Smitty had the first shift in the lab, so he was at the help desk every morning from 9 to 12. I gave him the extra key to my office to keep at the help desk because I didn't have enough copies to go around for everyone. Whoever got there first in the morning would get the key from him and open the office for the others.
When I got there, the door was already opened. Patience's knapsack was on the floor, but nobody was in the office. I went over to my computer and sat down. The semester had begun and I was scrambling to get things ready for my classes.
I was teaching a doctoral seminar this semester on the philosophical basis for research in information systems. I had meant to get an outline put together over the summer but there was too much other stuff going on. So now I was playing catch up again. I could probably wing my way through the first few classes, but for the ones after that I needed some preparation. I decided to enlist the help of one of my colleagues, Margaret Xhtsosee, in putting this seminar together.
When we recruited Margaret Xhtsoee four years ago, it was another example of the dumb luck we rely upon to survive. Margaret was born in southern Mozambique near the border with Zimbabwe. Her father was a local chieftain who had acquired enormous wealth by shrewdly negotiating mineral rights on tribal land. Those tons of nickel and chrome that came out of the ground were more than enough to send Margaret to the finest British private schools so that she only had to suffer the brutal conditions of southern Africa when home on break.
There is an ancient technique for dying fabric to insure that the dye is fast. You dye the cloth and then put it out in the sun to bleach. Dye it again and bleach it again. Each time the dye gets a little darker until you cannot bleach it out with the sun. This is the way it was with Margaret Xhtsosee. In England she would be immersed in the dye of aristocracy. She would pursue intellectual and social refinement in literature, art, music and philosophy. On break, the harsh primitive conditions of southern Mozambique would bleach out the social graces once again exposing her humanity. After twenty years of dying and bleaching Margaret Xhtsosee's iron character and social refinement became indistinguishable.
She spoke with an aristocratic British accent. Unlike those working class accents where you can't tell if the person is talking or having a seizure, Margaret's accent was flawless. Every word was e-nun-ci-a-ted clearly. You could schedule events in the spaces between her syllables. And when she spoke, it was always from the tower of dispassion. You could never detect the slightest hint of emotion or judgement in her voice, no matter what the topic. If it wasn't for the sadness and concern in her eyes you would think that she just didn't give a damn about anything.
The Xhosa tribe of southern Africa (the tribe of Margaret's ancestors) has an unusual consonant sound in their language. The 'xh' is pronounced as a click, the kind of click you might make with your cheek and teeth encouraging a horse to go a little faster. So Margaret's last name was pronounced '(click)-tso-see'. For English speakers, this is a challenge. For undergraduate students at Foggy Bottom University, it was beyond the realm of possibilities. The more respectful students would call her Dr. Sosee. Others would call her Dr. X. No doubt those dimwits figured she was related to Malcolm. Margaret probably didn't care either way.
Among her colleagues she preferred to be call Margaret, with each syllable pronounced fully, Mar-gar-et. If you tried to call her Peggy, she would simply ignore you as though you were speaking to somebody else. I called her Mags. Once a low rent gumshoe, always a low rent gumshoe.
After graduating from Cambridge, Margaret took a job at the University of Madagascar. She was way over qualified for this post, but felt some social responsibility to bring the enlightenment of philosophy even to the most remote places. Unfortunately, the philosophy of technology is meaningless to anyone who does not have any technology to speak of, and Margaret's good intentions went to waste. So she decided to come to the states where we are all engaged in the good war against encroaching technology and FBU managed to grab her.
Margaret had her doctorate in philosophy, specifically social philosophy. She belonged to a twentieth century school of thought sometimes referred to as critical theory. Critical theorists believe that philosophy can not be value free. Since objectivity in philosophical interpretations is impossible, any philosophical interpretations should be made with the objective of improving the human condition. I did not agree with this premise although I had great respect for her view. And, if I was ever going to get my seminar going, I was going to have to enlist her help.
Patience had returned and was banging away at her computer.
"Good morning, Patience."
"Good morning." She replied without looking up from her computer.
Smitty popped his head in the door. "Hey Carol" he said looking over at Patience. I had been calling her Patience for so long that I had forgotten that her name was really Carol.
"Oh, hi Smitty," she said cheerfully, almost singing. She looked up and smiled at him.
She doesn't even look up from her computer to speak to me, I thought. For him she stops what she is doing and pays attention. On the other hand, I was neither young nor good looking and had the kind of build that clothes were made to hide.
"You forgot to give me the key back." He said.
"Oh, sorry," she replied handing him the key.
"Looks like I'm gatekeeper for you office," he said, turning to me, trying to make conversation.
"It isn't that bad," I said a little impatiently. "It's just Patience and Sherry, and occasionally Angel, who you need to let in. I have my own key."
"That's true," he said undaunted. "But there was the time last summer when you forgot your key. And that time last spring when Professor Haggerty needed to get into your office."
"Haggerty needed to get into my office?" I sat there stunned as a pattern that I couldn't quite verbalize was beginning to form.