In a much-needed and very conscientious break from political pondering and pandering, I am bringing to light one of the more embarrassing but necessarily significant banes of my existence. Whether an attempt to amuse, a plea for help, or just a silly confession, I seek fellow confused or perhaps enlightened students to join my cause, or rather, causes.

I am a senior here at Wash. U., and despite my age, intelligence and other generally-attractive qualities, there are just some basic staples of common sense missing in my comprehension of various functions at this university. Maybe you share some of my shameful secrets, or maybe you can help me out. Either way, asking never hurt anyone.

Approximately three days a week, around noon, you will find me in a most distressing dilemma. I awkwardly linger in front of the microwave at Whispers or Holmes, sporting last night’s pasta in a Tupperware container, hoping that maybe this time, I will get it right. That’s correct, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot seem to figure out how to use the microwave which I have been attempting to master for the last four years, or at least since I have lived off campus for the last two. It seems unusually high-powered and, as far as I can tell, the only way to set the time is by the 10-second intervals achieved by pressing the middle of the number on the chronological touch pad. Ergo, I end up with a half-melted plastic bowl or cold spaghetti. Neither option is overly appetizing. Is it just me?

You’ve all seen me. You chuckle as I pass, or as I try to do so. I’m the girl who can be seen on various levels of Olin, pushing those glass doors when they need to be pulled. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Funny how I can’t seem to recall. The transparent nature of these swinging ports only acts as a cruel accomplice allowing the library’s distracted inhabitants to witness my clumsy conundrum. Is it just me?

I have my own three-hole punch, but on occasion I have endeavored to use the one in the Arts & Sciences computing lab. I think it’s broken, or maybe just consistently over filled, but I have the same issue every time: The paper just doesn’t seem to want to fit under either side. Lest I be seen attempting to hole-punch my reading using the wrong side of the hole punch, I quickly abandon the task. Is it just me?

There are probably more, the nature of which my perplexity is greater, less than or equal to that which persists in the above cases. It’s not overly important, it may not even be relevant. I know, however, that you have those little questions and secrets of your own. I encourage you to share them with me via e-mail. More importantly though, these daily irritations are both amusements and reminders that, no matter how smart you think you are, there is always room for improvement.

And I know it’s not just me.