True Story

2003-08-20 - 12:31 a.m.

So, I am actually registered. For more courses. Somebody stop me!

There actually was an adventure, in that I had worked the night before, and then tried to navigate the Building That Is Closer To My House, in order to register for my classes.

Ordinarily (and this includes "ordinarily for me" despite my lack of any sense of direction) I'd be okay...except that the Building That Is Closer To My House is under extreme renovations. Which means that the door I entered last time is closed, with "happy yellow" (I assume that yellow is happy, otherwise it's on some extreme antidepressant drug)"do not cross" banners.

So, I entered by the doors indicated.

The doors indicated lead to a gym, with barely-pubescent (and this is not my age talking: they were 14. I swear. Anyone my age or older would also swear. Ask anyone.) kids playing basket ball.

Luckily, I managed to turn around, mid-stride, in the absolute least "I really shouldn't be here, should I?" manner.

I left, and found a different set of doors. They were also "indicated." Being a veteran of actual university, I looked for signs printed off of computers on coloured signs.

"Child care: --->"

That was the only freakin' sign I saw. Ever.

The first time I saw that sign was just after I walked in the "doors indicated." Of course I ignored it. Who the hell needs child care?

The sign was pasted onto plastic tarlap (<- that would be either a real word that means "really thick plastic used in construction to protect the gyprock," or else it's a word I made up which is a clear substance that is between tarpaulin and burlap.). The entire hallway was under consturction.

So, I went the only way I could (meaning that I didn't walk through the child care centre): down. The stairs. Assuming that any sign that pointed toward child care was pointing away from my destination. I was half-right.

I started on floor 3. Floor 2 was under worse construction that floor 3, so I continued down to floor 1.

I was so quite proud of myself (in that I'd discovered an area that was underneath (I guessed) the construction; there was no sign of tarlap, or the creepy "we've ripped up the tiles, and all you can see is dried glue" symbols that I'd been reading on the stairs....) that I wandered for a full thirty seconds, expecting that sooner or later, I'd be able to walk South (which was the direction that I'd decided the registration must be).

I'm going to take a moment here (even though this entry is already God Awful long) to mention that every (that means every) passage that I didn't take had construction workers in it. To borrow your time a little more, I'm going to mention that I hate people, especially people that don't fit in to what I had expected. Unfortunately, this involves construction workers more often than not. They wear those bizarre blue full-body suits, for one thing, which does not match what I expect from a college. Even a college that actually teaches people how to be construction workers. I've had problems with relating to people, and unfortunately construction workers (with the occasional exception) haven't yet developed the ability to pretend friendliness effectively. Which means I love them, and feel constantly intimidated by them. I blame it on the gay thing. Anywhoo.

Every frickin' passage. Filled with people who belong there.

So, I walked through a maze of half-finished landscapes on floor 1. I asked someone, at some point, where the registration was. He said it was on the third floor, and I could get there via the elevator. He pointed at the elevator, I thanked him, he watched as I pressed the button and he left.

The elevator was half-finished. It was next to a tarlap sheet that acted as curtain to a room filled with a fake elevator and shadowy figures that were talking.

So, after making sure that I wasn't looking cowardly, I fled.

I found a different staircase than the one I had used to reach level 1, and climbed back to level 3.

Again, tarlapped walls, except this time I was determined. I walked past the three workers and saw what looked to be an office: it was enclosed in glass, had carpetting, and what looked like a reception area.

So, I waited in the reception area until one of the office guys asked me why I was there. I told him, he smirked, I felt ashamed...he told me that (somehow) I had managed to make it to the same hallway as course registration.

I followed his directions and found the place. I registered. Yay.

I then discovered that the only way I knew how to exit the building was by the way I entered.

All in all, community college application is so much easier than University.

Cheers,

The Magus

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