A Tale of Two Circumlocution Offices

Today I visited an office each at the Freie Uni and Humboldt Uni today, armed with my transcripts and copies of my high school diploma, with no concrete result for either.

Since my visit to the Humboldt Uni on Wednesday I've been trying to figure out who is responsible for checking foreign academic records, or responsible for helping people fill out the forms, at the English departments in the Freie Uni and Humboldt Uni. Is it the secretaries of the Prüfungsbüros (examination offices), or the academic advisors for the BA programmes? The websites have provided no clear answer. Today I tried the academic advisor for the Englische Philologie BA programmes at the FU, and the secretary of the foreign languages Prüfungsbüro (examination office) at the Humboldt Uni. (I already decided not to go to Heidelberg a while ago, because I'm not going to trot about in search of a translator for my academic records, and now there's no time left anyway.)

First of all, I got up unusually early. I had set the alarm clock -- which is, sadly, a heroic measure for me -- but I didn't need it (impending duty impedes sleep, I suppose). Then I took the U-Bahn to Dahlem and revisited the Institut in the Goßlerstraße. I had the good fortune to encounter the academic advisor, even though her office hours had technically not begun yet; she told me that the person in charge of looking at foreign academic records was one of the professors' secretary. That lady's office is down the hall, and she was not there today but will be there tomorrow.

Then I walked back along the very quiet streets, and enjoyed the feeling of being among houses rather than apartment buildings again, even if not every house's design was my cup of tea; I also kept a watch out for flowers, like the harebells and the purple and white clover along the sidewalks, and the roses and hostas in a garden, and saw two snails that had foolishly ventured out onto the wet pavement.

After briefly returning home, I set off again for the Humboldt Uni. So I stepped out at Französische Straße, and walked down the street past a school class, across Unter den Linden, and along the elegant and expensive-looking boutiques, and to the left down the Dorotheenstraße until I spotted the right building (DOR 65, as it is cryptically referred to). That edifice has a complicated floor plan, many stairways and two elevators, some stairway doors that won't open and another that sounded as if I were horribly breaking it when I did open it. Its labyrinthine interior also reminded me of the Buchanan Tower at UBC (where I had to explore a lot too). After taking an absurdly long time searching on the third to fifth floors, I revisited either the third or fourth floor, and saw the right office as soon as I stepped out of the staircase. I had to wait for three other students, then asked about the records, and was told that I had to go to the English advisor, who will only have office hours on Wednesday.

Made wiser by experience, I decided to pre-locate the office of that secretary before I went home again. But, deciding not to retrace my steps, I went back along another route, and was suddenly entirely disorientated. For some reason I thought that the S-Bahn at Friedrichstraße runs perpendicular to Unter den Linden, whereas it doesn't even run properly parallel. But dumb luck guided me back in the right direction, and I was relieved when I walked along the fortress-like side of the main Humboldt Uni building, shaded by plane trees (or sycamores) that rise out of a fenced-in sea of ivy. There weren't that many tourists out.

As I entered the building (UL 6), I was more curious about it than the last time I came here. A workman was fixing the door as I entered. Inside I ascended the grand staircase opposite the entrance, and noticed the quotation from Karl Marx in the middle of it (but I didn't bother to read it). The staircase itself is quite posh, with grey marbled steps (which are so smooth as to be slippery) and dark brown marbled railings. At the head of the stairway I was at first interested by the black-and-white photos on the walls, and then impressed by the grand wooden doors leading to the senate room.

I blundered about a little before I went along the right hallway. Both hallways are accessible through large doors with simple utilitarian metal handles and light-blue paint. They look unassuming, but I was much amused when I saw that they automatically swing open to let one pass. It reminded me vaguely of the Harry Potter books, and of Cocteau's Beauty and the Beast film. It's also oddly counterintuitive that a door with prominent handles should open automatically. The hallway to the right is grander. There are outsize wooden doors leading to the president's office, etc., and I inhaled the splendour and dignity as I passed by (I'm joking). The staircases beyond both hallways are still broad but decidedly un-posh, being concrete. Either way, I found the right office, wrote down the office hours just to be sure, and returned home.

Long story short, I had four U-Bahn journeys and five long walks and two labyrinth tours. The only practical results were exercise, the loss of 6.10 Euros to a BVG Tageskarte, and improved geographical knowledge. But why couldn't I have been able to figure out exactly what to do and where to go months earlier?!

Anyway, everyone else has been busy, too. Papa went to the university twice today, Mama was at work and then ran errands, T. prepared mini-quiches lorraines, Gi. and Ge. were at an end-of-year class party after their school day, and J. went to school and is now relaxing in his room. Yesterday Mama went around the apartment hanging up pictures and other artwork. There is a cherub corner above the stove at the piano, an ancestral portrait-gallery above the sofa in the living room, three stained-glass windows by my grandfather hanging in our fenestral alcoves, and so on and so forth. It makes our apartment rather more distinguished-looking, I think (when and if I've written my "great novel" I'll pay for tiling the kitchen (c: ).

I've been meditating much lately about order vs. disorder, especially in my half-room. Too much neatness makes me uncomfortable, and it means that books or writings that I would otherwise read, or work on, or perhaps be inspired by, are hidden away and being useless. Too much disorder does not only that; it also reflects and perhaps induces a disordered mind. So either I have to cut down my belongings to pretty ones that make picturesque messes, or I have to find ways of being neater (which comes about as naturally to me as ballet does to a cat). For one thing, I must cure myself of the idea that I will read the newspaper if it lies around on my desk long enough . . .

Another question that I meditate about is how necessary household duties really are. If God exists, does He mind if dust bunnies (a lovely term) flock under the sofa, or if the windows go unwashed? Is it really for the greater good of humanity if one keeps one's room clean, even if no one else ever enters it? At which point is dishwashing really necessary (e.g. when only aluminum pans and knives are left?), and why are people so reluctant to do it? If cleaning up is a sign of virtue, why does one feel like one has sacrificed precious hours of life to a lowly materialist pursuit? Well, to be fair, I often feel that I've sacrificed precious hours of life when I write exams, or whenever I go to a concert or movie theatre when it's light and leave when it's dark; obviously it isn't the most logical sentiment. Anyway, I'm probably really over-thinking this. (c: