I fear I am becoming Swiss
*sniff* ... [short pause] *sniff, sniiiiff*
I sigh, as loudly as possible, and try my best to concentrate on Chaucer's "The Legend of Good Women". A nano-second later, a mobile phone, supposedly on "silent" then buzzes, moving around the deserted desk as it does so. I watch it, willing it to fall on to the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces, hoping against hope that one of those pieces will ping in the direction of Mr Sniffy, wounding him and thereby necessitating his removal from the Quiet Room.
This is what the Quiet Room does to you. Because, you see, it doesn't exactly do as it says on the tin. Everyone in there is stressed, everyone has different ticks - be it sniffing continuously, tapping one's feet against the desk leg, whispering to oneself as you try to memorise key facts, or, in the case of one of the Quiet Room's perpetual residents, ballroom dancing in the foyer whilst trying to memorise a million and one clutch cards. Yes, Loopy Term has officially arrived. And this year, I'm in the thick of it.
I have already told off several students for talking on their mobiles in the library building, helpfully pointing out the many large signs saying "STRICTLY NO MOBILES IN THIS BUILDING" as I did so. I have also written an email to the Senior Tutor about it. And now I'm getting annoyed with people for sniffing. And it has finally dawned on me - the horror ! the horror! - I am becoming Swiss. It won't be long before I'm telling people off for doing their laundry on a Sunday (I'm tempted to go and have a look in the laundry rooms now, just in case), or tutting at people for laughing too loudly on a bus (it happened, you know). Maybe, like Julie's old concierge, I will start vacuuming the inside of my tumble drier. Maybe I will find the person responsible for setting the trail for the Cambridge Hash House Harriers and tell them they should be ashamed of themselves (it could only have happened to Mad Irish Julie, but happen it did). Or perhaps I will call the police next time the people upstairs play music or laugh. That'll teach them.
I rarely have anything negative to say about Cambridge. But this, my friends, is a cautionary tale: Don't take exams seriously, or it will turn you into a Swiss-German! You have all been warned.
posted by Murphy at
12:56 PM
2 Comments:
my favourite lectures in switzerland:
being threatened with eviction for using washing machine on sunday. i was told, by the insane 'hausmann', that his wife managed to hold down a job and keep abreast of the laundry; as i was single, i should not have any problems. he then told me that i should produce a medical certificate to prove that i had not been able to do the laundry on saturday. i'm afraid i shouted words i never expected to utter in anger: 'i couldn't do my laundry yesterday because i was at the federal yodelling festival!'. and it was true. i was at the federal yodelling festival. i mean really: how can one keep up to date with one's laundry when one has to support the federal yodelers?
another favourite lecture was the time my neighbour, who resembled kathy bates in misery, came up to ask me to modify my laugh. apparently it was too screechy, too loud, and was echoing around her apartment. i apologised, baffled, and attempted to make my laugh more restrained.
ah, and i remember the time a woman of superior years approached me in the supermarket to inform me that i had overloaded my basket and that i was in danger of damaging my back and the basket. i 'should have considered what i was planning to buy at the time when i picked my shopping carrier'. oh, and the time i got a lecture for placing bottles on the belt at the supermarket incorrectly. i was informed i was engaging in 'unkontrolliertes rollen'! in the supermarket? i ask you!
oh, and the time the local staff at the embassy came to ask me to make my calls to my lovely friend martin shorter, as they were worried about the budget, had done an analysis and had concluded that the entire budget was at risk because i spent too long gossiping with martin once a month (oh, ok, once a week/day, but he has a very interesting life).
ooo, i can feel myself going all teenage rebel at the memories!!
I never got told off as much as you, Julie. That's my one of my biggest regrets about my whole posting in Bern. I should have tried harder. But, to this day, I'm afraid of eg cycling without my lights on when dusk is approaching, for fear of being told off, Swiss-syle (or, as we called it, being Swizzed)...
My favourite one was when Ian was told off for washing his car in the Embassy carpark on a Sunday. Someone shouted at him through the gates that this was Illegal in Switzerland, to which he replied that he was officially on British soil so they could sod off!
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