This is not your beautiful wife!
Have you ever had a day in which you just didn’t seem to fit in the world anymore? I mean, you wake up and immediately want to go back to sleep, because what you see, what you experience, is coming up negative on the memory search. Everything you know is wrong!
Well, guess what sort of day I had. Go ahead.
I arrive early in the morning to drop off my car for an inspection. The first thing they tell me is that I’m not on the list. Then they find out that I am–but the name is written in a distinctly different scrawl, as if it was placed there as an afterthought. Nobody knows who put me there.
Having dropped off my car, I hitch a ride back to campus and head to my class in Clark B104. I figure that I’ll be right on time. However, I notice that the basement of Clark Hall has not only B’s, but A’s and C’s and so on, up to G and possibly beyond! (I stopped at G.) And in all of these, there is no B104.
I turn around and head to Rockefeller, thinking that I transposed the two most common venues for STS courses. However, Rockefeller has no B104, either. (It does have a B83, though.)
So I head to the STS course office and poke my head in. The person there is busy on the phone, and doesn’t see me. I wait for a few minutes. Someone else (a plant science grad) pops in, and we get to talking. It turns out that both of us are looking for B104.
Person gets off the phone and we enter.
“We’re looking for Clark B104.”
“There is no Clark B104.”
“Huh?!”
“Professor Hilgartner’s seminar is being held in Comstock Hall.”
“Ack!”
And so we hurry over to Comstock, where Prof. Hilgartner proceeds to not recognize me as the person who asked about his seminar the day before.
Moving along, the courtesy van that was going to pick me up to get my car back was late. Very late. We talk for a bit, the driver and I, and surprisingly, I manage to make light conversation. This never happens to me.
I arrive at yon honourable dealership and find out that my car, which had some horrible burning smells once upon a time, refused to emit those smells for them.
It is 5:30, and I need to get back to my research group. I call the number that I’d entered into my cellphone, but I learn that it’s wrong. I must’ve guessed the wrong campus exchange.
I rush back up to campus (possibly ducking past a red light or two) and arrive at my research group ten minutes late. The door’s locked. I dial the campus number I remember and spend the next few moments waiting for the prof to answer the phone. I get an answering machine that is decidedly not hers.
I run up to my apartment to check the number. Looks like I got all of it wrong, not just the exchange. I hurry back down and enter the correct number.
Answering machine. The right one. But isn’t she supposed to be in her office?
I return home and leave a somewhat confused message on her machine. Instead of research, I’ll go and do library stuff.
I find the book I’m looking for where I expected it to be (but the computer desktops looked different last time I was here), and try to check it out.
My ID doesn’t work. I no longer exist.
I fear I might’ve scared the folks manning the counter, as I was beginning to feel a horrible break in reality, and it was showing.
“My ID was working fine yesterday.”
“Do extramural students get to check out books?”
“I did last semester.”
“I don’t think extramural students have ever been able to check out books.”
“But I did last semester!”
“Are you a student?”
“Yes, I’m an extramural student.”
“Full time?”
“Extramural is part-time.”
“Right. Do you work?”
“I’m doing some work as a research assistant right now, but I don’t think that would kill my library privileges.”
“So you’re a student.”
“That too. Extramural, like I said.”
“Full time?”
“No, extramural study is part time.”
At this point, I become a bit flustered. I’m not just in an alien reality; I’m doing a cheap ripoff of the (in)famous “Who’s on First?” sketch.
“Are you on leave? Are you even taking any courses?”
“I’m not on leave; I’m just an extramural student. And I’m taking courses, hence the ’student’ part.”
“Have you ever registered for classes at Cornell before?”
“I’m beginning to doubt I’m even registered now.”
“Huh?”
“I just registered for this semester this week. And I certainly hope I was registered last semester, because I wrote Cornell a check.”
“Full time?”
“Extramural. I’ve always been extramural. If I’m not lucky, I’ll always be extramural and I’ll be stuck behind a counter somewhere.”
Unspoken addendum to the above: “…asking stupid questions.”
“Have you ever been employed by the university?”
“I’m working over at Information Science, but there’s nobody there now, so don’t bother calling. I’ve been a student employee before. And I still don’t see what this has to do with checking out this book. Can’t I get a manual loan?”
“I don’t think extramural students can check out books.”
“But I did last semester!”
Finally, she goes to talk to someone in back. The definitive answer–which I overheard–was “I don’t know, but you should tell him to talk to our library services people.”
I get a card with an office to visit and get out. Minus the book.
I meet my friend Seiji on the way back from library hell. He’s having trouble with astronomy. I tell him that Vega is a bluish-white color. It proves useful to his homework. He tells me that the new arcade down the block has the original “Street Fighter” game. I’m impressed. We decide to go take a look in an hour or so.
And this is where it stands. I’ll have dinner, play some “Street Fighter” old-school style, and hope this all works out when I wake up tomorrow.