"Big U, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stephenson Neal)

and moved to the front chair of the line to look across a barren desk
at Mrs. Santucci.
"I'm a senior in this college. I was lucky enough to get an out-
of-Plex apartment for this fall. When I got there today I found that
the entire block of buildings had been shut down for eight months by
the Board of Health. I went to Housing. Upon reaching the head of
that line, I was told that it was being handled by Student Affairs.
Upon reaching the head of the line there, I was given this form and
told to get signatures at Housing and right here.
Mrs. Santucci reached out with the briskness that only old
secretaries can approach and seized the papers. "This form is already
signed," she informed Sarah.
"Right. I got that done at about one o'clock. But when I got to
my new temporary room assignment it turned out to be the B-men's
coffee lounge and storeroom for the northeast quad of the first
sublevel. It is full of B-men all the time. You know how they are—
they don't speak much English, and you know what kinds of things
they decorate their walls with"— this attempt to get Mrs. Santucci's
sympathy by being prissy was not obviously successful—"and I
can't possibly live there. I returned to Housing. To change my room
assignment is a whole new procedure, and I need a form from you
which says I'm in good academic standing so far this semester."
"That form," Mrs. Santucci noted, "will require signatures from
all your instructors."
"I know," said Sarah. All was going according to plan and she
was approaching the center of her pitch. "But the semester hasn't
started yet! And half my courses don't even have teachers assigned!
So, since I'm a senior and my GPA is good, could the Dean okay my
room change without the form? Doesn't that make sense? Sort of?"
Sarah sighed. She had broken at the end, her confidence destroyed
by Mrs. Santucci's total impassivity, by those arms folded across a
navy-blue bosom like the Hoover Dam, by a stare like the headlights
of an oncoming streetsweeper.
"I'm sure this is all unnecessary. Perhaps they don't know that
their lounge has been reassigned. If you can just explain matters to
them, I'm sure that Building Maintenance will be happy to
accommodate you."
Sarah felt defeated. It had been a nice summer, and while away
she had forgotten how it was. She had forgotten that the people who
ran this place didn't have a clue as to how reality worked, that in
their way they were all as crazy as Bert Nix. She closed her eyes and
tilted her tense head back, and the man in the chair behind her
intervened.
"Wait a minute," he said righteously. His voice was high, but
carried conviction and reasonable sensitivity. "She can't be expected
to do that. Those guys don't even speak English. All they speak is
Bosnian or Moldavian or something."
"Moravian," said Mrs. Santucci in her Distant Early Warning
voice, which was rumored to set off burglar alarms Within a quarter-
mile radius.