The afternoon went beautifully. But I found myself getting a little punchy by 8pm.
A Portrait of 8-10pm, in three parts
Part I: Sitting Next to the Wireless Router
Rika comes in. Her back hurts often. We talk about what kind of treatment she might need to look into this week. Rika remains, pretending to study vocabulary for the SATs, but really just talking to me (better practice, anyway, we all agree).
Sherrie enters the office. She begins to speak in Chinese to someone on the other end of her computer.
Hue comes in and sits next to Sherrie. They are best friends. They do not speak to each other now, each plugged in to their respective devices. Sherrie's volume always rising; Hue never making a sound.
Gow (a squat 15-year-old from China, an incredible pianist, the sweetest and funniest of all the students) comes in with his computer. He asks me whether I can't make his computer play all for a list of illegally downloaded video clips. It's all in Chinese, except a few command buttons. I say "no," I can't help. I couldn't help if it were all in English.
Rika leaves, called away to something. Gow sits at the desk near me, occasionally asking me questions about movies I like. Slowly, I realize that the smell I have been hardly noticing is emanating from this boy. He is edging ever closer, refusing to raise his voice as Sherrie's conversation grows louder and I keep asking him to repeat himself.
Sherrie gets excited sometimes. Gow looks behind, furtively annoyed with Sherrie. I tell her to take her talking elsewhere. She leaves. Gow takes her seat and hunches over his computer.
Part II: Still Sitting Next to the Wireless Router
Andy has been pacing around the downstairs with John and Wu (all Chinese guys). I am speaking with a student when Andy hands me his phone, "I can't understand," he says with his Brit-Chinese accent. I take the phone, "hello?" I hear something garbled "...food."
"I'm sorry? Who is this?"
"Chinese food." The voice is muffled, and has a deep, not-Chinese accent. Could it be Mexican? Seriously? I look at John and Wu.
"Are you guys ordering Chinese food?" They nod enthusiastically with big smiles that could be suspicious or merely indicative of their fondness for Chinese food. I look to Andy: he is laughing with Rika. Is this a joke? "What are you ordering?"
"Duck. Lo Mein..." John replies. They cannot remember their order.
"I'm sorry," I hang up and hand the phone to Andy. I expect him to tell me it was a joke. Hah. Hilarious.
"What did he say?" Andy asks.
"I don't know. I couldn't understand him," I reply.
"Is he here yet?" We exchange the most perplexed looks with one another. Rika is from then on the intermediary between the British-Chinese-accented Andy and the American-Mexican Chinese food delivery man.
Part III: Still Sitting Next to the Friggin' Wireless Router
The snow has stopped outside and I hear the scraping of a shovel. Herb has come to clear the treacherous steps. I go out, sensing a responsibility. "Hi Herb. I looked for a shovel... the dorm's responsibility... of course. In the future... (oops). Thanks, Herb."
"Turn down the show, girls." I return to the office. I pick up a research paper to grade. Where is the works cited, for crying out loud? This is draft two!
What is that smell? Oh, Gow.
"I am locked out of my room," Yan says.
"Here's your room's key, return it when you're done." Maybe I'll catch up on online Scrabble for a minute.
Aw, the internet is down. No problem, I'll go back to the research papers. Only 21 to go.
Sherrie, sitting just outside the office door, pokes her head around the doorframe, "Excuse me, Carolyn, the internet is not working." Fine. I restart the router. A minute passes. Still no internet.
Gow asks, "Can you access the internet settings on your computer?"
"No."
From a distance, Lia shouts, "Sherrie, could you ask Caroline to restart the router?"
I'm annoyed. That's not my name. I've already restarted the router. Find something to do that doesn't require the internet or complaining to me about the internet.
A few minutes pass. Gow speaks up again, "Can you access the internet settings from your computer?"
"No," I snap, "I already told you that." He sinks his head.
A few minutes pass in which I look at page two of a research paper about the history and importance of numbers. I have written nothing on it.
Students are coming out of their internet stupor. They are making interactive sounds. They are thinking of ways to amuse themselves that don't involve the internet. With only 25 minutes until curfew, I could have awake, alert 16-year-olds coming into the office to talk to me, to ask for food, to ask if we can have a snowball fight. This night is going downhill fast. With some guilt, I text Chad to take a look at the internet. He comes out of his apartment. He moves a wire or two. We have internet. Things quiet down. I give up on the papers. I play Scrabble. It's nice to have the internet.
