by way of an anticlimactic narrative
No one had come in to work today, which wasn't unusual, since most aren't being paid anymore and no one is being paid to be in the lab all the time. I located a problem that we'd been trying to pin down for five days and was packing up to take lunch when Dr. Hartvigsen walked in.
"The move is coming upon us soon," he said. The whole of the biology department is packing up and moving into the new science building, and he pulled out a bundle of flattened cardboard and started to construct boxes for his clutter.
"here, in appreciation for all the hard work you've done," he handed me a large shallow mug, engraved with tulips. "Hey, do you want this? My file system. It's all going to go in the dumpster. Twenty years of papers. Some of them are signed. It's indexed in a database. Six filing cabinets. I don't know how much it weighs."
I've worked with him for two months and I am still unable to tell when he's serious.
This time he was.
No. Thank you, but I have enough trouble keeping track of my bed from place to place. I don't have a home to keep it in.
Dr. Simon came in and they began to joke about chasing geese with paintball guns to get stool samples.
I went to lunch and stopped by the office on my way back home, to pick up a book on global warming that I'd left behind. I stopped to talk to a friend for a moment, all the cells she plated have been contaminated and she's lost a lot of work, and Dr. Hartvigsen came in with a cart full of boxes, headed for the elevator.
"Do you want any help?" I asked.
"That's alright, but if you want you can come see if you can pitch one into the dumpster."
"Sure," and we rode the elevator to a loading dock I didn't know existed, where a dumpster stood a foot above us both.
"Okay!" Dr. Hartvigsen took a box and stood with his back to the dumpster and flung the box over his head. It made a quiet smacking sound, of cardboard on cardboard, paper sifting.
"One of those is going to hit you," I said, "and then it'll be lucky that I came."
He laughed, "Yes, 'He was throwing out 20 years of his reprints and it killed him.' I can't even think about this." He pitched another box over, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
The new building was designed as a business. As such, each professor has office with very little book space. Most have resorted to dumping books in the lobby in the hopes that some student will take them home. I've adopted more than a few.
"This feels awful," Dr. Hartvigsen, packed more boxes, "Well, at least you were here for it. Anyhow it's not that bad.. hah. I wonder how it is in iraq."
"The move is coming upon us soon," he said. The whole of the biology department is packing up and moving into the new science building, and he pulled out a bundle of flattened cardboard and started to construct boxes for his clutter.
"here, in appreciation for all the hard work you've done," he handed me a large shallow mug, engraved with tulips. "Hey, do you want this? My file system. It's all going to go in the dumpster. Twenty years of papers. Some of them are signed. It's indexed in a database. Six filing cabinets. I don't know how much it weighs."
I've worked with him for two months and I am still unable to tell when he's serious.
This time he was.
No. Thank you, but I have enough trouble keeping track of my bed from place to place. I don't have a home to keep it in.
Dr. Simon came in and they began to joke about chasing geese with paintball guns to get stool samples.
I went to lunch and stopped by the office on my way back home, to pick up a book on global warming that I'd left behind. I stopped to talk to a friend for a moment, all the cells she plated have been contaminated and she's lost a lot of work, and Dr. Hartvigsen came in with a cart full of boxes, headed for the elevator.
"Do you want any help?" I asked.
"That's alright, but if you want you can come see if you can pitch one into the dumpster."
"Sure," and we rode the elevator to a loading dock I didn't know existed, where a dumpster stood a foot above us both.
"Okay!" Dr. Hartvigsen took a box and stood with his back to the dumpster and flung the box over his head. It made a quiet smacking sound, of cardboard on cardboard, paper sifting.
"One of those is going to hit you," I said, "and then it'll be lucky that I came."
He laughed, "Yes, 'He was throwing out 20 years of his reprints and it killed him.' I can't even think about this." He pitched another box over, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
The new building was designed as a business. As such, each professor has office with very little book space. Most have resorted to dumping books in the lobby in the hopes that some student will take them home. I've adopted more than a few.
"This feels awful," Dr. Hartvigsen, packed more boxes, "Well, at least you were here for it. Anyhow it's not that bad.. hah. I wonder how it is in iraq."