1 is the woe-iest number that you'll ever view
None can be as sad as 1
It's the woe-iest number since the rooms are none.
The #1 son is struggling with the recent knowledge that he has been placed in overflow housing at his college. After he conscientiously sent in his dorm preferences in April, as per instructions. He made this discovery via internet while away working virtually free for 10 days in the tech department at Missouri Boys State. The salt in this wound was the fact that others who applied way after he did were given their first choice, while he was denied first, second, and third. So he did what he has done since he was a wee 1, and called the powers who set him adrift on the sea of unhappiness.
I asked him about overflow housing. At least he had a place to stay, I consoled. "Not really. There are four buildings in that oldest complex, which isn't even near campus, and they only use three of those crappy buildings because the fourth one is way too crappy to put people in. So actually, we do not have any rooms, but are on a waiting list to get the crappy ones." Not verbatim, I'm sure, but he's not here now and I am, so that's my story and I'm stickin' it to him.
He called once while at Boys State, but did not receive an answer. On Wednesday, he called again. According to him, "The woman was really hateful with me, and said she couldn't do anything about it. I asked to talk to someone else. SHE was really polite. She said that didn't sound right. That she'd look into it, and call me back. She might not have time to all by 4:30 when they close, but she'll call tomorrow." I suppose you can guess how that went. He waited home and kept us off the phone. No call. Thursday, he stayed home all morning, then took off to spend time with one of his many friends who will disperse to the four winds when college starts. I stayed off the phone. I checked the machine. As you might assume, 4:30 came and went. No call. I told my mom, and perhaps #1 himself, though I don't recall nor keep a log of my witticisms, that the rude lady probably held the phone out to the next person who walked through the office, and that chick just pacified him with false hope to get him off the phone. Because I used to be a state employee, you see, and I know insider secrets.
This morning, #1 called and asked for The Pacifier by name. Because HE keeps a log. She said that she found out the reason for the mishap. In reviewing his request, they saw the first choice, but no preference for room type. So they put him at the bottom of the entire list. Welcome to college, my boy. No second choice. No third choice. Incomplete info, bottom of list. The Pacifier said that since #1 had called to check on it as soon as he found out, as soon as the housing assignments were posted, she backdated his request. And that even though they never do this for freshmen, she put him on the waiting list for his first choice. The list is five pages long. He is about a third of the way down the second page. Hope springs eternal.
I'm sure Farmer H would build him a tiny house and pull it down to college on a trailer made from a severed truck bed. However...freshmen must live on campus, which probably is not zoned for Farmer H's handiwork.
I have not mentioned it to #1. No need to dump ice water on that exposed nerve. But I am picturing Revenge of the Nerds, and Lewis and Gilbert moving into the gym, their cot-sleeping interrupted by an occasional errant basketball sailing over the canvas curtain divider.