This entry is one off my list that I noted as “computer lackies.” It covers a wider range of miscreants, however.
For a week now I’ve been trying to find out some information about the Mini-Tab software program needed for my Statistics class, and whether it is available online, rentable, purchasable–anything. The computer police at the computer lab promise to get back to me (why they can’t ask someone while I’m there or direct me to someone who has answers, I don’t know, but…) and don’t. And, they don’t know how to use the program so it’s useless to ask for help. However, at the first mere rustle of cellophane, one came rushing right over to me and started the speech about no food or drink allowed in the lab, continuing on with only the slightest concern that he couldn’t actually see any food or drink in sight. I showed him a sourball I was unwrapping. He said he thought it’d be okay if I just sucked on a candy. He thought so, anyway. I almost hoped that he would run to the chief honcho to check it out. Maybe that way I could at least ask the chief about Mini-Tab.
At the campus library, I was checking out a video and the girl asked me if I was still a student. No, I carry a bag of books around for ballast. Otherwise, my creative spirit would have me floating above the courtyard and I’d never have made it through the door.
In lining up my second semester (after only taking one course the first), an advisor signed me up for Academics of Writing and Academics of Reading. This was after she knew I’d gotten an A in English Comp.
I’ve gotten notices that I should sign up for graduation, but I’ve also been told I haven’t fulfilled the program course of study.
I almost don’t want to get a degree here out of spite. Except that the faculty really, really is excellent. I do understand that they use underpaid student help, and the advisors are primarily already overworked teachers, but it just seems that despite budget restrictions, some amount of quality standards should be set.
And I can’t get a job here. Unbelievable.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology