Paper Jam

All my life, people have been trying to get me to do work in advance. They’ve suggested outlines, first drafts, schedules, assignment notebooks, rewards, punishments (if you’re into that sort of thing), and therapy. None of them succeeded. I thrive on the deadline and always work right up to it, printing out my finished product moments before class.

But if there is one thing that could possibly make me change, I’ve found it: IT. The Information Technology computer lab on Cummington Street is doing what others could not.

It’s the experience of being in the lab, not the lab itself. My behavior is not miraculously changed just by descending to the basement. If I could fix most of my problems by descending below sea level, I’d be attending the University of Death Valley.

I climb down the stairs to the lab and search for a computer, the most daunting part of the printing process. Everyone in the room, all (and I’m estimating here) two hundred of them, turns to look at me as I enter. You’d think I was holding a gigantic steak in front of a swarm of snow leopards. Is what’s currently occupying all of their screens so dull that the mere appearance of another student satisfies them in ways only Lost usually can?

Fortunately, I’d earlier emptied my pockets of spare meat products, effectively safeguarding me from the snow leopards playing minesweeper in the fifth row. After a short search, I find an unclaimed computer and nestle myself in front of it. I enter my approved password, one that satisfies all of the requirements put forth by BU: capital letters, lower case letters, numbers, punctuation marks, and a reference to the presidency of Calvin Coolidge. It’s accepted and I go about my printing business.

Now, I know you’re supposed to wait for the infoprint message telling you that your job is done. They practically teach that as doctrine. The computer says it; posters posted all over the room say it; the technicians behind the counter incessantly repeat it. I’m half expecting a Bruce Springsteen song about it to come blaring over the PA system.

However, I don’t see the logic in it. Since I’ve clicked print, I’m just going to sit there and read Robinson Crusoe. Why not log off and allow someone else to use the computer rather than take up an entire machine by simply waiting for a confirmation? Perhaps, I’m being too utilitarian.

I log off and lean against the far wall, reading my book. After twenty minutes or so, I go up to the window to see if my printout is ready.

“What’s the name?” the attendant asks.
“Rkennedy,” I respond.
“Hasn’t come out yet. Wait a few more minutes.”

I return to my perch against the wall and devour a few more pages of Defoe. Time is short and I need to head off to class soon, so I move for the line once again. At that exact moment, every person in the lab, all four thousand of them (once again, estimating), sprints for the line. I end up somewhere in the middle.

As I stand there, quietly reading, my companions-in-waiting begin to disturb me.

“Hi,” a girl chirps.
“Hello,” I reply and keep reading.
“Why doesn’t my boyfriend like me?”
“Pardon?”
“He’s never excited to see me. There’s no intensity anymore. I need that; I need someone to want me desperately, like in a Julia Roberts movie. Do you know what it’s like to be seen by someone as the cutest thing in the world?”
“Um-”
“Do you think he’s settling for me? I want him to be happy, too. I don’t just want him settling for any girl.”
“Honestly, I don’t think he’s the one that needs to be settling.”
“Why did my beetle die? I was keeping him in a jar and feeding him leaves twice a day?” asks a boy.
"Am I bizarre?” asks another.
“Quesadilla?” offers someone else.

This is ridiculous. Just because I’m standing in close proximity to someone does not mean I’ve agreed to be their psychologist. I didn’t marry Oprah in order to launch my career and get my own TV show. Leave me alone.

“Rkennedy,” I plead to the man behind the counter when I finally get there.
“Did you get the infoprint message?”
“No, I didn’t wait for it becau-“
“ALWAYS WAIT FOR THE INFOPRINT MESSAGE!!”

The man then pulled a kitten out of a drawer and decapitated it, just to drive his point home. Stunned, I stumbled back against the wall, content to wait just a little while longer. As I watched the line slowly shrink, I began to outline my paper due early next week, just to get ahead, and hopefully help the poor kittens keep theirs.