Campus Life

I love being back on a college campus. Granted, this campus is very different from other campuses that I have experienced -- but I still love being on this campus. I have settled into a regular routine, as I am wont to do, and days pass more quickly than I expect them to.

My day starts after the office opens, and ends before it closes. I feel like I got the magic shift when I worked in food service that avoids both the opening and closing chores. I come in with coffee, eat a breakfast-y snack, check email, and work. I continue to work. I eat some lunch. I work some more. Mind you, work here means plan workshops, do research, surf ejournals and ebooks for impossibly large pdf files to download to my computer or (gasp!) print out for later reading. I get to read stuff! I get to plan workshops and make outlines and prepare power point slides. And they pay me. I don't really leave my desk -- which is weird. I am used to forced interruptions of my work in order to -- of all things -- teach. But I am no longer a teacher.

It's kind of ironic that part of the reason why I started climbing the ivory tower is that I had no desire to enter the kind of workforce where I wore professional clothing and traveled to a modern building with windows that don't open and climate control and sat in an office or cubicle surrounded by crappy squeeze toys and gadgets emblazoned with corporate monikers and slogans and and and

Guess what.

I need to dress somewhat professionally -- Lord knows I don't get mistaken for a student anymore, but I still encounter people who seem surprised by the amount of education I have (apparently I didn't squander all of my youth on education). I work in a building that was most likely built after I was born -- and the windows don't open. I work in a cubicle. For these and other reasons, I have made a pact with myself to ban any and all stress balls, beanie babies, and other corporate-clad crap from my work space.

I have found that I need interruptions. I know I will soon get them in spades with workshops, consultations, and other meetings. I'm not used to this at-my-desk-for-hours thing, and neither are my ADD symptoms. Luckily, I have found the local spot for coffee and have worked it into my routine for a regular afternoon interruption and caffeine infusion.

The cafe is actually a little coffee nook named for a philosopher. On a recent trip I encountered a student employee who was enjoying very loud music at the cafe. Very loud. Make your eyes water loud. Once I had dried my eyes and shouted my latte order I realized what he was listening to -- a garage-band recording of the Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil. I got the sense that the barista was a band member. The band chose to cover the classic by altering it a bit. They replaced the hooting hoo hoo's with grunting uh uh's. I can't say that I approve.

When the barista (baristo according to Dave's application of masculine endings in Romance languages, as in, ballerino) returned with my latte, I attempted to reveal that I am cool even if I'm not a student anymore. I did not tell the tale of Altamont, but rather stated simply,

"You know, there's a myth about this song that every time you play it, something bad is going to happen."

The young baristo replied,

"Well, did you know it's about the devil?"

I love campus life.