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The Carletonian

The Carletonian

The Carletonian

Editorial: A meeting with the President

<eat thing about working for the Carletonian is that we always have a couch to nap on in Sayles. Too many freshmen in the Great Space? No problem, we've got an office right upstairs where we can Facebook and eat our tacos in peace. Over the summer, our office was renovated and Student Activities scored us a sweet couch. It's large and green and comfortable and we love it.

Last week, Alex Kinsey Kinsey and I had a meeting with the honorable Stevie P. I decided to utilize the wonderful couch before Kinsey showed up to talk strategy. So I fell asleep within seconds because I’m really good at falling asleep and before I knew it, Kinsey was yelling at me to wake up. I wiped most of the drool from my face and sat up, only to see Kinsey’s face turn from annoyance to sheer delight. Still in my groggy, drooly state, I smiled warily back at him. (Sheer delight from Kinsey is pretty rare and therefore it scared me a little bit.) So overcome with joy that he was unable to form sentences, he made an awkward flapping motion towards his face, tears beginning to stream down his rosy cheeks. Finally, he managed to tell me that I should probably look in a mirror. I ran to the upper Sayles bathroom, dread pulsing through me.

I had managed to fall asleep on the one ridged pillow in the office and the entire right side of my face was streaked with deep, deep indents. Panicking, I sprinted back to the office where Kinsey was trying to regain his composure. I was rubbing my face as hard as I could and freaking out. I had been nervous about this meeting to begin with (Kinsey already had establish a rapport with Stevie P. during the fall while I was eating pasta in Tuscany and doing nothing remotely productive) and this facial development was pushing me over the edge. (Clearly it doesnt take much.)

As Kinsey and I walked over to the first floor of Laird, I continued to freak out. I convinced Kinsey to arrange my hair so that it covered the worst of the indents and he offered the helpful advice: “Maybe he wont notice because you’re wearing your reindeer sweater and those weird pants.” Far from mollified, I continued rubbing my face and forcing Kinsey to rearrange my hair as we sat in the President’s waiting room.

The point of this story is that President Poskanzer made no comment about my unkempt appearance and the fact that Kinsey kept subtly blowing on my bangs to keep them in place. (Just kidding, he didn’t actually do that even though I begged him to.) Poskanzer neither openly insulted me for looking ridiculous nor did he cast so much as a questioning glance at my reddened face, which is more than I can say for the tennis team when I showed up at practice an hour later. Suffice it to say, thank you, President Poskanzer, for the ultimate kindness that you showed me.

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