Just another number
Columnist is caught (,
between the cracks 111L111 |
LANE HICKENBOTTOM
is a senior news-editorial
major and a Daily
Nebraskan photographer
and columnist.
If you are new to this university,
you have yet to feel the funk of how
little this place cares about you.
If you don’t like feeling like a
statistic, then you have until next
Wednesday to quit the University of
Nebraska-Lincoln and still keep
every stinking cent of your tuition.
If you enjoy feeling like a sim
ple number, then UNL’s the place to
be. It offers e-mail accounts that are
numerical with no suggestion as to
whom the account belongs. Grades
here are posted based on the last
four digits of your Social Security
number. Speaking of Social
Security numbers, be prepared to
dish it out approximately 5.007,319
times in your four- to five-year stay
at this fine establishment.
To further prove my point that
the students at UNL are nothing
more than numbers to the U's
administrative staff, let me demon
strate what kind of first day of
school I had.
On Monday I met a girl who was
desperately trying to get into a class
I had to drop. Since I had to get out
of the class and she needed to get
into it, we decided to walk to the
administration building together so
she could take the spot I would
leave available.
At the registration window, I
told the lady working the desk my
university name, 123-45-6789. Then
she told me that I couldn’t drop
because I wasn’t registered.
“Not registered?” I asked “For
the class or not at all?”
“You are not registered at all”
I found this pretty surprising
because for this semester I had
made damn sure I registered during
priority registration (I have had a
history of trying to register on the
last possible day. Take my advice: it
is a bad habit).
She went on to tell me that Love
Library put a hold on my registra
tion and that I had been dropped
from my classes last week.
Only after giving the librarian
my Social Security number was she
able to tell me that I had a late fee of
$ 15. Turns out that all along they
had been sending the late fee
notices to an address that I had
more than three years and five
moves ago.
So while at the library, I filled
out an address form complete with
my legal name, Lane Hickenbottom;
my university name, 123-45-6789;
and my e-mail address,
0976836295628016238381723@bi
gred.unl.edu.
I find it hard to believe that the
university does not have the tech
nology to link the student address
database of administration with that
of the library.
So there it is: I got dropped for
$15. When you consider that I have
a tuition bill of over a thousand dol
lars each semester, it seems silly
that the university decided that a
fine, about 1.5 percent of my tuition
bill, was more important than my
total bill.
If administrators view me as an
important part of the university,
they would have made a better
attempt to get a hold of me to clear
the matter up.
There isn’t a good reason for
their inability to contact me; I’m not
’ that hard to get a hold of. If the
Love Library people hadn’t heard
back from me after sending notices
to a bunk address, they could have
simply dialed zero on their phones
the
universi
ty opera
tor for my num
ber or address.
They could have , , j,
looked in the Aliant i 1 }
Communications \ Tjl
phone book or i , i >|u|j
dialed 411 for infor- j: llIM
mation. And most logical '|i|0
of all, before telling
administration to drop ijijjl
me from classes, they !i jjihil
could have asked admin- : :;! >H
istration what my address ,.j jl
Because of a fine that
amounted to a little over 1
percent of my tuition, the
university robbed me of MmLk
privileged registration, rWfM
which was based on the
last number of my Social
Security number. It robbed me of
the opportunity to take the classes I
wanted this semester.
Instead, I have to beg professors
for overrides in their classes, this
after spending hours contemplat
ing the schedule of classes that I
was finished with last March.
My only wish? That the univer
sity would have tried contacting me
rather than simply processing me.
Yes, Wednesday is the last day to
drop from UNL and still keep all
your money.
So if you want to avoid asking
for an override to get into a lecture
class that “teaches” 500 students in Wednesday call N-Roll at All-1212.
one big room, giving your Social You’ll have to punch in your Social
Security number to everybody and Security number one last time, but
their kid sisters 5,007,319 times after you are logged into the system
over the next four to five years or press 9 for your transaction code,
becoming a statistic, then before You won’t be sorry.
Talk is cheap
But obligatory introductions are in order
MATT PETERSON is
senior English and new
editorial major and
Daily Nebraskan colur
nist.
I’ve never been one to dwell on
myself much. Whether it be in writ
ing or in everyday conversation, I
simply don’t have much to say for
myself.
But as this is the first column o;
my post-secondary portfolio, I feel
obligated to share where I’m comir
from, first geographically, second
philosophically. Perhaps somewher
down the line this account will help
justify the alleged ignorance of the
moment.
Not that I expect people to pin
this article to their bulletin boards
and use it as a reference for my futi
I exploits. If, however, this column
manages to strike a chord in even a
handful of readers willing to bear
with me in the weeks to come, it will
have served its purpose.
I’ve been a Nebraskan all my life
and hope to remedy the situation as
soon as possible.
Not that I hate this state. After all,
a Omaha was a great place to grow up
- low crime, a good education, and
practically zero unemployment (hal
a lelujah for telemarketing, right?).
And Lincoln’s a great place to visit
(preferably on Saturday afternoons
during football season), but, quite
frankly, I’m tired of living here.
Nebraska has been good to me,
and I’ll have no misgivings in eventu
ally claiming my Midwestern roots. I
simply share the unfortunately preva
lent assumption that upon receipt of
my college diploma, this state will
g have nothing more to offer me, and
therefore destine me to the fate of a
e Husker expatriate.
Now that you know where I’m
from, you should know who it is I
think I am.
Most of my acquaintances agree
that I’m not the easiest person to
ire know, so perhaps I can shed some
light on the subject whether it be for
them or for those friends I have yet to
meet.
I don’t talk much, although I
don’t see myself as being particularly
shy. I simply don’t have much to say,
and thinking - and occasionally lis
tening - usually takes precedence.
Talk’s cheap.
As far as my social platform is
concerned, I try not to devote myself
to anything - most causes have an
unfortunate tendency to disappoint.
During high school, I fancied
myself a nonconformist (the name of
my newspaper column was “Against
the Grain”), but came off as self
righteous and pretty pretentious in
the process. Now, I simply am too
indifferent to rebel against anything.
I think my sense of morality is
fairly square, probably too much so,
because I have a hell of a time find
ing trouble, even when I’m looking
for it.
I’ve lived a great deal of my life
in an attempt to avoid regret, and now
I have a feeling I’m going to regret it.
Most of my friends consider me
cynical, but I prefer the term skepti
cal. If, as I’ve heard it said, a skeptic
is one who questions everything
while a cynic is one who knows
everything, then I have a long way to
go before stepping up to cynicism.
While I apparently have yet to
determine who I am, I have a fair
idea of what this column should be. It
has always been my understanding
that a newspaper column should be
primarily persuasive rather than
either expository or argumentative.
All too often, I read columns
expounding the details of another
uneventful summer vacation or exor
cising the idiosyncrasies of an annoy
ing roommate. Granted, there is a
certain appeal in realizing just how
similar the human condition (or
should I say the college condition)
can be, and there will always be room
for the occasional Dave Barry col
umn (especially when I’m up against
a deadline, and the only thing I can
think about is my roommate’s sloven
ly ways ... although, he’s a hell of a
good guy). But in the end, I’d rather a
column make me think than make me
laugh.
The catharsis of such a public
forum can also prove disastrous to a
writer’s credibility. I equate this iniq
uity to the story of “The Boy Who
Cried ‘Wolf.’” Ranting usually lacks
eloquence, but in abundance, it
inevitably lacks effect.
I would also contend that an opin
ion column should be a work in
progress rather than in stasis, even
upon its completion. My own opin
ions are constantly changing whether
by conscious or subconscious means,
and therefore I see this as a means to
an end rather than an end in itself.
In its purest form, an opinion col
umn should discuss a perceived prob
lem and present a solution; its pur
pose should not be to pick a fight or
make a friend. Such ulterior motives
are at cross-purposes to the persua
sive intent of opinion writing.
During my own lackluster career
as a “journalist,” I’ve broken every
rule I just laid down and quite a few
others I’d rather not mention. For that
matter, I’m sure this very column, as
well as many to come, will be guilty
of these same transgressions.
I’ve spent the past three years
coming to terms with my shortcom
ings without subjecting any more
innocent bystanders to my writing
than necessary. We’ll have to see, fair
bystander, just how far I’ve come.
But enough about me ...
