Go Home, Rodger!

I am like the Rodger of the Writing Center. Not like Mr. Rodgers (who spends more time playing with puppets than he does visiting the neighbors he professes to love, which I find a little disturbing), but like Rodger from Sister Sister, who invited himself over to the girl's house any time he wanted and practically lived at there. I am nearly as obnoxious as Rodger, cracking lame jokes, interrupting conversations, and stealing food from people's lunch; but unlike Rodger, I never get the feared, "Go home!" In fact, these people invite me to steal their food and laugh at my lame jokes. How cool is that?

Most people don't even realize that I don't work here. My name isn't on the board, and I never wear a name tag, but outsiders automatically assume that since I'm in with the writing tutors, I must be one myself. No such thing, folks, I just work with English 1000 classes. I'm not cool enough to work here.

I am cool enough, however, to answer the phone. I did so the other day, because everyone else was too lazy to stand up. With Amanda prompting me, I was able to fumble through setting up a tutoring appointment. How cool is that?

Maybe if they have an opening next semester, I can get my name on the board and have a box in the back room. Until then, I will just use their fridge and computers for my own intents and purposes.

The Case of the Missing Toothbrush

Sometimes I come home to find my roommate has cleaned something.  This wouldn't be so weird if she actually lived at our apartment, but about two weeks into the semester she started disappearing for long periods of time, supposedly staying at her mom's place in Enoch.  Every once in a while I come back from a weekend at my parents' to find her sheets in a crumpled mess, or ripped off completely, maybe being washed somewhere, maybe being made into clothing for gypsy children, who knows?  I am just glad that the gypsies leave my sheets alone.

Other than these occasional attacks on her sheets, I see her face every few weeks as she comes to rotate some of her clothing.  If I had so much clothing that I could keep my closets nicely dressed in two places, I would be more worried than if gypsies stole my sheets (which leaves me to wonder why the gypsies don't just steal her clothes in the first place).

Today I came home from school, happy to see the toilet I'd cleaned that morning, when I look over and see that her side of the sink is sparkling, and her toothbrush is missing.  I think--didn't she tell me last week that she was going to start living here again?  If she is, she apparently does not need clean teeth to do so, only a clean sink.  It is quite possible that she used the toothbrush to clean it, as I don't see any evidence of paper towels or dirty rags.  Or maybe the gypsies felt bad about taking her toothbrush, so they used her pillowcases to wipe up her side of the sink  It is a mystery.