Undercover Super Sleuths

Every early morning, a faceless team of student employees unlock my office, take out my trash and recycling, and vacuum the floor. I occasionally consider what these groggy unknown undergrads must think of me, if they think of me--if they've guessed my age or my temporary status at this university. I feel I ought to leave apologetic explanatory notes about why I'm leaving my office in the state it's in, why I have countless candy wrappers strewn about the desktops and cluttering around the floor where I've missed the garbage can (sometimes these missed wrappers get taken with the trash anyway, other times I show up the next morning and see my trash has been taken out but my missed wads of gum wrappers or Hershey Kiss foils have been left spitefully, shamelessly on the floor around the can).

Well, this post is meant to demystify some of the more irregular corners of my office. If you nameless, faceless student employees are reading this, I am the woman who owns office 294C in the Joseph F. Smith building. And while I'm sure you are all too tired to give much thought to anything while you de-bag and re-bag and shuffle out again, maybe this post is dedicated to the one of you who still carries fond memories of the Hardy Boys, of Nancy Drew, of Rocky, of Bullwinkle, of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

DEMYSTIFICATION #1: The Secret of the Pillow and Blanket Next to the Temple Bag

Possible Explanation: Sis. G. might be a spiritual hobo who sleeps in her own office and goes to shower in the Hart building while the morning crew takes out the trash. She obviously has a cheap standard of fake Navajo blankets likely bought for seven bucks on the side of the road just outside of Flagstaff, AZ. There are bits of this blanket stuck in the wheels of her chair at her desk from which we may deduce that she tries at times to sleep while reclined in her very uncomfortable and not-even-really-all-that-rolly rolling chair.

The Truth: I have never spent a full night at my office. Sometimes I take naps. I was taking a nap in my not-even-really-all-that-rolly rolling chair the day the tassles jammed up the wheel, forcing me to cut my blanket free. Sometimes I'm here real, real late and I pretend to fall asleep with my pillow and blanket, but I've never been here past 1:00 a.m.

DEMYSTIFICATION #2: The Case of the Broken Lamp


Possible Explanation: Sis. G. gets angry: glass-breakingly angry. Or she is highly creative and enjoys the light cast by broken slabs of milky glass from a blue-sky/transparent-cloud light bulb. She's obviously embarrassed or guilt-ridden from the busted up lamp because she hides it behind the file cabinet where she also hides her burned CD spire. Possibly there was a bar fight in here. Possibly Sis. G. is a victim or predator of domestic violence (Is it domestic if it involves a household appliance? Is it domestic if it happened in an office? Does it make a difference if there is a cross-stitch on the wall?).

The Truth: I love this lamp too much to toss it and so I'm not sure what to do with it or if it is replaceable/fixable. The story goes: I was participating in a Scary Story Swap via Skype with a tall, dark, handsome, faraway fellow who eventually broke character and spat something surly but witty at me, causing me to react with a typical too-loud laugh that resulted in me mule-kicking my leg into the lamp (I had it on the floor next to me for the extra-spooky effect) which subsequently shattered on the berber carpet. This made me laugh harder. I was going to superglue it all together the next morning, but the faceless morning crew must have thought I had missed the garbage can again and threw away the largest and most important glass shard for me. A hex on them for going the extra mile!

DEMYSTIFICATION #3: The Unsolved Mystery of the Old Man Kicking a Can

Possible Explanation: A grandfather?

The Truth: Behold, the finest picture of Ernest Hemingway ever taken, the old surly scoundrel. Jen, Trev, and I discovered it during a Steinbeck field trip to Ketchum, Idaho (where I am heading tomorrow for the English faculty retreat....aren't you all jealous). The museum curator gave us permission to take it off the wall and make nice copies of it on their own printer/copier machine. In retrospect, I can't believe they let us do that. I really can't. No copyright? Really? I'm pretty sure Ole' Samuelsauce still has his hanging somewhere in his office as well. I raise my cup of nostalgic spirits to ye olde thymes.

DEMYSTIFICATION #4: Cracking the Flower Bouquet Riddle

Possible Explanation: Whoever she is, Sis. G. is loved and loved a lot. Somebody romantic is in her life and the love is heavy duty enough to drop a wad of cash on some pretty exotic looking flowers which just happen to include snapdragons and tiger lilies. Did the fellow pick these flowers carefully, asking the ladies at the flower shoppe what might be done with these select names he had heard his girl mention in passing over the weeks as flower favorites? Does Sis. G. keep them on her desk because she can't bear to always be pining for them at home? Does she keep them here by her napping blanket and pillow because she knows they will keep her in her office longer, doing more work because she is accompanied by a small garden plucked by her lover vicariously from long-distance for her 27th birthday? That the flowers are emblematic of all things to come, to work hard for, to make proud of? That to gaze on the vibrant oranges and muted purples is to gaze on "I love you" objectified, florafied? That to press fingers against the cheeks of the yellow snapdragons to make them "talk" is to hear the words: "I pay attention to you; I listen to and remember your likes and your dislikes; I intend to make you happy whichever way you show me"?

The Truth: Yes. Story checks out.