CHAPTER ONE
The Rule of Inconvenience
``I have often wondered why authors place these quotes at the beginning of chapters when they have nothing to do with either the chapter or the following story as a whole''
--Christopher the not-so-divine-as-James
``And Behold, this is the rule of inconvenience: that if there be an inconvenience to those involved, yeah it is done; And so the Adversary did manage to place the dorms, which did house the students, as far as possible from everything else in the University.''
--James the Divine
Bureaucraticon, Book One 3:7-8
Jim worked over the summer and lived at his mother's apartment in Pennsylvania. He paid for his dorm room with his earnings and with the leftover money, bought the necessities of modern life: a stereo and a television. His brother, Scott, agreed to drive him down back to Florida and the University and to help him move in. By the day before they were going to leave, the housing department still had not sent him any information as to what room and dorm he was to live in, so he called them.
He dialed their number and waited while it rang.
After some minutes, a man answered and said, ``Hello, housing department.''
``Hello, my name is . . .'' Jim began.
``What's your social security number?'' the man interrupted.
``188623491''
``What's your problem?''
``Um,'' Jim said, wondering why it was assumed that he had a problem, ``I'm supposed to be moving into the dorms tomorrow and you didn't send me anything telling me what room I'm supposed to be in.''
``That's not my responsibility.''
``Well you could tell me if there's going to be any problem with me checking in?''
``No, there should be no problem checking in. Any other problems or complaints?'' he asked.
``No I guess . . .''
``Good,'' he interrupted again and hung up.
Jim placed the receiver back in its cradle and went to go finish packing. The next day, Jim said goodbye to all his family and packed all this things into Scott's white '69 LaManz. They got in and began their trip to Florida. The car was comfortable, and the twenty-two hour drive was enjoyable. In North Carolina along a barren stretch of highway, Jim leaned out the window at night and with the wind blowing through his hair, saw more stars in the sky than he had ever before seen in his life. The entire Milky Way stretched before him undiminished by urbane lights. He felt like he was beginning a new phase in his life, better than any before. Life was good, as they say.
The next day, they arrived at the University and pulled the car into one of the parking lots located an easy-to-walk half-mile from the dormitory offices. Scott waited in the car, while Jim made the hike over to get the key to his room. After twenty minutes, he reached the offices a bit weary from the Florida humidity. He went inside and stepped up to the Plexiglas window with the little hole in its middle. As he saw no one was around, he rang the bell provided. A man with graying hair strode out from somewhere out of sight of the window to stand before it. He wore a flannel shirt and looked irritated.
``What can I do for you?'' he asked.
``Could I get my key and check in?'' Jim asked.
``Can I see your assignment card?'' the man asked.
``You never sent me one. I called earlier, and they said it wouldn't be a problem.''
``Who did you talk to?''
``Some guy, he didn't give his name.''
``We always give our names. You expect me to accept your word on this AND you don't even have this hypothetical person's name to verify it?''
``Wait a second,'' Jim replied, ``It was you! I recognize your voice! It was you I talked to on the phone!''
``Oh yeah,'' he said, putting his hand on his chest to cover the nametag pinned to his shirt. ``Then what's my name?''
``Can I talk to your supervisor?''
``Surely, he'll be in tomorrow at nine o'clock,'' the man replied without relaxing his grip on his nametag.
``But I need to get into my room now.''
``No card - No room.''
``Look, you said there would be no problem getting into my room and if you don't let me in, you'll never hear the end of it!''
The man behind the counter took his hand off his nametag in order to wag it at Jim in preparation for a sarcastic remark.
In accordance with rule 27.756.249 of the Statutes of Literature, the author must place an inside joke at this point in the story. Thank you for your compliance.
``Your name is Tom King!'' Jim said happily.
``Well,'' Tom said, ``why didn't you just say you talked to me. What's your social security number?''
In accordance with rule 7.033.147 of the Statutes of Literature, the person of the main character must be changed from third to first person at this junction in the story. Thank you for your compliance.
I gave it to him, and he looked through a large binder of computer printouts. Upon finding my number, he asked, ``Are you James Mullen?''
``No,'' I said, ``my name is James Mueller.''
``I'm sorry,'' he said, ``but the person we have listed under that social security number is James Mullen, not James Mueller.''
``Okay! Fine! I'm James Mullen! Now give me my damned key!''
``I can't until you pay the fifty dollars damage you did to your room last year.''
``Last year?! Last Year! This is my first year here!''
``Look sir, if you're going to have that sort of attitude - you can forget about getting any service here.''
``Rrrrghh! I did not stay here last year.''
``Are you sure? Our paperwork says you did.''
``Can you double-check?''
``Sure, be back in a minute.''
Tom copied down my social security number on a yellow Post-It sheet, tore it off, and left the view of the window. In a moment, he came back and said, ``Yes, our records show that James Mullen was here last year and set fire to his room after going insane.''
``But I'm not James Mullen, I'm James Mueller.''
``You said your name was James Mullen, didn't you? You aren't still insane are you?''
``Raving,'' I said, grimacing and letting drool flow down my chin, which was not too hard under the circumstances. ``Give me my key or I'll start tearing throats out!''
Tom looked at me with skepticism until I threw myself at the window. I rebounded and it shook. He walked quickly over to a cabinet mounted on the wall, opened it, and pulled out a key. He threw it into the little tray at the bottom of the window with a shaky hand, as if he was scared to put his hand near me. I took it and turned away without a word.
``The police will get you, mister!'' he shouted behind me.
I looked at the key and the tag attached showed the building and room number, and I walked all the way back to the lot where my brother's car was parked. I found my brother asleep behind the wheel, so I tried the doors to find them all locked. I banged on his window until he woke up. He opened his door, got out, and stretched.
``Did you find out where your staying?''
``Yup,'' I said, ``It's a building over that way.''
``Okay let's start moving your stuff in, I want to get out of here.''
He opened the trunk and picked up my television set. I picked up a box of books and we began our trek to my dorm. We crossed a field and had to go around several dorms in our way. Each dorm had been placed in the form of a huge maze, so that a person could not make a straight path to any building. We had to go around each one in turn, weaving in and out between them. We carried my belongings, crossed a moat, went over an obstacle course, and were fortunate to find an oasis set up in the middle of a mini-desert to get rest and refreshment. Finally, we reached my dorm.
Because I was in the Honors program, I assigned to live in the Honors dorm, which was in its first year of operation. It had caused a small scandal amongst the other resident students, because with all the Honors students gone from their midst, they would have no one to cheat off of, beat up, or just plain harass. This dorm, of all things, was called Lambda, reminiscent of a certain movie some years back concerning nerds. My brother and I no sooner entered the dorm, than we were greeted by the electronic blasts of toy pistols. Two of my dorm-mates-to-be fired a few more times at us, declared us dead, and ran off down the hall, congratulating themselves at ``ridding the universe of its fouler denizens.''
``Hey Jim,'' my brother said, ``if you get tired of this place, I know a nursery school with a few more mature inmates in it.''
``Funny,'' I replied and found the door to my room. The brilliant architect who designed the rat trap known as a dorm room should be drawn and quartered. They are the size of a large bathroom, and you have to share it with someone else. Two of these rooms were on either side of the bathroom, and four rooms and the bathroom comprised a suite. We also had a foyer with desks and shelves you were supposed to put your fifty dollar books on. This, presumably, was so the architect could come by, steal your books, and resell them at the bookstore for cash. The bathroom consisted of one shower, two toilets, two sinks, and several resident cockroaches. They had been asked to leave but they have seniority. Eight people had to share this room so that every resident could experience the joys of participating in the exchange of bodily insects and fungi.
We dropped our current load of my things in my room and hiked back to the car to get the next. We finished moving me in before nightfall and Scott said his goodbyes. I started to unpack, setting up my television set first. I finished unpacking and hanging up my clothes, while watching various shows.
My roommate had not arrived yet, so I was alone in my room. That is until someone knocked on my door. I opened it, expecting to find my future roommate, but two campus policemen stood there.
``Are you James Mullen?'' he asked.
``No officer,'' I replied.
``Could I see some ID?''
``Sure,'' I said and pulled out my wallet from my pant's pocket. I opened it and retrieved my license. I handed it to him, and he looked it over.
``Okay,'' he said, handing the card back to me. ``We have a report that an escaped lunatic is running around. If he shows up, give us a call.''
I agreed and shut the door, a smile coming to my lips.
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