FSU: (fmeeping) stupid university? Yes, actually, it is, thank you for asking.

The last 4 days have been nothing but a fuck shit stack, with one quick break yesterday that lasted oh, an hour, maybe two? I’ll preface this by stating the obvious. I absolutely despise Fitchburg State University. Nope, not gonna lie. In fact if I still had this perspective legally blind freshman’s email anywhere in my files I’d email her from my personal account and tell her straight not to waste the state’s, or her parents’, money by coming to this hellhole. Someone decided on Monday they didn’t like my attitude. That’d be ok, if they, oh, I don’t know, *SAID SOMETHING TO ME ABOUT IT LIKE AN ADULT?* But nah. They bitch to disability services. Disability services bitches at me. Whatever. That’s over with. I refuse to deal with the individuals in question for a couple days because I was done with being treated differently and I damn near almost quit school right then and there. This causes a minor inconvenience to me, of course, but it’s not like I care, because in my mind I’d rather be inconvenienced than treated like an infant. So, whatever. Tuesday managed to go over without any kerfuckles, mainly because I stayed out of sight and literally only left my room to go to class, to the bathroom, and stepped outside once to pay a delivery guy. So yesterday I woke up feeling sort of like I’d been run over by a large vehicle. Ok, endocrine system, I get it, you suck, you hate me, stop telling me about it. this was quickly squelched with ibuprofen. Everything started out pretty nifty yesterday. I was all happy because Shane had thrown random surprises at me because he could, so I was bouncebouncebounce-ing off the walls for a good 3 hours or so. I sit down to do some homework and Blackboard decides it’d be nifty to pitch a major fit that included me metaphorically pounding my head against it for a good 3 more hours or so before all was said and done. I got out of my night class a whole hour and 15 minutes early, so everything was nifty. Nothing could go to hell from here, right? Of course it can! I walk back into the room… *sniff sniff, “Oh my god, what the fuck is that god awful smell?”* Sit back down and return to TeamTalk, because I’d left shane hangin’ there till I returned to class.
“I’m back, and something fucking stinks in here. A fucking gain.”
“Really? Like what this time?”
“Bad food again, I’m almost sure of it. I remember this particular brand of nasty from last time.”
So a few people walk in to visit the roommate, and I corner them and ask them if they think it smells in here. They of course answer yes, and the roommate tries to blame her boyfriend’s feet. It definitely was not foot odor. It was some kind of food product gone bad. Again. Keep in mind this is the same girl who left eggs in her fridge to rot for 6 weeks, had no clue, and tried to blame Shane, and say that he was unclean and didn’t shower. When that didn’t work she tried to say it was my rugs that stunk. Naturally this didn’t work too well for her either because I had someone come independently verify that there was nothing wrong with the rugs. This went on for 6 weeks, until we got back from spring break and she on a whim decides to clean out her fridge. Sure enough, rotten eggs, rotten food.
I complained to housing, who complained to disability services, nothing got done. Keep in mind this is after Shane and I complained to one of the RA’s while he was here that her belongings, which are spewing onto my side of the room, are creating a tripping hazard. So nothing gets done. Finally Shane busts the flip-a-shit-ometer last night, leaves a very pointed voicemail with the appropriate individuals that the room, once again, is smelly, nasty and disgusting. Little did I realize that he also had pictures that he took when he was here of the disaster that is this room. By this point, Shane’s boss has probably tanked the flip-a-shit-ometer himself. He’s followed us up through this whole disaster. I kinda feel bad for the poor dude, just another poor person that has to deal with this place and it’s rampant stupidity. But of course it doesn’t stop there. That’d be too damn easy. Because apparently somebody’s decided I’m responsible, 14 hours before a test, for them having the appropriate test materials and knowing how to use them. By this time all I wanna do is either strangle somebody or go to bed, which I don’t get to do until 2 AM because somebody decided that staying up till such time with the light on was the order of the day. So I get up this morning and I’m already apprehensive about dealing with disability services. They seem to have this inherent issue wherein, because I am reasonably competent with a computer, I’m supposed to be a walking, talking quick reference guide for any person who uses a screen reader who happens to need help. I stuff my face, I caffeinate, (twice mind you), and head over there. Our stats professor is literally loading the materials, which I had previously taken 15 extra minutes to go rechase and recompile onto a thumb drive for myself, (yes it did take that long, this computer’s a pain in the ass), onto the desktop, of the computer at disability services. I wanted to pound my head against the wall, but decided that sighing and rolling my eyes was a safer reaction and wouldn’t get me taken away in a straightjacket. Since when is it the professor’s responsibility to load the extra test materials onto the computer for us? And frankly, since when is it my responsibility to do Jaws training that I’m not certified, or paid, to do? A quick question here or there, I don’t mind. But a few short hours before a test, the individual in question should have already looked at, and figured out, the material days ago. I’m not a certified trainer, I’m not a notetaker, and I’m not getting paid to do either. So disability services, kindly stop expecting me to do those things. Shane left a very pointed voicemail with them about that, too.
I get out of my test, come back here, and find this wonderful email. You know, I was going to summarize it, but I think I’ll just press some buttons instead. and after that I think I’ll press another button or 3 and show you my response. So here we go.

Subject: MCB
Thu, May 5, 2011 at 11:19 AM
Show original
Hi Krista,
I was speaking with Cindy Hebert today and brought up the fact that you were working with a new counselor named Shane. Cindy let me know that you are in fact still working with her and that to her knowledge there is not a counselor at MCB named Shane. I am not sure who this Shane is that continues to call on your behalf, but I can no longer accept phone calls from him. Because of confidentiality I cannot speak to anyone that I do not have a waiver to speak with.
Thank you,
Julie.

Please keep in mind that I’d had quite enough of disability services’ crap this week already, and had Shane been on the grid I would’ve just whipped the message at his head before reading it. I almost quit on Monday, that’s how angry I was. Related sidenote: I am not 3. I do not need a straw put in my drink, especially if you’re not wearing gloves to do it. Anyway, my main bullshit filter was off the grid so I kinda borrowed James and he became my backup bullshit filter. Trust me, you didn’t want me to read the content of that message directly after a stats test while I was undercaffeinated. Some poor innocent fool may have died as a result. So at around 3:30 this afternoon, it was on. I tried to call her back, got one of the secretaries, said fmeep this noise, I want this in writing. And write, I did. More like beat over the head with a clue by 4, but my strengths are not with speaking, but with calculated writing. I cannot think fast enough to verbalize all I had to say here while processing being spoken to, so email was my happyfriend.

Thu, May 5, 2011 at 4:59 PM
Hi Julie,
Re: my alternate trainer, no, he does not work directly for or with
MCB. He is not being paid by them. He is not taking over Cindy’s job.
He is not a counselor, but an alternate trainer. Cindy Hebert is the
counselor, which essentially means she’s the one who pays the bills. I
send her my grades, MCB does their part. The alternate trainer is
there for the more day-to-day issues, (i.e., the fact that my laptop
charger has managed to die an hour before I finish this email), or, my
living environment is smelly and disgusting and it’s not my side of
the room because my side’s spotless and free of garbage. A similar
issue arose in February, and I later found out that the offending
party had eggs in her fridge for 6 weeks and they’d gone bad.) That
having been said, he does have my permission to contact you, and you
do have my permission to speak with him. If you need an official
looking piece of paper that says as much, one can be created upon
request.
Thank you for your time,
Krista

Needless to say, people have been, and will be, squished. You know what really pisses me off about this though? I can complain, whine, bitch, persist, irritate, annoy, advocate, generally jump down people’s throats while I’m living in a hazardous environment, and nobody does anything to help me. The moment someone whines to disability services that I took attitude with them, I get a slap on the wrist, and am basically told, “Bad child, go to your corner.” So I’m not allowed to be an imperfect human being and snap at somebody for treating me like an infant, yet it’s ok for my roommate, their workstudy student, to leave rotten eggs in her fridge and take over my side of the room. Can we say discrimination? Do we need to have another vocabulary lesson, children? I should hope not.