Sustained Criticism

Here I am, at work in the reception at the student home for the last time this summer. The weekend shifts are long and dull, broken up by the one-an-hour on average student that stops by to borrow a hair dryer, or ask the way to the subway station (which is just down the road). The weekdays are made up of laughing at students we've turned into super heroes – my favourite is JAG, the English class warrior who has a tuxedo problem – drinking coffee, doing badly at newspaper quizzes and pretending to work. We have 'office parties' each Friday, and the occasional Wednesday. We made fun of a poor lecturer for saying 'sellotape' (our graphic designer made a poster for him), we had a formal staff party that deteriorated into shots.

It's been quite a fun summer at work, but working endless hours at the student home is not my favourite way to while away a weekend. At least I get to read a lot. And because I was immeasurably stupid, I get to edit a master's thesis for a friend of a friend; The thesis writer is the worst Norwegian speller I have ever encountered.