really seemed to bother people. Then something happened this week, as both beards took off in different directions. Chris made the decision to grow the beard lower on his chin and neck, with a little separation from the mustache. Mine is trimmed at the jaw line (which has been described as “All American”) and is more of a classic beard.

Now that the beards became legitimate enough upon which to form opinions, sides are starting to form. A leader could be determined before a winner is determined. Perhaps most maddening to the spectators is the fact that the contestants don’t seem to be too concerned with the actual competition yet.

“You should be trash talking each other and psyching the other guy out!”
“Oh, Chris I meant to tell you the other night that you look really good with a beard.”
“Thanks! Your beard is starting to look really nice. It’s filling in.”
“Thank you! I’ll see you at the finish line.”
“I hope you win!”

Beard-off

It all started on Facebook, this discussion of beards. Chris is a coworker of mine.


“Chris is growing a beard out of laziness.” C-Facebook

“That's the only reason I ever grow a beard. I shave it when someone asks ‘Oh, are you trying to grow a beard?’ when I thought it was at beard status.”-T, facebook

“The scruff has been receiving positive feedback. I don't think I'd look good with a beard and I start to plateau at a certain point, but what the fuck. Razors are expennnnnsive.”-Chris, Facebook

At a party, a friend of mine complimented me on the facial hair, and several people concurred...

“I love the facial hair! You should keep it that way. Don’t actually grow a beard, just always have five o’clock shadow.”-D
“That would require me buying some kind of special beard razor. Plus, I would always have to explain why I always have 5 o’clock shadow. I hate explaining things, remember that’s why I didn’t continue wearing fake glasses?”-T

A coworker agreed, and fueled the fire...

“I like your beard, meng! Are you copying Chris?”
“No, I always grow a beard in a cycle. I go a week without shaving, then I clean it up, then I have a beard, then it gets itchy, and I shave it and start over.”
“I think you should both grow beards…and be twins!”

Chris and I met, beard-face to beard-face and discussed our laziness-inspired facial hair.

“Are you growing a beard too?”-C
“I guess, I’ll probably shave it soon. Gina thought I was copying you. I told her I always do this in a cycle. Apparently, you and I are on the same cycle. That happens when ladies hang out a lot like we do.”-T

The official challenge was extended at the end of the work week, on an interoffice call...

“Are you a gambling man?”-C
“No. What? No.”-T
“Aww…so you won’t put money on who can grow a beard longer without shaving?"-C
“Oh, yeah, no, I’ll do that.”-T
“Yes! It’s a beard off!”-C

A few seconds after the challenge phone call ended, my phone rang again...

“Meng! I’m so excited about the beard-off! I think you’re going to win because you’re stubborn!”
“Is anyone betting on Chris?”
“No!”
(BTdubs, they call me "Meng" at work. It's a thing.)

I hung up the phone and shared the news with my office. Things get a little boring around the office, so sometimes you have to make your own fun. Plus, everyone seems to dig a guy with a beard.

“Chris and I are having a beard-off!”-Tim
“Yes!”-A

“It’s a motherf*cking beard-off.”-S