Kids today...
Dec. 2nd, 2003 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bzarcherOkay.
I'm sitting in my office when a student comes in without even bothering to knock. A feces brown shirt with even browner tie, wire rimmed glasses, and black slacks.
"I need a thing? It goes from the little thing to the wider plug?"
(...we can't help you get a date.)
Meanwhile, he keeps stammering. "I need it for a presentation! The little thing! You guys are supposed to have them, right? With the caps and the hook?"
(I need a pony. What the hell is this thing?)
I'm about to ask him to slow down and define why he barged in, exactly, when he pauses long enough to collect the fact he still hasn't told me what he needs beyond really vauge circumlocution.
"I need...um..oh. It's the thingy that lets me hook up a projector to my iBook?"
(Ahhhhh. Now, there's that 'need' again, but.)
I speak up, finally. "Linda," the secretary, "Has them down the hall in 203. You can probably check one out."
Without even nodding, he backs quickly out of my office and speed-walks down to Linda's, and I swear to god his head was bobbing like a bird's.
What ever happened to the tradition of a rum ration at work?
I'm sitting in my office when a student comes in without even bothering to knock. A feces brown shirt with even browner tie, wire rimmed glasses, and black slacks.
"I need a thing? It goes from the little thing to the wider plug?"
(...we can't help you get a date.)
Meanwhile, he keeps stammering. "I need it for a presentation! The little thing! You guys are supposed to have them, right? With the caps and the hook?"
(I need a pony. What the hell is this thing?)
I'm about to ask him to slow down and define why he barged in, exactly, when he pauses long enough to collect the fact he still hasn't told me what he needs beyond really vauge circumlocution.
"I need...um..oh. It's the thingy that lets me hook up a projector to my iBook?"
(Ahhhhh. Now, there's that 'need' again, but.)
I speak up, finally. "Linda," the secretary, "Has them down the hall in 203. You can probably check one out."
Without even nodding, he backs quickly out of my office and speed-walks down to Linda's, and I swear to god his head was bobbing like a bird's.
What ever happened to the tradition of a rum ration at work?
