Bunch of Freakin' Ass-hats

Well, it's 11:30, and my morning is shot. Shot to hell. I started trying to reserve A/V equipment at 9:30. I talked with S— in the Media Stuff* Office. She and I ran through all of the equipment we'd need for the keynote speaker's address. No problem. She told me the rental prices, and I figured I'd put through the requisition for payment for equipment rental. A requision which needs to go through today. As I was filling out this online form, I was asked questions which I didn't know the answer to like "address?," and "Federal ID number," and "circumfrance of the Earth." Figuring that the Media Stuff Office could answer at least two of these questions, I called back. That is when all-uneducated-hell broke loose.

I first called S— back and requested the pertinent information. She informed me that she "usually doesn't work here" and didn't know the info I needed. Instead, she referred me to Sa— who was sure to know this info. I called Sa—'s number and was connected to A—. A— informed me that, not only is Sa— not in today, she's not going to be in tomorrow, either. I asked A— if she could tell me the address and Federal ID# of the Media Stuff Office, and she quickly fell into a comprehensional chasm between a) "what is the Media Stuff Office doing for you?" and b) "who are you trying to pay?". The answer to "a" would be "their job." As for "b," I admit that this woman was making me start to doubt my own best instincts. To clarify, though, let's think this out: I'm ostensibly renting equipment from the Media Stuff Office, so my guess is that my money...bear with me here...is going to the...MEDIA STUFF OFFICE, asshat! A— informed me that her co-worker T— would call me back and try to help. I'm guessing that the least that T— has on A— is that she isn't a mouth-breather.

Trying a different course, I called Andretta, Darise, and Jolanda. Fortunately, Jolanda was home. She told me that we'd gotten the equipment free of charge last year because the speaker was listed as a special lecturer on Andretta's syllabus. Fantastic! I thought that we had to have the keynote listed on a faculty member's syllabus, but I can certainly provide a syllabus listing the keynote as a special lecturer. Armed with this knowledge, I confidently called S—back. In my sunniest, I'm-not-a-bother voice, I told her this new information. To my frustration, though, she informed me that, again, since she doesn't usually work here, M— will be responsible for making the call on this. Where's M—? Nobody freakin' knows! Asshats! He's not in his office...his voicemail is full! Huzzah! I am left to believe that nobody freakin' works anymore. At least, nobody in charge. These offices are left to the barely-functional-but-pleasant (S—) and the barely-literate (A—). I mean, honestly, when my request for the physical address of your office starts you wheezing into a panic attack, methinks this job isn't for you.

Awhile back, a colleague reassured me that all of this stress and frustration is worth it. "It's better than digging ditches," he said. In retrospect, I'm thinking that somewhere off in an idyllic ditch, a worker is pausing in reflection. "This is hard work," his buddy says. "Yeah," he drawls in reply, "but it's better than assigning reading that students don't complete; writing that they execute poorly; fighting with an administration over the 'usefulness' and 'productivity' of your work; putting together a conference; working through bureaucracy..." You get the picture.

* not this office's real name.