My erstwhile roommate gets a lot of packages from eBay.
His eBaying antics have become something of a legend among his friends; the man must get five boxes a week. Though I fought the temptation, this example of the power of modern e-commerce slowly drew me into its powerful grip. At first I just browsed, then I started watching auctions obsessively, and then (inevitably) I began to buy.
Quite a lot, actually, and I've discovered that there may be no excitement quite like the rush of winning a hotly-contested auction at the last minute. The problem, though, is that no one ever tells you quite how complicated it is to receive things from eBay. Sure, buying is easy, the feedback system is simple and effective and most people are as honest as the day is long. It's the delivery that is the almost insuperable barrier.
Over the past week, I have received notice from four different mail-carrying agencies that they attempted to deliver a package to my apartment and, finding no one home, took it back to a central location to await my pick-up. This alone poses a significant issue, given my lack of a car and the problems that come with constantly borrowing the cars of others. I've also faced incorrect handling numbers, unlabeled delivery slips, hotline operators who blatantly lie to my face (or my ear, I guess, over the phone) and the fact that most private delivery agencies hide their shipping centers from all human means of location. It has been unpleasant.
This recent spate of problems has been a variation on the central theme of this semester so far, which would seem to be bureaucracy and its hatred for me.
To choose another example at random, the plug to my laptop just stopped working out of the blue three days ago. I discovered this, much to my horror, when I was happily typing away only to have my laptop brusquely inform me that it was on the verge of collapse and that I had best plug it in. The poor plug made a valiant effort to function every time I wiggled the cord wildly, but, as soon as the merry green power light reached its full brightness, it would immediately begin to dim, reminding me of fingers slipping off the edge of a cliff.
ITC told me cheerfully that I could count on being contacted within one business day (which, obviously, I was not), and after a series of further misfortunes, which I'm told are almost unprecedented in ITC's experience, my laptop finally woke back up. Thank God. All I can say is that I'm grateful that I found the ITC dude who broke away from the party line to actually, you know, help.
My economics class this term is responsible for the most infuriating bureaucratic problem I've encountered. Now, I am far from an expert on classroom allocation, but, speaking as a neophyte, it seems to me that it would be wise to assign a class to a room which has enough seats for its projected allotment of students. For whatever reason, this idea has been casually dismissed by the University this term, as my classroom is about 15 seats short of a full complement.
Arriving late to class is never a particularly good idea: you look foolish and you're usually consigned to the worst seats. Arriving late to my econ class, however, condemns you to spend the next 75 minutes leaning against the damn back wall or, if you're lucky, sitting on the inexplicably scorching radiator.
The other hassles are simply irritating; this last one is almost intolerable, especially given how many of my classes meet in rooms two or three times larger than necessary. Be that as it may, the semester is finally settling down into its traditional patterns of fun, stress and wild inconvenience. I hope it's going well for you so far, my friends. Just be careful of eBay. And watch "Lost;" it's new next week. God, I love that show.
Connor's column runs biweekly on Fridays. He can be reached at sullivan@cavalierdaily.com
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