Having an office on the second floor of PC is in itself interesting, but having our office door open to the public is nothing more than an adventure. The Dutch door that serves as a customer counter for ordering audio visual equipment is an open invitation for folks traveling by to pop their heads in to have a look see. These curious faces usually smile and nod when they catch themselves on the security camera that monitors the open doorway, then they hurry on their way to where ever people go on the second floor of PC.
In addition to the merely curious sight seer, we get requests daily for directions to classrooms, other offices, other buildings, and even various Florida Tourist Attractions. We are very patient and kind to all those seeking guidance, even though it is tempting to send the fiftieth freshman to ask in ten minutes where Undergraduate Advising is, (located just around the corner as the sign indicates), off to the airport.
Many people ask to use our stapler, staple remover, telephone and scotch tape. If at all possible, we gladly comply. We don’t however, have anything to do with the photocopier across the hall way. Desperate people needing last-minute photocopies have been known to get down right belligerent when told we have nothing to do with the repair of said machine, nor do we furnish photocopying services. We calm them down, and send them on their way. We soothe anxious people fleeing flooding bathrooms, (located across the hallway) and call maintenance. We rescue people trapped in the elevators, (located just across the hallway), and call maintenance. We have even been know to catch animals trapped in the building, and call maintenance. In the midst of all this excitement, we even manage to get our own work done.
All of this vast experience with people in need provided me with the knowledge of how to deal with the young man who stopped by our open door yesterday. He approached our doorway with a suddenness in his step. He quietly placed his heavy backpack down on the top of the Dutch door and cleared his throat. I looked up from the desk adjacent to the door into his brown eyes filled with a tortured desperation.
He said, “I have a problem,” in a monotone voice I associate with really pissed off parents and serial killers. All I could think of was his final project was eaten by one of my VCRs.
“I want my candy,” he stated with growing distress. His eyes flashed from hunger to rage in the second I took to inwardly sigh with relief that none of my equipment malfunctioned. His hand reached for the backpack so innocently laying on the counter.
With his other hand he pointed off down the hallway. “I buy a candy from that machine everyday and it never gives me back the correct change.” His voice raised an octave. Both his hands shook with anger as they began to unzip the backpack. “And today my candy is stuck. It didn’t drop. I tried to shake it, but it didn’t drop.” Frustration twisted his features into a distorted mask. His wrathful eyes locked on mine, his hands working at something heavy inside the backpack.
“We don’t have anything to do with the candy machines,” I croaked out. “You must be very mad,” I continued, watching his hands. I smiled, caught his gaze, acknowledging his feelings, attempting to restore some calm to the situation. This strategy always works with toddlers and professors.
“You mean you can’t call somebody now and get me my candy?” he asked threateningly. His figure filled the entire door frame, blocking out the light from the hall, creating a dark menacing silhouette.
“I’m so sorry, but I don’t know who would be able to help you,” I whispered. Bravely, I got up from the desk and crossed the room to the door. I was close to him now. The others in the office had instinctively backed away and hid behind the mass of televisions and projectors in the middle of the room.
It was silent for a moment. I kept my eyes locked on his. He slowly withdrew his empty hand from inside the backpack. “Do you care what I do to get my candy out?” he asked, tight lipped but resigned somehow.
“Do what you have to do,” I said. “Just don’t get hurt or I’ll have to call 911, and maintenance.” He almost smiled. As suddenly as he appeared in the doorway, he withdrew down the hallway.