March 18th, 2004

krazy koati

We stood beneath an amber moon

I don't have an office number. My office was put in with spare renovation money; there's no logical number to give it which doesn't grossly misrepresent its position. Mostly that's fine; few people need to visit me and most of those who do will accept directions.

When I postponed collecting an assignment for my class today, I didn't realize this was the first time I'd done that, so my students had no idea where to turn the assignments in. ``What office number is it?'' Well, it doesn't have one, but here's how you get there. ``OK, OK ... and what number is it?'' Well, it still doesn't have one. ``OK, OK, but your name's on the door?'' Well, no, they never figured a number so they never put a sign on the door. ``OK, OK, but...''

It's silly, but I kind of like that I'm simply and innocently a bump in the system, a perfectly genial, well-meaning person who can't be found, without trying to hide. I didn't ask for an unlisted office; I just benefit from it. Only my students may gripe some the first time they have to go there.

Trivia: When wrecked, the Edmund Fitzgerald was loaded with 26,116 tons of taconite pellets. Source: Requiem for the Edmund Fitzgerald, Thomas L. Farnquist, National Geographic Volume 189, Number 1, January 1996.

Currently Reading: The Demolished Man, Alfred Bester.