Be the Squeaky Wheel

Sept. 3, 2008, 2:09 p.m. by Paul Stiverson
Well, now that I’m finally—officially—in my office I can start formally complaining about it. There is a black panel on the wall, which I can only assume works by magic because I’ve never actually seen anybody servicing it, this panel indicates when there is a malfunction in the utilities of the building. Part of its function is to notify the people around it that there is a problem, however this does little good because the people around it have no idea how to fix the problem, or even how to turn off the alarm. So, when there is a problem the thing beeps like mad and gives a status message saying what caused the alarm. That’s right, the physical plant installed a system in each building to monitor that building, but neglected to connect the alarms to a central control room. They leave it up to the patrons of the building to call up the electronics shop to let them know when an alarm has been tripped. _Brilliant_. We’ll make sure you know if there’s a problem, make sure you let us know about it too. Here comes the best part, wait for it, nowhere on or around the panel is there a notification of who to call to report the alarm. _Super Brilliant_. I would like to propose that we fire the whole herd of morons who work for the Physical Plant and use the money that goes to their salary to make the campus a better place—did I say fire, I meant kill with fire. Also, the building I’m housed in—the Reed-McDonald Building—is being renovated, this means that there are a bunch of moderately skilled workers (who I’m sure have been briefed about the monitoring system) futzing around with the electrical and plumbing systems in the building. This means that the alarm goes off constantly, and while it isn’t as pervasive as a fire alarm it is pretty annoying persistent beep. This beeping will slowly but surely work its way into your brain and eventually turn you into a homicidal maniac, I’ve had to personally take down 3 other graduate students who cracked, but I’m afraid I might be the next to crack and I don’t know if any of the asians will be able to take me out. It would be like Godzilla attacking Tokyo in here. In order to remedy the situation I’ve committed to call the Physical Plant any time that damn panel is beeping, more than once a day if necessary. I’ve put in a work request to have a red phone—which patches me directly to the electonics shop—installed in my office, but I doubt they will get around to it anytime soon.
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