The Student's Union Councillor

“Here, that microphone was supposed to be returned by 11am” began the voicemail. I’ve learned through experience that anybody who starts a sentence with the word ‘Here’ will always be difficult. Attacking a man on the telephone when you know he’s hungover is cruel but leaving it in a voicemail is cowardly. I wouldn’t have minded as much if I hadn’t to wait hours the previous day to get a hold of it. 11.03 in the AM and she’s already on my case.

Their offices look like something a five year old would design. There’s pink walls, huggie pencils and posters everywhere. There’s a shelf full of opened envelopes and an unlimited supply of sellotape. Picture a crèche without the coloured balls. They have “campaigns” to get in and they were persistently bullied throughout school. They are Students Union representatives and they sit there, eating Haribo, full of their own importance.

All set for a long and prosperous career in HR they spend their entire work day either shaking their heads or passing the buck. They are the people responsible for Jock Soc, Block Soc, Dock Soc and Lock Soc. Hundreds of thousands of taxpayer’s Euros wasted on these societies whose sole purpose is to provide logo-ed hoodies, facepaint and rented bouncing castles. I recently had to hire a microphone from these kids and good Jesus was it vexing.

“Is this for the LGBT night?!” asked one boy excitedly with neatly folded hair. There are a lot of these acronyms in college and despite being tired of them I had to ask him what that was in English. “Oh it stands for the Lesbian Gay Bisexual and Transgender society.” In the moment of insultation I weakly used the acronym myself in demanding “Why, do I strike you as an LGBT?”

I was hurt yet unsure which of the four I best represent. College is all about overcoming social adversity. With the bullies weeded out, people are free to be young free and gay. Having social charisma is about being different. I sometimes wonder if I was less normal would I become more popular. I’m not an L a G a B or even a T and I still can’t see the hilarity in Ultimate Frisbee.

I did eventually get the microphone back, albeit in three journeys. Her face became more disgruntled on each of my reappearances. Maybe the more she sat and glazed expectantly the quicker and more efficient she thought I would become?

The one time I actually required her services she was gone. I planned to collect my deposit after the final leg of the microphone returning shift but sure enough all that was left was a burly, curly-haired assistant. I looked around in confusion, like a dog that’s lost his ball. “There’s a very important meet-e-onay going on in there.” He was like Ned Flanders trapped in the body of Leo Cullen. The one administrative service I required was put on hold because of the very important meeting - probably to decide if the walls should be painted yellow next year.