Thunder of Wade

I got an email sent to the webmaster@uakron.edu address today and it was a winner.  I’m not sure what the category was, but it won anyway.  The names have been changed to protect, well, everyone involved. 

The emailing individual  – let’s call him Ron – was reaching out to connect with someone and gave their full name – but let’s just call her Suzy.  Suzy had submitted her thesis – in 2006.

Hmmm…

And Ron would like to connect with her to provide…a correction.  

On the thesis.  Submitted in 2006.

Can you imagine having the audacity to do something like that?  To have read a thesis from 2006  – here in 2025, mind you – and then send an email to a stranger (me) to try and get an email address for the master’s student in question – to correct them?

I, as you can imagine, cannot imagine doing that. 

I was a little dumbfounded for a few minutes, then my problem-solving algorithms kicked in.

1. The academic department would be a dead-end – it was too far back.
2. The thesis would have been published in the library, but any contact info including in the submission would have been long expired.   Likely a UA email address in a system that no longer existed.
3. I could suggest they try social media, but that seemed too obvious.

And then:

1. Well, if they submitted a thesis, chances are they are an alumnus of UA.  

So, I called up a colleague in the Alumni office and explained the situation.   And sure enough, our thesis submitter was an alumni and there was a current email address on file. 

It would be unethical to give out contact information, obviously, but I asked if there was a procedure to pass along a message.  Sure enough, there was – and my colleague was happy to take it from there.

I forwarded the note with some official-sounding language in the hand-off, and then my part was done.

But, I kinda wanna hear how it turns out.   The sensible approach for Suzy would be to just ignore the message. Delete. End of story.

Or, she could point out to Ron that everything was correct – and approved by a committee of expert faculty members – in 2006.  If there’s a correction to be made based on new data, well, sorry about your luck, that’s not how that works.

Or, it could go, “How dare you, Ron!  I’m coming after you and your children!”

In any case, I’m still amazed by the audacity.   

Though I guess – in 2025 – it really shouldn’t surprise me.

It had been a rough day.  Week? Month? Semester? Year?  Whatever the unit of time measurement, it was a rough one.  And while a Friday should have meant a break, the end of my workday was only the beginning of my actual work.

The yard was a mess.

Back at my old house, I had a very small yard and a human-powered reel mower – and a small one at that – was enough to keep the grass under control.

The new house has a much bigger yard and while I felt like an environmentally sound bad-ass, it was a lot of work.  I bought a new-to-me reel mower from my neighbor across the street  that had a wider wheel base and covered more ground with each pass, but it didn’t do a great job at it.  

I read the manual, adjusted the blade, and now it didn’t miss any grass.  At all.  And if the grass was tall and thick, it was no easy task to get through it.  I tried to keep up with the lawn as spring set in so that I would have an easier time of it, but all the rain we had meant I couldn’t get out there.  

And the grass kept growing. 

(Which sounds like something from horror fiction…)

So, on a hot and humid Friday afternoon, I hauled out the recently repaired reel mower and set to work. 

I can usually make quick work of the yard – even with my human-powered self – but the thick grass and the now effective mower meant every pass pushed me to the limit.  The grass was flying everywhere in huge clumps and the mower was constantly bogged down. 

It didn’t help that I was already tired or that it was around 80 degrees out.  And that I didn’t have water with me. 

I could get from the house to the street and back – and sometimes make two trips – but then I would need to stop and rest.

Not just pause and keep on going.  These rest periods were to leave the mower where-ever in the yard and go up to the house and sit on the bench.  Or, more frequently, lay down.

It was taking me forever, but trying to power through the grass was really taking it out of me. 

The breaks became longer and it was my inherent tenacity and the threat of more rain that night that kept me going.  But only just.

My next-door neighbors were out in their yard mowing their grass and playing with their kids.  When I at last finished up I left the cursed mower in the driveway and staggered to the front porch steps. 

I saw down, panting and flushed and utterly wiped out.  The front yard was done – but at what cost?

After a few minutes I looked up to see my neighbor walk over, looking a little concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asked and I replied “I think so. Getting there, anyway,”

He joked that he didn’t know CPR, but that his wife did. She was mowing their lawn, sensibly on a riding mower, and I joked back that I would wait until she was done. 

We talked for a few minutes about the weather and the speed at which the grass had grown.

When he was sure that I wasn’t in danger, he started to head back to this house – noting that if it did pass out I should try and flop around so they would see me.  

I replied that I would make it, “as dramatic as I could,” and he was on his way. 

I waited a few more minutes to make sure I wouldn’t keel over, then got up and dragged the mower back to the garage. 

Inside the house, I woke up Jim from his nap and then went to take a cool shower and drink some water. 

My face was still red for a while, but I recovered the rest of the way and slept well that night. 

But, I hadn’t done the backyard.

The promised storm didn’t amount to much rain, but did knock down some branches.  The day was cooler and I went out in the afternoon to clean those up.  With more rain on the horizon, I decided to mow the backyard as well. 

There are spots where the grass is taller and thicker than the front yard, but overall it’s smaller and easier to mow.  

I started with the trimmer to knock out at least some of the height and then got the mower going.  

I was careful with myself this time and worked in smaller sections.  When I got a little tired, I switched what I was doing and picked up more sticks – or dog poop, sigh – and did a little more trimming around the edge. 

I got it done, didn’t pass out (or get close, really) and went inside for another cool shower. 

And, I’m happy with the result.  The reel mower still isn’t “great”, but it’s quiet, safer,  and doesn’t take any fuel.  As long as I’m physically able to do it, I’d still like to.

Next time, I need to mow more frequently and bring water with me.  Lesson learned.

I’m still the bad-ass of my street – but I’ve learned my limits.

I got an email from a colleague recently from the EX[L] Center for Community Engaged Learning at The University of Akron.  Instead of a question or request for help with their website, they were congratulating me on winning an award and inviting me to an awards ceremony. 

I racked my brain for a bit to remember what all I had done for them.  There was help with a website and maybe a form or two – and some help with their listservs.  But nothing that seemed to warrant an award for “Community Engagement Champion”.

Still, there was a promise of snacks and that’s usually enough for me.  I asked if I needed to bring – or prepare – anything as part of RSVP and they replied all I needed was to be ready to have my picture taken. 

On the afternoon of the event I headed over to the venue – wearing a tie and my official name tag.  

I got seated in the middle – an easy path to the exit, but also a direct line to the snacks – and then groaned inwardly when they said that each award recipient would be asked to say a few words about their project. 

Since I couldn’t remember what project qualified me as a Champion, I tried to pull something together in my head based on what other people were doing. 

As other departments got their awards, I realized that I had helped – behind the scenes – on many of the projects they talked about. 

So, when it was my turn, I talked about my contributions to the Center’s website and the surveys, websites, lists, and e-commerce sites that the other projects had done.  It seemed to do the job and I went over to have my picture taken.

Afterwards, I talked to some colleagues that I hadn’t seen in a bit – then headed back to the office briefly to drop off my certificate and get my things before heading home a bit early. 

Hey, if a “Community Engagement Champion” can’t leave early, who can?

I was glad to help and it was nice to be recognised, although mine was apparently more for being “generally awesome” than any specific project.

I learned more about the good work the center and the many academic departments across campus were doing.  It was a “feel good” kind of afternoon.

And the snacks included frosted cookies shaped like our mascot – the kangaroo Zippy.  

It’s not a party unless there are Zippy Cookies. 

So now, in addition to being Director and Webmaster, I’m also a Champion. 

Which is not too bad.

In late April, our videographer sent over the youtube links and info for our then upcoming commencement ceremonies this past weekend.  I was carboned on the email but my boss told me that he was assigning the project to update the website to two of my colleagues.  And with that, I promptly forgot about it. 

Fast forward to this past Friday when the first of the ceremonies was to be held at 6 p.m.  I got a Teams message from our videographer asking when the webpages would be updated – since they hadn’t been.  I dug through my email to find his original message, and told him that I didn’t think it had been my project, but that I would take care of it. 

While I was planning out the task – 5 pages with text and embedded youtube videos for the livestream – I got a Teams message from our VP asking about the same thing.  Another VP was getting “anxious” about the links not being there and was looking for a timeframe.  I replied that it was in progress and I would let them know when the Friday updates were done first. 

And while I was working on that, I got another Teams message from the Associate Registrar.  He was getting pressure from the “other VP” and from the School of Law – they now wanted the video link set-up on the general pages for their ceremony on Sunday as well.

So, one page with the list of the dates, times, and links to the livestream pages.  And then five pages (including the School of Law now) for each of the ceremonies – one Friday, three Saturday, and one more on Sunday.

My boss was offline but I checked in with a couple colleagues and no one seemed to be in the loop already. I figured out which pages would need to be updated – named /three to /seven – and then one by one opened the youtube links to get the right code to share the right livestream link on the right page.  It wasn’t complicated and I didn’t have to start from scratch, but it did require concentration to avoid any mistakes. 

I got the Friday session set-up and updated our VP and the Associate Registrar.  I also got what turned out to be incomplete – but still better than what I had – instructions on what I needed to do for Sunday.  More on that later…

I worked my way through the Saturday sessions and had to think a bit on how the Sunday was going to work since it hadn’t been planned for the page.  

That came together and I updated the VP, the Associate Registrar, and our videographer – after I triple checked and tested everything. 

The last step was an email to my boss with a heads-up that it was done – admitting that I didn’t know who’s list this should have been on (and that it might have been my list), but that it was done and everyone was settled down.

He followed up later reminding me that he had forwarded the project to two colleagues when it was first sent – and thanking me for getting it done.

As a fun side note, I had wrapped up my message of our VP with a hearty “Go Team!”  To which she responded that “there’s no I in team, but there is an A for Anthony!  Thank you!”

So that was nice.

Fast forward a little bit to Sunday afternoon.  I was visiting my folks for the day and we were just about to sit down for lunch at 1:00.  I got a Teams message on my phone from the videographer that the livestream page for the School of Law commencement needed the “if the youtube close captioning doesn’t work, click here” link added.  

I responded that I wasn’t at a computer but that I would do my best to get it done.  Instead, I ate my lunch while it was warm, then asked my folks if I could borrow their laptop.  It should only take me a couple of minutes to update – but they cautioned me that the laptop was very slow.

I sat down in the computer/scrapbook room to work at 1:29  – and things started to go downhill pretty fast. 

It looked good at the start – the computer was already on and there was already a browser open.  I put in the link to get to our website admin system and hit enter. 

It took…a while to even give me the log-in page.  I put in my credentials and then waited again for the MultiFactor Authentication to come up.  I put in the code on my phone and waited again to finish the log-in.  It took long enough that it nearly timed out, but I got into the editor.   

And then the logo for the browser caught my eye.  It was round like Chrome, had a design close to Firefox, but a color scheme like Edge. 

I dragged the cursor to the application bar and once it caught up it gave me the name  – the Wave Browser.

What. The. Shit?

I went back to my phone to do a quick search and the first result called it a “PUP” – a Potentially Unwanted Program.    (This was even ahead of the official company website, so you know it was bad.)

And, stupid me, had already logged in. 

Not willing to spend another second in that garbage-ware, I closed the Wave browser.  After a moment, I found the Chrome icon (Mom had a lot on the desktop…) and fired it up.  

When I say “fired” I really mean I double-clicked the icon and waited a while.  When it finally loaded, it took me to the profile log-in screen.  I hesitated since I didn’t want to create a profile for myself and bring in all my data – no one had time for that nonsense – but couldn’t find a Guest option. 

I shook my head, closed that, and opened Edge – reluctantly. 

Edge got as far as a completely black screen and then wouldn’t go any further. 

I had to invoke the Task Manager – which also took a while – and managed to kill Edge.  While it was dying I scrolled down in the list and sure enough – Wave was still running with 20 or so open processes.  

No wonder the computer was so slow.

Desperate now, I opened Chrome again and selected my Dad’s profile – hoping that he had his password saved and that I wouldn’t have to go get him to log in.  

It took me right in and I repeated the log-in process – each step an eternity. 

While it was grinding away, I also tried a browser on my phone to see if I could execute the update from there.  I was close – so close – but couldn’t select the text I needed to copy. 

I turned my attention back to the struggling laptop and paused to think.  I needed to open one of the other pages from Saturday, switch to code view, and copy a very specific chunk of HTML and CSS code.  I used Ctrl+C to copy it – then a Right-click and Copy, just in case. 

From there, I closed the Saturday page and opened the Sunday page.  I got to the code view and to the right spot, then Pasted.  The last step was to Save and Publish.

The screen went a dim gray while it worked and then…

Nothing.  It wouldn’t finish.  I was stuck on literally the last step.  Again, what the shit?

I panicked a moment, then realized it might have done the work and just wasn’t finishing up letting me know. 

Opening my phone again, I checked the page and sure enough – it had applied the changes. 

I sent a quick Teams message to the videographer and told him I was done.

At 1:56 pm for a 2:00 ceremony. 

By the time I got a “thank you” back, the editor had finished up the process and gave me back control.  I Saved and re-Published the page for good measure – though it wasn’t exactly required – and logged off. 

I updated my folks and rejoined the conversation – but then wandered back to the computer/scrapbook room after a while. 

As the visiting-geek, I had a final task to do.  I needed to destroy the Wave.

To do this, I first opened the Task Manager again and scrolled down to all those open processes.  I started to kill each one and kept getting pop-ups like: “The Chat Notification has crashed – click here to restart it.”

No thank you and nice try.  I had slowly gotten maybe halfway through the list before I hit the main process and the rest vanished.

I closed the Task Manager and went to the applications.  Was this going to be full-on Malicious and fight back? Or was it going to pretend to be “legit” and have a clean uninstall?

I found the application in the list, right-clicked to choose Uninstall, and confirmed.   Then I waited. 

It took long enough that I went back to the conversation to check in and by the time I returned it was gone.  

The real test would be to do a restart and see if it was really gone.

This took – a while.  But it was more a function of being an old computer than anything nasty installed.  The Wave browser was really gone and didn’t come back.  And while they still need a new computer, you could almost call it…snappy.  If you were generous. 

And later, once I was back at my own computer – I reset my password.  From what I’d found in my research and based on the behavior it was more “spammy” and a badly coded browser knock-off than really dangerous.   

Still, it could have caused some real problems with my job if I’d been compromised – better to be prudent. 

So, I saved the day on Friday, saved the day on Sunday – and then Saved the day for my parent’s computer as well.

A hero’s work is never done.  But I was happy to log off.

It started badly.

I was out running errands on a rainy Saturday afternoon around one and I hadn’t eaten lunch yet – which is dangerously late for me.  Or rather, dangerous for the people around me that dare to stand between me and food.

My travels took me near a Wendy’s and I stopped in and went up to the counter. 

(Note to Wendy’s – consider adding a kiosk.  Not “only a kiosk”, but as an option. Just a thought.)

There was one guy in front of me and he apparently had never ordered food at a fast food place – in that he did not move out of the way when he was done.  The clerk and I had to work around him.   And in the case of the clerk, I use the term “work” loosely.

I usually get a Number One Single Combo with Lettuce Only, No Cheese (™).  Which sounds easy, but on a good day I’ve got only about a 40% chance they’ll get it right.   It looked a little lot chaotic in the kitchen and I decided to go just a little simpler. 

Spicy Chicken Sandwich – Lettuce Only.

Even easier, right?  “Have it your way” – wait, that was Burger King…

Anyway, I got my receipt and confirmed the order was entered correctly. It was  – and that’s literally half the battle right there.

I get my drink from the machine and go back to the counter and wait. 

And wait.

The clerk put the fries on the tray in front of me and I had high hopes that my sandwich would be shortly on the way.  

Instead, he proceeds to spend a great deal of time and concentration placing stickers on the bags for the pick-up orders.  He doesn’t wait on anyone else, nor does he acknowledge any of the delivery drivers.

I continue to wait.  

The shift-lead, I think, pulls the clerk from the counter to instead work on the fryer.  The woman who was working on the fryer comes up to the front and looks at the fries rapidly cooling on the tray.  I step forward and say,

“I’m just waiting on a Spicy Chicken, Lettuce Only”

I’m pretty sure she heard me, but there was no reaction from her. Not a glance my way or a quickening of her pulse.  If there had been a cranial scanner nearby it would have registered not a single wave.  No gamma, no alpha, not even a blip of beta. 

Not who I would have put at the front to interact with say, I dunno, customers – but there she is and there we go. 

She proceeds to take the order from someone who has navigated the cluster of delivery drivers crowding the lobby – which goes badly since the woman ordering simply refuses to SPEAK. UP!

(I wanted to pull her aside and stridently lecture her for half an hour on how that isn’t cute or sweet or funny or whatever else she was trying to do.  It’s a noisy restaurant and if you have to shout to be heard, then you had better shout, missy. If you know what’s good for you. )

I check my receipt and my watch and then do the math.  Fifteen minutes have passed since I placed my order. 

Sigh.

Then, I hear the shift-lead say to the woman at the front, “Are you waiting on a Spicy Chicken?”

She doesn’t confirm, but he takes that as a “Yes” somehow and my heart skips a beat.

Then, he picks up the cold fries off the tray and tosses them out – replacing them with a fresh order.

My estimation of this guy – and my hopes – skyrocket.

An unknowable amount of time later (time had become meaningless), a sandwich is handed to Little Miss Loquacious – who places it on the tray and pushes it towards me.

“Here you go,” she says and immediately forgets that I have ever existed.  

(For those of you that have been reading carefully, you’ll note that the shift-lead said, “Spicy Chicken” and not “Spicy Chicken, Lettuce Only,” Which will soon be important to the story, dear reader. )

I get to a table and have a seat and sure enough – the sandwich includes tomato and mayo.  The tomato is easy enough to dismiss, but the mayo was everywhere.  No scraping that off – there was an “extravagance of mayo”.

I sigh, marshall my defenses and gird my loins, and go back up to the counter with the offending sandwich. 

Getting the attention of LML is no easy task, but I finally do and explain the problem – ready with my receipt, should proof of their folly be needed.  She takes the sandwich to the shift-lead and says something to him. 

And I begin waiting again – apparently dumped back into the queue with the delivery drivers who are almost certain by this point to not get ANY kind of tip.

Finally, LML gets the new sandwich and hands it to me with the now familiar, “Here you go,” and immediate dismissal.  I consider pinching myself to confirm I haven’t been banished to the shadow realms, but I instead go back to the table and sit down.  I open the sandwich and it’s correct – to my relief and surprise – and I take my first bite.

And I am here to tell you now that it was the best god-damn chicken sandwich of my life. 

The chicken was hot and spicy, juicy and full of flavor.  The bun had been warmed to a perfect temperature and was soft and yielding – like a cloud.  The lettuce was crisp and fresh with a delightful crunch. It might well have been harvested only moments before.

And for those of you thinking it was just a sandwich –  you weren’t there and you could not know.  That chicken had an amazing life and met its end peacefully and with a song in its heart. I knew this as surely has I knew my own name.

Each bite was so good, I had to take breaks and slow myself down by working on the merely adequate (but hot)  french fries.  The return to that sandwich and each subsequent bite was bliss.

I left one bite remaining while I finished up my fries – saving it for dessert, as it were. 

And, with regret, I then finished that most perfect of Spicy Chicken, Lettuce Only sandwiches.  

I sat for a moment in that Wendy’s, contemplating what I had just experienced and how it had changed me.

I looked over at the counter to see if I could trouble them for a moment and share my experience back with them. I felt we had been through something together and wondered if I could convey to them what it all meant and how we were now all connected.

But, the lobby was still full of increasingly angry drivers and impatient customers.  I instead forlornly wadded up the now empty wrapper and took my trash to the bin like an adult. 

As I walked to my car, I wondered at the cosmic rebalancing I had witnessed.  The awful customer service and righteous Spicy Chicken Sandwich, Lettuce Only.   A great disservice had been done to me, but this time the fates themselves had intervened. 

I went on with my errands a different man than when I started  – knowing in my heart that no sandwich would ever compare, and stealing myself for a future of disappointment. 

Better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all.

It’s time for another webmaster email story.

I had an email sent in from someone complaining about the poor behavior of our students and how they threatened a conservative figure that came onto campus. And how they would no longer recommend students go to our institution because of that.    They included a youtube video link and I reluctantly clicked it. 

Within about 4 seconds, I realized two problems.    One, it was from over 5 years ago.  And two, it was from a different Ohio university. 

And then I realized the real problem.  The focus of the video was Kaitlin Bennett – infamous for open-carrying an AR-10 on Kent State’s campus the day after her graduation and gaining the name Gun Girl.

She’s a darling of conservatives and has made a social media career out of having terrible ideas, getting in people’s faces about them, and then pouting because people are mean to her.

The video did have students being aggressive towards her and her team and throwing things at her car when they ran her off campus.   Not appropriate behavior – but not unsurprising either.  

I’m certain her Oscar is in the mail for her feigned surprise and disbelief at the response to her rhetoric. 

I approached this email as a problem to be solved.   I did a reluctant search on “her name + Akron” and found two videos of her on our campus.  One was an interview done by a communications student for Z-TV and the other was from her youtube channel about how she “changed people’s minds”.   

A-hem. 

So, I worked on an email to express my concern about the student behavior and also politely point out that it was from several years ago and from a different institution.   I planned on sharing the other video links back and suggesting that they visit our campus and see how open this is to everyone – no matter their viewpoint.

And then I stopped.

And deleted everything I had written.

Because it doesn’t matter.  Their email wasn’t the start of a conversation – it was the end of it.  It doesn’t matter if they got the facts wrong – there was no defense for my alma mater.  

Just like the Gun Girl, they wanted to be mad about something.  They wanted to be outraged at an invented injustice.  

So, there’s no response that would make this better.  No carefully written email would shine any light there. No rebuttal would win the argument. 

I didn’t delete the email, but I unflagged it and moved on.  I can’t imagine being a social media specialist that has to deal with crap like this every day.

There are other emails that need my attention and other problems that can – and want to be – solved.   So, I’ll focus on those and do my best where help is needed.  

And shine a little light on the places that are tired of darkness, perhaps.

A couple of years ago, I got an odd discount at KFC.  I was placing my order with the clerk at the register when I noticed something briefly flash across the screen.  When I got my receipt, I realized it was a senior discount.  I didn’t have to show a Golden Buckeye or AARP card – the clerk looked at me and decided I qualified.  I was 50 at the time and the discounts are for those 55 and older.  So he was close, I guess, but it still rankled.  I even made a haiku about it.

It was a more reasonable assumption than back when I was 43 and was mistaken for 55.

This past weekend, Jim and I were at Michael’s craft store.  He was ready to go and I went to the I’m-assuming-quicker self-checkout since I only had three items and the only lane open with a clerk had two people with full carts.

I scanned the first item and set it aside. I then scanned the second item and looked at the screen to see if the sale price rang up.  It was instead 4 times what I expected – it wasn’t half-off like the sign on the shelf suggested and I had rung it up twice.

I tried to cancel and edit the quantity – but it just said, “Help is on the way!”

Which means I had failed as a human being. 

While I was waiting for “help”, I saw on the screen that I had gotten a senior discount – 10% off each of the items. While I was puzzling that out, a clerk came up and performed her incantations. I also had her deactivate the anti-theft on one of the items while I scanned the last one.

I finished and paid as the clerk was coming back and I bagged my three items and took the receipt. 

Sure enough, 10% senior discount.    But, why?

I hadn’t thought to put in my phone number so it didn’t really know me – I’m guessing they have my birthday stored somewhere, but there was no look up.  And the discount appeared before I used my credit card – so, they didn’t even know my name by that point.

And then I realized.

I was on camera.

And an A.I. had taken one look at me and decided I was a senior citizen.

Human beings, I suppose, I can forgive for seeing the gray beard and wrinkles near my eyes and assuming I’m older than I am.  Or maybe it was my jaunty hat that seemed dated. 

But this really stung.  I had been reduced to key biometric points and classified as…senior.

I suppose it was bound to happen and there are worse things than getting 10% off for no reason.  But, I don’t feel as old as I am and it seems disrespectful to make assumptions.  Or to program a machine to make assumptions, I guess.

In the end, I have the supplies I need for a couple of projects and I saved $1.50

Which I suppose I can use to get my senior coffee at McDonald’s.

The word is out – at least in my community – that I can teach origami. In addition to the Maker Faires, the Library pre-finals week session, and Parent and Family Weekends (for both Akron and Kent State), the Downtown Akron Partnership found out about me – from talking to some program directors at UA.  

They wanted me to be part of the Sakura Festival downtown this past weekend.  It’s a celebration of Springtime, Cherry Blossoms in bloom, and Japanese culture. 

I’ve been having a rough time of late and wasn’t sure I would be up for it. I was also more than a little concerned about having the “whitest white guy” teach something as iconically Japanese as Origami. 

But, with about a week to spare, I reached out and agreed – almost hoping that I was too late and would get a year-long reprieve. 

They responded back right away and said there was still time.  I got the details of where and when – and decided on what I would be teaching.  

The day of, I got a little nervous.   Even with some reassurances from the committee, I still felt like an intruder on someone else’s culture.   But, with my plastic totes of paper and pre-made origami to give away, I headed downtown.

And right into a sea of people. It was a bigger event than I knew and the directions I got to the parking deck were the same ones that everyone else was using.  I finally found a space near the elevators – but then the elevators refused to go to the main floor.  I made several trips up and down before giving up at the basement level – which turned out to be the ground floor. 

I wandered around outside for a bit before I found an information booth and got some slightly confusing but ultimately helpful directions. While I was following those directions I ran into a co-worker and had a friendly – though short – chat. 

I stopped twice more on my way before finally finding the venue – by the shuffleboard courts, naturally. 

And then I found a familiar face – a former co-worker from UA that now worked for the Downtown Akron Partnership.   I was early – even with all the adventure in getting there – and we chatted for a bit before she went to go find paper for my event.  (I had plenty with me – just in case).

The event before mine was a lesson in Japanese Tea service and I watched that while I went over my notes and got ready.  

When they were finally done, I got set up and waited for people to show up.  There were going to be 3, 30 minute sessions with a 15 minute break between them – with as many as 25 people scheduled for each session.  

The first session, though, only had 7 people.  I had them pick out the paper, gave my introduction, and we got started. 

And it went pretty smoothly, with us finishing up the projects right on time.  I was curiously pleased about being so precisely on schedule – through the whole evening. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and most did the folding without too much trouble. 

After a short break, the second group got started.  This time we had 12 people – 13, if you count the crying baby.   They did well too and seemed to have fun. 

By the time the third group rolled around, I was getting tired.  I’m not used to being “on” for such a long span of time.   There were 6 people in the last session – and two of them asked to take a few sheets of paper with them afterwards to practice. Which was encouraging. 

I had a big tub of giveaways and talked to some of the participants while they were picking out something to take with them.

And my 30+ years of paper-folding helped me get past any of my cultural concerns. 

So, it was a good time and I’m glad I attended and contributed. 

And the flowers we made? Kinda looked like cherry blossoms.  

In the novel “1984”, the character Winston Smith works for the Ministry of Truth – where he edits publications to reflect the Party’s current understanding of the “Truth”.

I’m relating a lot to Mr. Smith these days…

My job grants me access to some 8,500 webpages on our site and with changes to federal and state law, we’re making mad edits to rename or remove programs that are suddenly no longer allowed.

It’s depressing and full of double-speak.

Our diversity department got a new name and I guess a new mission – and had me remove most of the links to their programs from their pages.  

I followed up a few times after that to see if we could repurpose some of those pages and rework them – and got little response.  One of those pages was a list of LGBTQ resources – and while there was no link to it anymore, the page was still out there and available in the search.

Recently, one of my coworkers mentioned working on a flyer for Gay Prom and it reminded me that the page was still out there. 

Since it could potentially fall under the provisions of the new law, I reluctantly reached out to the VP for that group via email.  I offered to update the name of the division on the page, rework the page, or simply unpublish it to remove it from the search. 

I got a call from him within an hour, emphatically requesting that the page be taken down – and thanking me for looking out for his department. 

So, on a website with already very little to say about the LGBTQ community, I unpublished the resource page, the documents, and the images.

A few years back, I had been on the fence about being part of the Zips of Pride – a poster of LGBTQ faculty, staff, and students on campus released as part of National Coming Out day.  I had reasoned then that UA has never done much for the community and if I wanted more, I had to support their efforts – no matter how small.

And now, I was responsible for erasing LGBTQ representation on campus.  

I could have ignored the page – everyone else seemed to have – and I could have waited until we were “caught” before being directed to take it down.  But, it’s my job to keep track of everything on the site and be a responsible caretaker.

But this one bothered me.  I felt like I had betrayed my community – even though the real betrayers are the lawmakers and fear-mongers. 

I stewed about it for a while, then decided to leave early for my own mental health.

I went home, did my chores and ate a quick meal, then I went to bed and slept for 12 hours. 

It was better, for a while, to not have to deal with my own thoughts.

I’m better now, I guess, and I have a little hope that maybe the tide will turn again and we’ll be able to bring these resources back.  I know it might have helped me when I was an undergraduate there to have found some common ground with someone else who knew what I was going through. 

For now, though, the page is hidden away.  Just as “they” would like us to be, I guess.

If you need me, I’ll be at the Ministry of Truth – sending more webpages down the ‘memory hole’.

The office suite I share with my colleagues across our division has desks, cubicles, two conference rooms, and a break room.  

Our team was the last to move – our offices needed to be vacated first – and the rest of the division had already staked out their claims.  

And it was…a mess.  Every surface was cluttered with old print samples, office supplies, and surplus computer equipment.  For every cluttered and junky looking surface there were two empty cabinets.

It bothered me for a while and was a little embarrassing to have people come to my office in the back corner past all the clutter and junk.   Didn’t seem, to me, to reflect a professional environment. 

Fast forward to this year – yes, it’s been like this for years – and my mental health is not doing so great. On a Saturday, I decided to come into the office and tidy things up – fighting back against the chaos with a little order.

I took a couple trashbags with me, turned on all the lights so I could see what I was working with, and set to work.

I gathered and broke down all the empty cardboard boxes.

Gathered all the surplus computer equipment in one area. 

Organized all the office supplies and paper. 

Cleared off all the desks and the counters in the break room.

And set up a nicer workspace for one of the student assistants in a cubicle with a lamp.  Everyone deserves a nice place to work.

Took me about 2 hours and while I worked I was supportive and encouraging to myself.

“Nice work on breaking down those boxes, Anthony!”

“You found the perfect place for those supplies,”

“You are doing such a good job with those desks!”

When I was done, I took out the trash and turned out the lights as I left.  

I assumed that my colleagues either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t care.  It didn’t matter too much since I did it to try and help my own head. And it was very cheap therapy.

We were all remote on Monday, but on Tuesday one of my colleagues asked if I knew who cleaned up the office.  I told him it was me and he was surprised – but thanked me.

By the middle of the day, though, things turned slightly sour. 

Empty cardboard boxes appeared on top of a shelf that I had just cleared.  I didn’t know who put them there or if they were intended to be saved or just left as clutter.

And an extra monitor  – that I recall seeing on the floor of a colleague’s office – got moved to a desk in the common area that I had cleared.  Rather than clutter up their office, it now added to the clutter of the common area.

I had expected a slow slide towards chaos – it is the way of things since order takes work – but I didn’t expect it to happen quite so fast.  Not even a day…

I know that I shouldn’t feel bad about it or feel anything about it.  This is an office suite shared by 20 people and I don’t get to impose my own ethos on the space.  

But it would have been nice if it had lasted just a little bit longer…