An aside: for those not familiar with university life, or those who were just privileged enough to never have to pay attention, or were lucky enough to go to one of the many schools (i.e. most PWIs.) that don't engage in this process, purge week is the last week students have to get their affairs in order before they are purged from the system. This means they lose their housing assignments, classes, meal plans, etc. EVERYTHING.
The problem is that when students leave in December for the Winter break, they pretty much know what kind of situation they'll be in when they come back in January. There are those who know that there's no chance, and they just don't bother to come back. Then there are those that think they can work through whatever holds they'll have, get validated by hook or by crook, and enjoy the semester. Many manage to work something out. Some don't.
That's where I come in. During purge week I have to go door to door and drop off these letters. They essentially say "Dear Non-Validated Student: If you are not validated by Friday suchandsuch a date then you will lose your classes and have to get the hell out of your housing assignment by Monday of suchandsuch a date." It is not one of my favorite parts of being a Community Director.
The process is always the same. Whenever I hand a student the letter, they always say "thank you," because they don't know what it is. Then they read it, then their eyes drop. "By FRIDAY?" They ask. "I have to be out by MONDAY," they continue without having received a response to their first question. I have to stand there and look stoic. I accomplish this by imagining that I am somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Everyone has a story, and they're generally true, which is why I hate this part of my job. "But, my parents don't talk to me anymore," or "I'm homeless, where am I going to go?" or "This is all I got." Seconds tick off the clock, then... "is there anything you can do? Can you HELP me?" This is why I always wish I was somewhere else. Because I always have to say no, and then listen through the elaboration of their story and how they always need a chance. Then I have to say no again. I have to be THAT guy. No matter how I say "no," what they always hear is "I don't care about your problems," and that is not the case.
I just can't help everyone. I work in an all-male, overwhelmingly freshman building. There are already not enough black men in college. I hate to kick them out for any reason, especially their freshman year. But I learned my lesson the first year I had this job. I spent more time trying to keep anyone from recognizing how many freshman I let stay illegally than actually trying to make the residence hall a better place. It just puts me in an uncomfortable position that I don't want to be in again.
This means that I have to turn away freshman after freshman, making them believe that there stories make me feel nothing. That no one cares. That they'll have to admit defeat and go back home, or wherever it is they're going. What bothers me is that too many of these young men never make it back to any school. And that's why it sucks. The worst part of my job.
Legal Note: Opinions in this post are my own and not representative of the university I work for or the people I work under. All suppositions, presumptions, theories, hypotheses, etc. are my own. This blog is for entertainment purposes only, blah blah blah. There are purposely no names included in this post, and I have revealed nothing that violates either general expectations of privacy or the University confidentiality agreement, which, actually... I never signed anyway. All of that is to say...don't be trying to sue me.
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