Miracles Do Still Happen.
It all began with the Incident of the Broken Leg.
No, not mine, and No, it was not That Sort of Miracle.
The problem was that I was now the family taxi driver. Doc visits, school, doc visits, pre-school, doc visits, playdates doc visits, grocery shopping, doc visits...
I have not had a campus parking permit since my first semester here.
One of the best advice I got as a postdoc, about faculty positions in the US, was from Richard Ellis, who handed me a carefully hoarded copy of an old Times article explaining the hierarchy on US campuses.
On top, of course, are the Issuers of Parking Permits.
So, I resolved to avoid at all cost tangling with these administradaemons, given their fearful power and reputation.
I walk to work.
This is usually a pleasure, but we were coming into finals week, and I was looking at my days being carved into 30-60 minute snippets as I dashed back and forth between office and home. One, two, even three walks home are fine, any more than that and the day is done, too broken up.
And finals week is of course when All Important Meetings are held. At short notice, for extended periods. Lots of meetings. Important Meetings.
My comings and goings were cutting into scheduling windows for Important Meetings.
This Could Not Stand.
So... an e-mail went forth across campus.
Who do I see about getting a Parking Permit?
Another e-mail went forth: please may I have a Temporary Parking Permit, er, for an Interior Lot?
Oops.
See, Commuting Lots on the Campus Perimeter are Not a Problem. Just pay.
Interior Lots are Reserved for Full Professors and Important Senior Administrators.
The particular lot I desired, is for Distinguished Professors, or above, only, and getting a permit requires permission from the Dean.
The Dean was not about to give me one of those.
But, a Temporary Parking Permit is Different.
And I only need it, hopefully, for a few weeks, like for finals week and break only.
Oh dear.
This caused some confusion.
Apparently there was no policy for such.
The e-mail was forwarded, and Cc'd and BCc'd. Quite rapidly.
Then, From Down On High (not the Dean's office, this was High Up),
word came "hey, ``Bob'', see what you can do for this poor chap" (I paraphrase).
With amazing speed, Word Went Out.
I was to come to the Parking Office, and be Issued with the Permit of My Choice!
Er, I don't have the car, can I come tomorrow morning?
Come Tomorrow Morning.
Morning Came, and I Went.
I Stood in Line among miscreant students. A short line (finals week).
I handed over my ID.
"Oh, yes, it is all here in the computer!" Huh?
You have a Choice. And you can pro-rate the cost.
I Recommend you get the Brown One, and pay for a month, Cheaper.
ok, thank you
It Was A Miracle!
My commute is about three times shorter (no students) and I can Get Stuff Done.
Well, some stuff, lets not get too carried away.
Now we just need another miracle by start of semester, one of the more traditional kind...
Oh, yeah, and I am not going to Austin...
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A post-doc I knew in grad school once quoted someone else as saying that the job of a university president was to keep everyone happy by ensuring that the school provided three things: sex for the undergraduates, food for the graduate students, and parking for the faculty.
It's funny because it's true.
I have a story in the same spirit from the Berkeley campus. There are only a handful of parking spots in front of the physics and astronomy buildings there and I do not know anyone who had a permit for such a spot, save for the Nobel Laureates, who had dedicated parking spaces with their names on them. The graduate students and postdocs would take great pleasure in going to work on weekends when parking was free so that they could park in those spots. One of the grad students once told me: "the only reason we go in to the office on weekends is so that we can park in front of the building."
Clark Kerr said his job as [University of California] president was "to provide sex for the students, football tickets for the alumni and parking for the faculty." (obit, NYT, 2 Dec 2003)
My son, as a ranking member of his college's student government, had a faculty parking pass at age 15 (fifteen). Since this was before he could legally drive in California, he auctioned it off, and used the proceeds as seed money for successful poker winnings against other students, until parents objected.
Chad... "food for the graduate students"?
Why would they do that?!
I not only knew someone who had a permit for the crescent at Berkeley, I drove his car there once and parked it! - Bob Kraft, director of Lick. Turns out Lick Director has overcharged academic rank for obscure historical reasons.
I also, apparently, stole a Nobel Laureate's spot last time I was up on the hill, but fortunately not the wrong Nobel Laureate spot.
The version of Chad's joke I know makes no mention of food for the grad students; instead football must be provided for the alumni. Gotta get the alumni fired up so that they will open their checkbooks.