![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
behind closed doors
Jun. 8th, 2008 04:54 pmUMD is a warren of cinderblock buildings with faded facades of brick, mullioned windows, and peeling columns. The red and white set against lush sprawling lawns has a genteel elegance if you don't look too closely. Inside the buildings, it's all bleak- whitewashed block, hollow-core veneered doors, heavy office furniture from the 70s, weak air conditioning, and half the windows are painted shut. Even when people have been in the same office for a while, there's no escaping the institutional blandness, a poor canvas for individualism or cosiness.
My summer class was scheduled to meet in the sub-basement of the Math building. I'd already missed the first class, thanks to NANOG. Wednesday, I took the metro to campus, snagged a sunrise on sesame from the bagel place, and meandered over to the math building. It's hard enough to find the 0-level classrooms, but finding the B-level is truly difficult. I did eventually find it, but it was dark. And empty. I settled on a bench in the hallway and ate my bagel.
20 or so minutes later, an elegant older gentleman entered the hallway. I looked up and said hello. It appeared that we were the extent of the class- student and professor. We settled into the humid airless classroom, and began to talk. 10 minutes later, another person appeared.
And so we are three.
Thursday, I was the late one. B and the professor were on the bench, talking– our classroom had been taken over by someone else. Why should we even be in the basement of the Math building? It made no sense. We walked out into the sunny furnace of the day and slowly made our way back to the language building. The department would be empty, the professor's books and computer were there, and most importantly, there would be ample air conditioning.
It's not like it matters much to me.
Back we went into yet another overpainted cinderblock and brick building, down the humid hall, down to the double-poorly-veneered-doors on the end. The Persian department.
What these doors swung open on was... not what I expected. They'd gutted the place. There was a blue wall, and a gold one, and office doors at pleasing angles; real wood doors, with frosted glass, modern doorknobs, and proper nameplates next to each office, even for the visiting professor; persian rugs on the floor and art on the walls, and offices tumbling with books and personality.
The only striking anomaly was the fiberboard conference table with plastic veneer. The chairs were comfortable.
Here we will meet, our little group of three, for the next six weeks. It should be entertaining.
My summer class was scheduled to meet in the sub-basement of the Math building. I'd already missed the first class, thanks to NANOG. Wednesday, I took the metro to campus, snagged a sunrise on sesame from the bagel place, and meandered over to the math building. It's hard enough to find the 0-level classrooms, but finding the B-level is truly difficult. I did eventually find it, but it was dark. And empty. I settled on a bench in the hallway and ate my bagel.
20 or so minutes later, an elegant older gentleman entered the hallway. I looked up and said hello. It appeared that we were the extent of the class- student and professor. We settled into the humid airless classroom, and began to talk. 10 minutes later, another person appeared.
And so we are three.
Thursday, I was the late one. B and the professor were on the bench, talking– our classroom had been taken over by someone else. Why should we even be in the basement of the Math building? It made no sense. We walked out into the sunny furnace of the day and slowly made our way back to the language building. The department would be empty, the professor's books and computer were there, and most importantly, there would be ample air conditioning.
It's not like it matters much to me.
Back we went into yet another overpainted cinderblock and brick building, down the humid hall, down to the double-poorly-veneered-doors on the end. The Persian department.
What these doors swung open on was... not what I expected. They'd gutted the place. There was a blue wall, and a gold one, and office doors at pleasing angles; real wood doors, with frosted glass, modern doorknobs, and proper nameplates next to each office, even for the visiting professor; persian rugs on the floor and art on the walls, and offices tumbling with books and personality.
The only striking anomaly was the fiberboard conference table with plastic veneer. The chairs were comfortable.
Here we will meet, our little group of three, for the next six weeks. It should be entertaining.
