me vs. English Burocracy
I think I misspelled that. In any case, this whole post should be prefaced by the acknowledgment that I'm not at my best today, for reasons which will become clear.
In my last, I mentioned that there was a beeping outside my window. It was coming from an alarm affixed to the control panel of an outbuilding in my flat complex. The alarm was in a box with a message reading "Prewarning for Block D, Flat 6" or something of the sort. The beeping had woken me a few days ago and continued for a few hours, whereupon it let out a pronounced beep and fell silent. Then yesterday when returning from the library for lunch, I discovered that the beeping had recoomenced. Let me explain the beeping. It was a high-pitched note--easily at or above a woman's high A, although I did not measure it precisely. It's difficult to tell in which octave a machine-produced noise sounds. In meter, it was aproximately an eighth note (or quaver) followed by an eighth rest in about quarter note=60. For you non-musical people, that means there was a beep followed by an all-too-brief pause about every second.
This beeping began, as I said, about noon or 11:30. It continued. Constantly. All day. All night. I couldn't sleep. I actually dug out the ear plugs I got from a business-class pack my parents got from a transatlantic flight (why they were travelling business class is a long story--sufice it to say, we don't habitually travel like that) and stuck them in my ears, feeling like the narrator of The Mezzanine. Now I had pressure in my ears. I took them out, finally, and managed to get some sleep, although I kept waking up to a beeping and dreamed that I was a hobo trying to get back into contact with his daughter, who had been raised by someone else. Very entertaining dream, but not very restful.
Oh, I forgot to mention that yesterday after class I stopped into my dorm's reception desk to complain. They said, yes, they knew, it had been going on for the past three years and there was nothing they could do about it.
I awoke this morning to more beeping. Constant. I decided to call Housing Services. Of course, there's no phone extension listed for Housing Services, and you can't call the phone number on their website from a dorm phone. Of course not. Why would I even think so. Finally I actually called a wrong number, who directed me to the reception of another dorm, and she found the number for the reception of my dorm, who told me that they could arrange for me to move. No, I said, I don't want to move; I just want this beeping to stop. She told me I could go directly to housing services. I hung up the phone and cried. The beeping continued. It occured to me then that what this actually was was torture. I still feel odd saying that word because it conjures images of racks, of unspeakable horrors done to Iraqui prisoners. But is it not torture to deprive someone of sleep? If I were in a cell, this would certainly make me inclined to tell someone anything to make it stop. I really can't fully express the effect the beeping had on me. Suffice it to say, my flatmate Tanja said I looked unwell, and I think I looked like a maniac.
So I went down to Housing Services. They had me wait around a lot, then told me that they could move me. I said, I don't want to be moved; this isn't a problem with me, it's a problem with the facility. I said that I find it difficult to believe that this problem is unfixable. I added, moreover, that I thought it was a health and safety hazard to have an alarm constantly sounding; if there is some sort of crisis, what will happen? The Housing Services woman said that that was why they had managers onsite--to deal with this sort of thing. She suggested I go put pressure on my dorm manager.
I went back (15-minute walk) to my dorm's reception and asked to speak to the manager. The receptionist said that the manager wasn't there; she was on holiday. I'm afraid I sort of lost it at that point and suggested that the receptionist call the manager and hold the receiver up to the alarm so it could sound in her ears all day, and then maybe she could find something to do about it. To be fair, the receptionist and the woman at housing services had both said that this had been going on for three years, and it bothered some people more than others. Implying that I was a crank for complaining. But I don't think so. I really don't think so. Then the receptionist said that I could come back tomorrow. The prospect of spending a further twenty-four hours under this infernal influence (it was now nearly 11am) was too much for me; I started to cry. The receptionist said that there was no need to get upset, and she'd call me in the morning to schedule a meeting time.
I returned, still crying (I'm somewhat embarrased to admit, but I was in an absolutely drained state--deprived of sleep, of what little ability to concentrate I have--as many of you know, this is not a light matter for me--and the closest I feel I have come to losing my grip on sanity). I passed the alarm box as I was going in. I stared at it, my nemesis. (Actually, I didn't feel that much anger at the box itself, although I had seriously contemplated hitting it with a baseball bat.) Oh, by the way, it is essential for you to know that the receptionist had told me that this alarm was obsolete; there was actually another working alarm in place, but for reasons she (the receptionist) was unclear on, the old alarm was still in place and beeping. So, I opened the alarm's plastic box, saw a button that said "Silence," and pressed it.
Silence.
I started laughing -- and I was still crying at the same time. I came up to my flat and told Tanja about it -- with tears still dripping down my chin. I came in here and opened my window. I hear the wind. I hear passing cars. I hear the sound of myself typing. Actually, in the back of my head, if I try to listen for the silence, I still hear the beeping, but I know it's just an echo, and I hope it will fade.
I only hope that if the beeping starts again, the method I have developed will work again.
I also hope that I won't get into trouble for interfering with a residence alarm--albeit, one I was told was not actually in use.
But above all, I find it both frustrating and rather marvelous that it took me several hours of running around (from 8:30 till 11) to fail to accomplish what I could have done with a simple press of a button.
In my last, I mentioned that there was a beeping outside my window. It was coming from an alarm affixed to the control panel of an outbuilding in my flat complex. The alarm was in a box with a message reading "Prewarning for Block D, Flat 6" or something of the sort. The beeping had woken me a few days ago and continued for a few hours, whereupon it let out a pronounced beep and fell silent. Then yesterday when returning from the library for lunch, I discovered that the beeping had recoomenced. Let me explain the beeping. It was a high-pitched note--easily at or above a woman's high A, although I did not measure it precisely. It's difficult to tell in which octave a machine-produced noise sounds. In meter, it was aproximately an eighth note (or quaver) followed by an eighth rest in about quarter note=60. For you non-musical people, that means there was a beep followed by an all-too-brief pause about every second.
This beeping began, as I said, about noon or 11:30. It continued. Constantly. All day. All night. I couldn't sleep. I actually dug out the ear plugs I got from a business-class pack my parents got from a transatlantic flight (why they were travelling business class is a long story--sufice it to say, we don't habitually travel like that) and stuck them in my ears, feeling like the narrator of The Mezzanine. Now I had pressure in my ears. I took them out, finally, and managed to get some sleep, although I kept waking up to a beeping and dreamed that I was a hobo trying to get back into contact with his daughter, who had been raised by someone else. Very entertaining dream, but not very restful.
Oh, I forgot to mention that yesterday after class I stopped into my dorm's reception desk to complain. They said, yes, they knew, it had been going on for the past three years and there was nothing they could do about it.
I awoke this morning to more beeping. Constant. I decided to call Housing Services. Of course, there's no phone extension listed for Housing Services, and you can't call the phone number on their website from a dorm phone. Of course not. Why would I even think so. Finally I actually called a wrong number, who directed me to the reception of another dorm, and she found the number for the reception of my dorm, who told me that they could arrange for me to move. No, I said, I don't want to move; I just want this beeping to stop. She told me I could go directly to housing services. I hung up the phone and cried. The beeping continued. It occured to me then that what this actually was was torture. I still feel odd saying that word because it conjures images of racks, of unspeakable horrors done to Iraqui prisoners. But is it not torture to deprive someone of sleep? If I were in a cell, this would certainly make me inclined to tell someone anything to make it stop. I really can't fully express the effect the beeping had on me. Suffice it to say, my flatmate Tanja said I looked unwell, and I think I looked like a maniac.
So I went down to Housing Services. They had me wait around a lot, then told me that they could move me. I said, I don't want to be moved; this isn't a problem with me, it's a problem with the facility. I said that I find it difficult to believe that this problem is unfixable. I added, moreover, that I thought it was a health and safety hazard to have an alarm constantly sounding; if there is some sort of crisis, what will happen? The Housing Services woman said that that was why they had managers onsite--to deal with this sort of thing. She suggested I go put pressure on my dorm manager.
I went back (15-minute walk) to my dorm's reception and asked to speak to the manager. The receptionist said that the manager wasn't there; she was on holiday. I'm afraid I sort of lost it at that point and suggested that the receptionist call the manager and hold the receiver up to the alarm so it could sound in her ears all day, and then maybe she could find something to do about it. To be fair, the receptionist and the woman at housing services had both said that this had been going on for three years, and it bothered some people more than others. Implying that I was a crank for complaining. But I don't think so. I really don't think so. Then the receptionist said that I could come back tomorrow. The prospect of spending a further twenty-four hours under this infernal influence (it was now nearly 11am) was too much for me; I started to cry. The receptionist said that there was no need to get upset, and she'd call me in the morning to schedule a meeting time.
I returned, still crying (I'm somewhat embarrased to admit, but I was in an absolutely drained state--deprived of sleep, of what little ability to concentrate I have--as many of you know, this is not a light matter for me--and the closest I feel I have come to losing my grip on sanity). I passed the alarm box as I was going in. I stared at it, my nemesis. (Actually, I didn't feel that much anger at the box itself, although I had seriously contemplated hitting it with a baseball bat.) Oh, by the way, it is essential for you to know that the receptionist had told me that this alarm was obsolete; there was actually another working alarm in place, but for reasons she (the receptionist) was unclear on, the old alarm was still in place and beeping. So, I opened the alarm's plastic box, saw a button that said "Silence," and pressed it.
Silence.
I started laughing -- and I was still crying at the same time. I came up to my flat and told Tanja about it -- with tears still dripping down my chin. I came in here and opened my window. I hear the wind. I hear passing cars. I hear the sound of myself typing. Actually, in the back of my head, if I try to listen for the silence, I still hear the beeping, but I know it's just an echo, and I hope it will fade.
I only hope that if the beeping starts again, the method I have developed will work again.
I also hope that I won't get into trouble for interfering with a residence alarm--albeit, one I was told was not actually in use.
But above all, I find it both frustrating and rather marvelous that it took me several hours of running around (from 8:30 till 11) to fail to accomplish what I could have done with a simple press of a button.
posted by L @ 10:58 AM
1 Comments:
At 3:29 PM,
L'Écureuil said…
that is AMAZING. clearly you are the smartest person to live in birmingham in three years.
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