Angst

So once again I had to perform travesty that calls itself RA duty weekend. My first weekend, although lonely and without food, wasn’t unbearable, so I expected the same, or better, from this weekend. However, I was sorely mistaken. I was really excited because my friend Frank was coming to see me and I probably spent the 48 hours prior to his arrival making ready my place of residence so as to not shock and appall the lovely creature. Although, the effing gigantic bag of trash, with two decorative side trash bags was not taken out, but was hiding behind our door for nearly a week even after Frank had left. Something about walking that extra 40 feet to put them in the dumpster struck the roommate and myself as something undesirable, and we left it until the moment right before they started smelling like a zombie corpse to take it out. Anywho, in my excitement for my visitor, I neglected to see if there were any conferences checking into the residence halls this weekend, but even so, I figured it’d be about 50 people max, and I might get a few calls here and there. Mmm. Wrongo. Little did I know that 300 people were going to check into this bitch for a Methodist conference, and I was the babysitter for them all.

Checking people in to the residence halls always comes with a few calls from the desk personnel and randomly forgotten keys, but nothing like the apocalypse that was 6/18/10. Oh no. From 5 o’clock that Friday evening until noon that Sunday I was playing maid for these people, and not the cool French kind, like the “you’re going to be my bitch because I can make you, and you can’t do shit about it” kind. Between the appallingly incompetent (did I say incompetent? Because I think absolutely retarded would be a nice accessory to that descriptor) desk worker who happened to be working that whole weekend and the, “Hey you, I locked my keys in my room” I’m certain I received at least 40 calls. I don’t think I get 40 calls in a month. I’m just throwing this out there, the week before, we had 100 handicapped kids in here, all with keys of their own, and you want to know how many calls I got on my regular duty night? Zero. Some of these kids were blind, mentally retarded, paraplegic, etc., and they could handle their freaking keys. Why couldn’t these people attending the so-called Methodist “conference” (I’d like to know where the conference part came into play, because I just think all 300 were in the fucking lobby the whole time, plucking keys on the piano and talking way too loud so I couldn’t get anything done) handle themselves? I don’t know. I don’t think God knows. Perhaps Lady Gaga does.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind unlocking doors for people. That’s my job. But this was a constant issue. I had consistent calls, one or 2 an hour on average, from 5 p.m. that Friday until 2:30 Saturday morning, and then again at 6:30 Saturday morning until about 9 p.m. Saturday evening. I wouldn’t normally be so angsty about the situation, but this became a bit of a joke for the people staying here. By the end of the weekend, they were saying that they didn’t recognize me because it “wasn’t 2 in the morning,” and amongst the various cat calls of “Hey girl!” I had people telling me how tired I looked. Screw you all. I mean, it’s super safe walking around campus at 1 in the morning by yourself in your pajamas; in fact, the real possibility of getting raped is a real gas!

When I thought everything had calmed down, and the Christian campers had finally mastered the novel thought that is “Keys” (first introduced by Plato in 301 BC), I once again hear the subtle tones resonating from the RA duty phone at about 2:30 a.m. It was the Asshat who lives in the basement of the dorms. He lost his key. Joy. But, alas, I did make my way back up to the LLC, clad in my Batman boxers, Birkenstocks, and half shirt to let him in with little hatred in my heart, passing little judgment as I saw he was adorned in a wife beater and plaid plants standing in the pouring rain.

That following Sunday morning, Incompetard was yet again working at the front desk, and was supposed to be there at 6:45 a.m. for campers to begin checking out. Of course, my superiors had failed to inform me that it was my responsibility to unlock the desk at that time, and during that same time frame, the RA phone had also decided to stop ringing. So, whilst I was enjoying my first hours of slumber in awhile, Smarty McSmart Pants was desperately trying to get a hold of me to unlock the desk so he could begin checkout. I did not receive a call until 7:45. He was trying to call me for an hour on that phone. Apparently it didn’t register to him that the 35 times he had talked to me the 2 previous days of the weekend that I was still the RA on duty. He didn’t try my cell phone. He sat like the complete clueless chump that he is on the outside of the desk area, waiting until the RA phone magicked itself back to life, for me to unlock the desk area. Funny thing is, you can jump over the desk, turn on the lights, and have access to everything you need for checkout without the RA unlocking anything. Did Incompetard do this? Of course not. He sat on the other side of the desk on a bench. For an hour. Waiting for me to hold his hand. Even funnier, he was using the phone from the front desk to call me. He was literally sitting on the desk, not climbing over and using the company phone. I hate stupid people.

Anyways, after the whole checking out thing was over, Tardman stopped working, and everything calmed down…until midnight. When lightning struck my building, my room precisely, and the power went out and fried lots of electronics. Officer Farva came to investigate, and we were reunited once again. <3 I can hardly wait until my next duty weekend arrives.