A triumph for hypocrisy yesterday, I'm proud to say. Gave little lectures on the proper use of the computer cluster here, explaining in a most condescending fashion to both Judith and Anne that people are not allowed to pass on keys to each other.
I'm getting ahead of myself. The deal for the room, which Paul sees as his legacy - the Paul Brown Memorial Computer Room, I suppose - is that as there are four computers - two on the University of Manchester network, one on the UMIST network, and one not networked at all - there are four keys. We have to sign in for them at reception, and leave some form of ID to guarantee that we'll give them back. Four hours is the maximum stint that a key is allowed to be taken for by any one person. Supposedly, whenever somebody wants to leave the room, even for a few minutes, they have to return the key to reception. This, in theory, ought to ensure a high turnover.
Such, as I said, is the theory. In practice, however, what normally happens is that whenever anyone just wants to check their mail for a minute, they chance their arm by knocking on the door assuming that somebody inside will let them in. The only person who gets stroppy about this is Rosemary, a Kenyan woman who lived above me last year, and played with her drawers all night. Don't misconstrue that. It tends to be that the unofficial user can use the computer as much as they want until somebody turns up who has gone to the trouble of getting a key. When this happens, courtesy prevails, and the unofficial user yields their seat to the keyholder.
Occasionally, the system gets completely screwed up, by people taking keys and then buggering off somewhere, ensuring that nobody can get in to the room. This has happened a few times, and cocks up not only the official system, but also our own unofficial enhancement of it.
It's not helped by the fact that some people at reception think that the keys, numbered one to four, correspond to the computers, also numbered one to four; others argue that the keys are simply door keys. This is a rather murky issue, and I think I may be rather to blame for this, by having told Janette and Val that the computers are all different. They're the ones who distinguish between the keys.
Yesterday, Judith had been in here for ages, a least a couple of hours, before I replaced James at position two. After a good while, while I was heatedly debating the rights and wrongs of voting for 'A Nation Once Again' in the comments section of this site, Judith finally ceased in her aimless trawling through E-bay, and wandered off, leaving her key behind. Marlin - part German, part Indian, and all loopy - took over, the whole time with the key taken out in Judith's name lying on the desk. Judith eventually came back to get a book she'd left behind, and said that she'd leave the key so Anne could use the computer.
Which is were we came in.
I lectured Judith at length about how the computers were to be specifically booked in a person's name, and that said person was in no circumstances to pass the key on to somebody else, allowing groups of friends to monopolise the computers. Furthermore, if keys were simply passed about without going through reception, the Hall authorities would have no idea who was using the room at any given time; if anything happened, the residents as a whole would be blamed. These computers, I sternly pointed out, were a luxury, and very expensive - we were lucky to have them, not having had any last year. They were for everyone, and should not be abused. Eventually, she brought the key back. And when Anne came along, she was put out by the key having been brought back, since she'd now have to go to reception to sign for it. She clearly couldn't understand why Judith simply couldn't have given her the key. So off I went again, pompously lecturing. I don't think I convinced her, but she went and got a key.
And of course, I shouldn't really have been there, since I didn't have a key at all. Hypocrisy rocks. Well, when it's harmless anyway.
Yesterday was largely given over to tormenting Judith and Anne - Sylvie wasn't around, and in any case, I think I may have pushed her over the edge with the door sign. Marlisa had been there for the computer room lectures, for dinner discussions, and for kitchen tennis. M and I told Eddie, who's a tutor here, about my lecturing the girls, and he expressed his approval, as he thought that needed to be said, since they do tend to abuse the computer room; Anne was one of those who took a key first thing in the morning last week and buggered off for the day, while Judith lives there. When she's not singing in the corridor. I pointed out to Eddie that I really was, as it happened, in no position to criticise them; technically I shouldn't even have been there. He countered that by pointing out that I was hardly hogging a computer, since like all non-keyholding users I would have given up my computer the minute somebody turned up with a key. While I conceded that that was true enough, Eddie had to understand that I wasn't actually lecturing the girls in order to bring about a change in their reprehensible behaviour. I was just doing it for the craic.
Oh well.
As for the rest of the day? Card production continued apace, with a whole bunch of Snowmen looking like Michelangelo's 'David' being the main item of the day. I spent ages crouched over the lightbox, pencilling, inking, erasing, and colouring, then turned to the backing boards, folding, cutting, trimming, and slitting, before assembling the things. All was done to the tune of Beth Orton's Daybreaker, which I received as a very welcome Christmas gift from Shaw, who departed just after lunch. In the evening, after Kitchen tennis, I slumped over hot chocolate (courtesy of Marlisa) in Jenny's room, watching Speed 2 with half an eye, exhausted after being up so late while making cards the previous night. Marlisa was down in the Common Room, watching the emetic Dirty Dancing with the crazy people.
Incidentally, I was astounded to discover that it was not the cool trio of Marlisa, Jenny, and Shaw who had fiddled with my sign and put up that yellow 'wet floor' sign outside my room; I'm a little embarrassed about assuming their guilt, as it happens, since in revenge I conducted a minor act of comedy retaliation. Nor, strangely, was it the crazy people, three witches, Franco-German alliance, call that trio what you will. No, it turns out that the Edwettes were responsible. The Edwettes, as I call them, are Hannah, Debs, and Moo, three of our undergrads who are inseparable except when Hannah and Debs are stilt dancing in 'Ascension' while Moo stays back in base; they've very pally with Eddie, hence their collective name.
In case you're wondering, I'm not going to tell you what Kitchen Tennis is just yet. That can wait. Like the Giant Rat of Sumatra, it is, as Sherlock Holmes noted to Doctor Watson at the outset of 'The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire', a story for which the world is not yet prepared.
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