Kansas State University - Royal Purple Yearbook (Manhattan, KS)

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Switch: The call of adventure by Pam Johnson Morning has broken. So have beer bottles, hearts and aquariums. And there to witness it all are the nocturnal creatures working late-early shifts at residence hall switchboards. Although any moron can run a switchboard, a certain finesse is required to deal with morning crises. The ever- present threat of failure haunts the main desk as operators slumber amidst the buzzing of incoming calls, as the dorm television is carried out the front door, as cans of beer spill across the main desk. Even the most competent employees are vulnerable to error. I stopped a guy one night trying to take a table out the door. I was sleeping at the time—he must have made a noise pushing the door open. I looked up, looked again and yelled ' Hey! What are you doing? ' He dropped the table and ran out the door. I didn ' t report it—just put it back. What would I have said when they asked if I saw him come in? Fantasizing remains one of the most popular stimuli, second only to coffee-drinking. If I really think I ' m going to sleep, I start telling myself it ' s my responsibility to protect 300 lives. I tell myself ' 1 have to keep this phone line open just in case a bomb threat comes in. ' I have to keep paranoid to stay awake. Fantasy is not always necessary to keep switch per- sonnel awake, however. Reality is often bizarre enough. One night, atter Aggleville, a girl came down In flippers, a snorkel and a mask. She went over to the fish tank and kind of flopped around. I just watched her. If all else fails, the noise level may be an effective deterrent to sleep. All you can hear are those elevators—the noise, the humming. You can hear them banging in and banging out. And you hear the fish tank bubbling. I sit there and I say ' god-damn fish tank ' -1 just want to pull the plug out. And the god-damn radiator—I want to go over and HIT that. It ' s so lonely you just pray for someone to come along. And invariably, someone does come along, be it a drunk reeling o ver the main desk or a girl with tangled hair and smudged mascara, creeping in at 5 am. You ' d be surprised at all the girls that walk in at 5:30, pulling up their collars and looking the other way. They run into the elevator and hide In the corner. Inebriated dorm residents are a little more con- spicuous. A couple of times, I had to help someone drag a drunk in . . . so much dead weight . . . we throw them in the elevator and send them upstairs. Falling asleep isn ' t the only temptation of late-night shifts. On one occasion there was a party going on and we Just got bombed sitting at the switchboard. I don ' t even know how we worked that bloody thing. I could tell you a lot of things we ' ve done that we never should have done. Even this year, I have sat down with beer and wine bottles at my feet. Sometimes we get by with ' purple passion ' —it looks just like grape juice. All operators are not as fortunate as these, however. Many spend 12-to-6 am shifts studying. But a few fill the wee hours rehearsing Lily Tomlin ' s operator routines; others tie all the dorms together in five or even six-party lines; and occasionally, an operator makes a stab at play- ing Ann Landers. Messages are said to be best early Saturday morning. when the typical message is an apology. Asking for Susie, the slurred voice on the line might say, I didn ' t mean what I I. . . would you please tell her I didn ' t mean what I tried to do to her last night. Reputedly, night operators offer more than an answer- ing service. Lonely night vigils are spiked with gossip mongering, and yes—fumbling espionage. I ' m sure that sometimes people listen in on conver- sations. We can click into rooms silently and they ' ll never know we ' re listening. There ' s one girl that ' s constantly flipping in on her boyfriend. Keeps tabs on him. I guess. Diluted but not dissolved, integrity endures. Sometimes. No one ' s really interested in listening—privacy Is one thing really respected. Besides, if you get caught, It ' s automatic dismissal. Physical stamina is not at its apex for anyone at 3 am. Thus originates staff on duty, supplement to operators, eagerly awaiting summons. A veteran remembers one such incident, a battle with Haymaker Hall. Revenge was threatened at 3 am. Staff on duty was called in to referee. Dave, the intercom hisses. Dave, wake up. A low groan and the hero springs to action. ' ' Whadyawan? A shrill voice cries, Dave, I don ' t know what to do—Haymaker just called and said they ' re coming over to break our fish tank. My God, what will I do? One smash and there ' ll be fish all over the main lobby. Staff on duty stumbled out of his room and spent the night fish-sitting. Not only staff members are on call; directors are also susceptible to early morning crises. A policeman once came by and said some guys from our hall were caught running around In sewers. We had to contact the director. Sewer problems of this nature are rather infrequent. Inertia, listlessness, detachment—these are the dis- tinguishing features of the switchboard operator at 4 am. Atmosphere? One yellow lightbulb. dim. Animation? Sweep second hand on the overhead clock. It really gets monotonous sometimes. one operator of a 2-to-6 shift said. No homework, no calls, just sitting there staring at the walls. That ' s when it really hits you. I sit there and have some fantasies. It ' s a tough time of night. switchboard - - 21

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Myriad miseries fade in Lafene melting pot by Terri Phillips Roberts When I get sick, there ' s something deep inside. beyond the aches and pains of a fever or cold, that makes me want to let everyone within a mile radius know I feel absolutely rotten. According to me, nobody could, or ever will, feel as sick as I do. A sympathy ringer? You bet. But I ' m not ashamed of wanting to be sympathized with—especially after I went to all the trouble and expense of getting ill. Wanting to be pampered and fussed over stems from the time we cried to have our mothers burp us when our baby tummies couldn ' t hold another bite of baby food or another breath of baby air. As we grew older, cures for our various complaints became a little more complicated. A band-aid on a skinned knee didn ' t necessarily make the hurt go away. There also comes a time when plenty of rest, pints of fluid and all the attention in the world from sym- pathetic roommates can ' t break the spell. Then it ' s time to visit Lafene Student Health Center. If you go into Lafene looking for more of the kind, warm and thought- ful reception you got in the comfort of your own home, you may be in for a bit of cultural shock. From the time you check in at the information desk until the nurse on the loudspeaker connects your name with the doctor ' s room, there is the Waiting Room. You are no longer among healthy folks who express sorrow that you can ' t run as fast, Jump as high or stop on a dime. Your misery is thrown into the melting pot along with everybody else ' s. I have never known a doctor ' s waiting room to be a place of lively conversation. People who don ' t feel quite like themselves don ' t talk much. Lafene ' s lobby is no exception. The silence Is broken only by a lone cough from behind a magazine. Immediately that cough is chal- lenged by another, from an opposite corner, that ' s louder and sicker than its predecessor. Soon there are scattered coughs around the room, each sounding progressively worse. Until there emerges a pitiful, wheez- ing cough that rattles and shakes the room into silence again. A bit later, someone touches cer- tain spots on her throat, making sure the soreness is still there. She is followed by another who holds his head in both hands as if it will fall off. Another blows his nose with difficul- ty; the girl in the second chair from the door is having trouble breathing; still another painfully clears her throat and is challenged by a cough from behind a magazine. And so it goes on . . . and on. Misery loves company. Common knowledge says nobody In good health hangs around a health center. As for common misery, that ' s another story. The times I enjoy adequate health make me wonder at the facet of human nature that demands this type of personal attention. I don ' t know whether I can give more sym- pathy to those in need of medical assistance or those who come to Student Death to hold the hand of a friend, to get an annual check up or simply get a prescription refilled. If they didn ' t feel too terribly sick when they came In, they are probably worse for wear by the time they emerge. lafeno - • 23