As I am backlogging on my time directing a freshmen residence hall, there are multiple stories involving my "educational" conversations with students who have made decisions that are...not the brightest. There is one particular decision that jumps out involving a student I will lovingly refer to as George. You have heard the saying, "He is not the brightest crayon in the box;" I am thinking this one is a nice murky gray.
One month after the start of school, I am taking a quiet, relaxing stroll outside of the lavish residence hall. As I am soaking in the warmness of the Carolinian sun, listening to the birds sing their songs, and watching the squirrels play a game of jacks, I look up to admire the tall, luminous, cheerful residence hall structure. It is at this point I notice something out of the ordinary, something that seems to break the day that effervescenced with joy: George was standing outside of his dorm room (definitely not located on the first floor, mind you) attempting to build a porch. Now I am no engineer, but I was not impressed. He had even managed to bring out a school spirited bag chair and some PVC piping...which I assume were to aid in his construction of a safe and sturdy porch.
I quickly re-entered the magnificent residence hall structure, adorned with historically intricate and detailed architecture, circa 1971. I entered the elevator, with another passing breath as I noticed phallus symbols were not sharpee-d on that particular elevator at that particular time, to make my way to the floor. As the doors open sesame, I step foot onto the white tiled floor with the room directly ahead, in my line of vision. The door is open wide...which must have been opened so they could invite guests for a delightful afternoon tea on the porch, no doubt.
My tightly balled fist knocks on the open door. A little nugget of a boy pops his head from behind another portion of the room, sees me, has the "I just made a poopy in my pants" look, and quickly stammers "I told him not to do it!" I simply step into the door frame and ask the lil nugget if he could tell George to come back inside for a quick minute. He is happy to oblige. He squeaks out to George to come inside. George turns around and sees me through the mildly film-covered window and a look of terror passes over his eyes. It is obvious to me that the students do not know me at all...as terror and fear are the first feelings that pass over them when they see me- instead of the usual look of glee. However, I'm not complaining. It is natural to be intimidated by my demeanor and permanently scowl-adorned face.
Back to George, I ask him to come back inside. Now mind you these are no ordinary windows that he had to climb out. These are long windows that open from the top, and probably stop at my chest (I am 6'2''...if you don't know that, then you don't know me. And again, quit creeping on my blog ya creep-o)...so he had to get all monkey-like to manage his way in and out of his luxurious dorm room. As he was scurrying back into the room, I quickly had a passing fear that he would trip-up climbing over the window and plant face-first onto the tiled floor. Fortunately that did not happen...because then I would have had to clean-up blood and that would have taken even more time away from my leisurely strolling period. As his feet hit the room floor and he stands erect, I ask him, " George, what were you doing up there?"
"Building a porch," he doofily responds.
"George, you were building a porch," I ask. "Is this a good idea, George."
He spends a hot minute rolling his possible answer through his head, as I see the wheels spinning at slow-speed pace. "No," is what he finally decides to answer with.
"You're right, George," I reply. "You're right, it isn't a good idea. Why do you think it isn't a good idea, George?"
"Because, ummm...because we are high up," he says with a questioning tone.
"You're right, George. You are standing outside of your window that is not on the ground floor and you are building a porch. You could have fallen off and gotten hurt...and I do not want to make that kind of call to your parents. George, have you heard of the breaking the plane policy?"
He quickly responds with "No," as if he will be let off the hook with this answer.
"Well, George, it was included in the contract you signed at the beginning of the year. It says that nothing is to be thrown out of your room window. George, that includes bodies. George, that includes your body."
"Well, what's gonna happen?" he interrupts.
"George, I am glad you have noticed this wasn't the best decision to make a few weeks into school. I will give you five minutes to bring all of those materials back into the room..." He quickly spins around to leap out the window to retrieve his newly acquired porch furniture. "Hold up, George. George, if I ever see you outside of your window again, I will ensure that you are immediately removed from campus housing and given the opportunity to live in your own apartment with a real porch, ok? Thank you for the understanding, George. Y'all have a good evening."
A month later, during a phone conversation with a parent of George, it is told to me that he was simply trying to make his own space due to some roommate problems he was having.....
